Fragile
Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church
March 7, 2021
Rev. Craig M. Nowak
For several years at Christmastime one of the cable television networks has played the movie “A Christmas Story” in a continuous loop for a twenty-four hour period. If you’re not familiar with it, the movie tells the story of Ralphie, a 9 year old boy growing up in 1940’s Middle America who dreams of getting a BB gun for Christmas. Humorous and nostalgic, the movie’s become something of a holiday classic and is among the holiday movies I find myself drawn to each December.
One scene that never fails to make me laugh doesn’t concern Ralphie at all, but his father, who has won, according to a telegram delivered to him, “A major award.” Following the receipt of the telegram, speculation ensues as to what this award might be. Finally it arrives, packaged in a massive wooden crate across which a word is written in large black letters. Running his hand along the lettering, the father reads it aloud, “Frah-gee-lay”, he says, commenting, “It must be Italian”, adding to the mystique… until his wife notes, “I think that says fragile.”
Printed on the outside of a crate “fragile” communicates the rather neutral message that the contents are not merely breakable but easily so.
But applied elsewhere or to different contexts, the word “fragile” can mean weak, flimsy, or insubstantial, and thus carry a far less neutral connotation. Indeed, fragile could be applied to the case against the Baptist professor accused of Universalism in Robert Walsh’s “Acquitted of Universalism”, our first reading this morning.
The entire case, Walsh reminds us, was based on the professor’s public statements, which his accusers reasonably assumed reflected his beliefs. Now, the professor denied the charges and, as the story goes, after some four hours of deliberation he was cleared of the charges and allowed to keep his job at the seminary. It seems they couldn’t find any evidence that his alleged Universalism existed outside the realm of thought and personal opinion.
But this story is not really about a Southern Baptist professor and his commitment to his professed beliefs. It is about us and our commitment to our faith. As Walsh writes, “I confess to being a Universalist. In fact, I am a Unitarian Universalist. But I wonder. If I were arrested and charged with being one, would there be enough evidence to convict me?”
Statistics vary, but curiously an estimated 600,000-800,000 people identify as Unitarian Universalists worldwide but actual membership in congregations totals somewhere around 200,000 people. Numbers don’t tell us the whole story, of course, but they suggest a high rate of acquittal were all the people who claim Unitarian Universalism ever charged and tried for being Unitarian Universalists. Indeed, the case for conviction would appear to be quite weak, held together by that most fragile of associations, disembodied belief.
For as Robert Walsh observes, the case of the professor accused of being a Universalist, “proves that having the right beliefs is not enough.
The professor believed that we are all siblings, that every person has a piece of the divine spark, that women are the equals of men in the sight of God. That was not enough to bring in a guilty verdict.”
Unitarian Universalism is often referred to as a “living tradition”. It is not something to be confined to the realm of personal belief or resonance, but something to be lived out. Thus, Walsh says, “If they are going to pin Unitarian Universalism on me they will have to be able to show that I participated in and supported a Unitarian Universalist church. That is the only way to be sure.” Beliefs, no matter how noble,” Walsh asserts, “must be embodied in a living institution or they will have no convicting power.”
BUUC (Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church), the community, ministries, even the building, is a manifestation of three hundred plus years of noble beliefs embodied. It is the form, unique to this place and people, of shared religious and spiritual ideas and values incarnate. An artery sustaining the larger living tradition from which it emerged and that it continues to shape in its own way to this day. It doesn’t do this, of course, of its own volition. It requires stewardship. Nurture and care in the form of participation and support, including financial support. For there is no Unitarian Universalism, no living tradition, no BUUC without people willing to embody, not merely hold, the religious and spiritual values of this faith, without those willing to risk being convicted of Unitarian Universalism, which is to say, without you, the members and friends of this church.
As Starhawk notes in our second reading, “Community means strength.” Strength, ”that joins our strength to do the work that needs to be done.”
Which is why, today, which marks the beginning of our annual canvass, that time of year when we ask members and friends to reflect on, make, or renew their commitment of time, talent and treasure, to this faith and faith community, I ask that each and every one of us strive to make fragile the case for our acquittal and give generously, assuring conviction on the charge of being a Unitarian Universalist.
Your commitment ensures more than the continued operation and maintenance of the church, which will again one day, in the not too distant future, hum with activity, be filled with sound and song and invite quiet contemplation in the company of others. And it ensures more than the funding of salaries, the ministries, and programs by which we bring our mission to life within and beyond our walls.
Indeed, your commitment ensures the nurture of something else that, in today’s world, is also quite fragile, but fragile, in this case, meaning precious and vulnerable, rather than weak or insubstantial. Your commitment ensures a spiritual home from which our children can discover and steward their own sense of place and of community that is different from school, sports, band, dance, and the like.
A place they can explore and develop ideas, values, and the confidence to be themselves, offering them some stable ground in a rapidly shifting world. A place they can inhabit, reflect upon, and might name, with poetic imagination, as a place they’re from, as Jack, Zoey, Brigid, and David, children from our church, in fact did.
Inspired by a poem by George Ella Lyons’ “Where I’m From”, they wrote,”Where We’re From”. I think you’ll recognize the place…
We are from stones that rock,
from hills and an empty yard,
and a rainbow hung high.
We are from a space that looks small but feels large,
pictures in the parlor and so many wooden chairs,
the metal chairs, and the rocking chair.
We are from coffee, brownies, popcorn,
strawberries, juice, pretzels,
and cupcakes.
(Sometimes, perhaps, from too many cupcakes.)
We’re from the felt board in the nursery,
the play kitchen,
the singing bowl,
embarrassment and generosity.
We’re from our parents, our siblings.
From Laurie
and Laurel.
From Reverend Craig.
We are from flowers
the petals dropping from our hands
in the wide aisle
as we look to the stained glass
around us.
Now, I remind you they wrote this only a week or two ago, in the midst of the pandemic, away from the church building, the rituals, and personal contact with most of the people. Yet it pulses with a vitality that brings to mind, in the words of Starhawk, “a place half-remembered and half-envisioned.” A place, where, “there are people to whom we can speak with passion without having the words catch in our throats…” where, “a circle of hands will open to receive us, eyes will light up as we enter, voices will celebrate with us whenever we come into our own power.” A place called community.
The children’s poem is no theological statement of belief reasoned and kept safely in the recesses of the mind. It is living scripture. Written and offered from the vast landscape of the heart. It does not lack reason but surpasses it. And even if today is the first day you’ve heard it, as I know it is for most of you, you nonetheless helped write this scripture.
You’ve helped with the time you’ve given to committee work, to choir, to religious exploration and education, time given to writing cards, providing rides, and sweeping floors. You’ve helped with the talent you’ve given running Zoom, mixing songs, playing music, and painting walls. And you’ve helped with the treasure you’ve given, the pledges you make, food you donate, snacks you bring and meals you’ve made, money you’ve given to the capital campaign, and bequests you’ve arranged. All for which I say, on behalf of this entire faith community, past, present and future, thank you!
As we begin this year’s canvass let us resolve to continue to make fragile the case for our acquittal of Unitarian Universalism that the hearts of our children, of children yet to come, and those of all ages young at heart might sing of stones that rock, a rainbow hung high, space that looks small but feel large, embarrassment and generosity, of people and petals in the wide aisle and stained glass. Indeed, let us build a strong case for conviction, a faith incarnate, embodied in a living institution, in generous, loving community. Let ours be a faith with convicting power.” May it be so.
Amen and Blessed Be
Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church
March 7, 2021
Rev. Craig M. Nowak
For several years at Christmastime one of the cable television networks has played the movie “A Christmas Story” in a continuous loop for a twenty-four hour period. If you’re not familiar with it, the movie tells the story of Ralphie, a 9 year old boy growing up in 1940’s Middle America who dreams of getting a BB gun for Christmas. Humorous and nostalgic, the movie’s become something of a holiday classic and is among the holiday movies I find myself drawn to each December.
One scene that never fails to make me laugh doesn’t concern Ralphie at all, but his father, who has won, according to a telegram delivered to him, “A major award.” Following the receipt of the telegram, speculation ensues as to what this award might be. Finally it arrives, packaged in a massive wooden crate across which a word is written in large black letters. Running his hand along the lettering, the father reads it aloud, “Frah-gee-lay”, he says, commenting, “It must be Italian”, adding to the mystique… until his wife notes, “I think that says fragile.”
Printed on the outside of a crate “fragile” communicates the rather neutral message that the contents are not merely breakable but easily so.
But applied elsewhere or to different contexts, the word “fragile” can mean weak, flimsy, or insubstantial, and thus carry a far less neutral connotation. Indeed, fragile could be applied to the case against the Baptist professor accused of Universalism in Robert Walsh’s “Acquitted of Universalism”, our first reading this morning.
The entire case, Walsh reminds us, was based on the professor’s public statements, which his accusers reasonably assumed reflected his beliefs. Now, the professor denied the charges and, as the story goes, after some four hours of deliberation he was cleared of the charges and allowed to keep his job at the seminary. It seems they couldn’t find any evidence that his alleged Universalism existed outside the realm of thought and personal opinion.
But this story is not really about a Southern Baptist professor and his commitment to his professed beliefs. It is about us and our commitment to our faith. As Walsh writes, “I confess to being a Universalist. In fact, I am a Unitarian Universalist. But I wonder. If I were arrested and charged with being one, would there be enough evidence to convict me?”
Statistics vary, but curiously an estimated 600,000-800,000 people identify as Unitarian Universalists worldwide but actual membership in congregations totals somewhere around 200,000 people. Numbers don’t tell us the whole story, of course, but they suggest a high rate of acquittal were all the people who claim Unitarian Universalism ever charged and tried for being Unitarian Universalists. Indeed, the case for conviction would appear to be quite weak, held together by that most fragile of associations, disembodied belief.
For as Robert Walsh observes, the case of the professor accused of being a Universalist, “proves that having the right beliefs is not enough.
The professor believed that we are all siblings, that every person has a piece of the divine spark, that women are the equals of men in the sight of God. That was not enough to bring in a guilty verdict.”
Unitarian Universalism is often referred to as a “living tradition”. It is not something to be confined to the realm of personal belief or resonance, but something to be lived out. Thus, Walsh says, “If they are going to pin Unitarian Universalism on me they will have to be able to show that I participated in and supported a Unitarian Universalist church. That is the only way to be sure.” Beliefs, no matter how noble,” Walsh asserts, “must be embodied in a living institution or they will have no convicting power.”
BUUC (Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church), the community, ministries, even the building, is a manifestation of three hundred plus years of noble beliefs embodied. It is the form, unique to this place and people, of shared religious and spiritual ideas and values incarnate. An artery sustaining the larger living tradition from which it emerged and that it continues to shape in its own way to this day. It doesn’t do this, of course, of its own volition. It requires stewardship. Nurture and care in the form of participation and support, including financial support. For there is no Unitarian Universalism, no living tradition, no BUUC without people willing to embody, not merely hold, the religious and spiritual values of this faith, without those willing to risk being convicted of Unitarian Universalism, which is to say, without you, the members and friends of this church.
As Starhawk notes in our second reading, “Community means strength.” Strength, ”that joins our strength to do the work that needs to be done.”
Which is why, today, which marks the beginning of our annual canvass, that time of year when we ask members and friends to reflect on, make, or renew their commitment of time, talent and treasure, to this faith and faith community, I ask that each and every one of us strive to make fragile the case for our acquittal and give generously, assuring conviction on the charge of being a Unitarian Universalist.
Your commitment ensures more than the continued operation and maintenance of the church, which will again one day, in the not too distant future, hum with activity, be filled with sound and song and invite quiet contemplation in the company of others. And it ensures more than the funding of salaries, the ministries, and programs by which we bring our mission to life within and beyond our walls.
Indeed, your commitment ensures the nurture of something else that, in today’s world, is also quite fragile, but fragile, in this case, meaning precious and vulnerable, rather than weak or insubstantial. Your commitment ensures a spiritual home from which our children can discover and steward their own sense of place and of community that is different from school, sports, band, dance, and the like.
A place they can explore and develop ideas, values, and the confidence to be themselves, offering them some stable ground in a rapidly shifting world. A place they can inhabit, reflect upon, and might name, with poetic imagination, as a place they’re from, as Jack, Zoey, Brigid, and David, children from our church, in fact did.
Inspired by a poem by George Ella Lyons’ “Where I’m From”, they wrote,”Where We’re From”. I think you’ll recognize the place…
We are from stones that rock,
from hills and an empty yard,
and a rainbow hung high.
We are from a space that looks small but feels large,
pictures in the parlor and so many wooden chairs,
the metal chairs, and the rocking chair.
We are from coffee, brownies, popcorn,
strawberries, juice, pretzels,
and cupcakes.
(Sometimes, perhaps, from too many cupcakes.)
We’re from the felt board in the nursery,
the play kitchen,
the singing bowl,
embarrassment and generosity.
We’re from our parents, our siblings.
From Laurie
and Laurel.
From Reverend Craig.
We are from flowers
the petals dropping from our hands
in the wide aisle
as we look to the stained glass
around us.
Now, I remind you they wrote this only a week or two ago, in the midst of the pandemic, away from the church building, the rituals, and personal contact with most of the people. Yet it pulses with a vitality that brings to mind, in the words of Starhawk, “a place half-remembered and half-envisioned.” A place, where, “there are people to whom we can speak with passion without having the words catch in our throats…” where, “a circle of hands will open to receive us, eyes will light up as we enter, voices will celebrate with us whenever we come into our own power.” A place called community.
The children’s poem is no theological statement of belief reasoned and kept safely in the recesses of the mind. It is living scripture. Written and offered from the vast landscape of the heart. It does not lack reason but surpasses it. And even if today is the first day you’ve heard it, as I know it is for most of you, you nonetheless helped write this scripture.
You’ve helped with the time you’ve given to committee work, to choir, to religious exploration and education, time given to writing cards, providing rides, and sweeping floors. You’ve helped with the talent you’ve given running Zoom, mixing songs, playing music, and painting walls. And you’ve helped with the treasure you’ve given, the pledges you make, food you donate, snacks you bring and meals you’ve made, money you’ve given to the capital campaign, and bequests you’ve arranged. All for which I say, on behalf of this entire faith community, past, present and future, thank you!
As we begin this year’s canvass let us resolve to continue to make fragile the case for our acquittal of Unitarian Universalism that the hearts of our children, of children yet to come, and those of all ages young at heart might sing of stones that rock, a rainbow hung high, space that looks small but feel large, embarrassment and generosity, of people and petals in the wide aisle and stained glass. Indeed, let us build a strong case for conviction, a faith incarnate, embodied in a living institution, in generous, loving community. Let ours be a faith with convicting power.” May it be so.
Amen and Blessed Be
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