Hold On To What Is Good
Rev. Craig M. Nowak
Sermon given at Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church on June 15, 2014
I went on the church’s Facebook page the other day to read the recent posts. How many of you have Facebook? Do you love it or hate it? I have to confess, I’m not a huge fan. While its true social media has become an important tool in ministry I just find it soooo boring. I mean, I love my friends but I don’t really care that they’re at home eating an amazing PB & J sandwich in their pajamas at three in the afternoon on a Thursday. And I surely don’t need to see a picture of their sandwich with a bite mark out of it. But hey, maybe I’m just a cranky guy in his forties with something...anything...better to do.
At least that’s how I usually feel about Facebook until, out of the blue, a friend request comes from someone who had been a really important part of my life at one time. This happened to me recently...my best friend from childhood, someone I seemingly spent nearly everyday of my life from 1st grade until high school with contacted me on Facebook. We talked some via email and then decided to meet for lunch. It turns out he lives about an hour from me.
We spent some of our four-hour plus lunch talking about our lives since we last saw each other, but mostly we talked about our childhood when we were best friends. As we sat there recalling those days, my friend’s expression suddenly changed. He looked as if he were about to cry... and then with tears welling in his eyes, he said, “remember the grilled cheese?” I paused and then remembered my mother often made the two of us grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch. “Yeah, I remember,” I said, somewhat confused by his tears and thinking...geez, I know it was just Kraft Singles on white bread and Campbell’s soup, but it wasn‘t that bad. Then he said, “You have no idea how important that was to me.” He continued, “I loved coming to your house. It felt like a home. Being there, being cared for, meant so much to me.”
The way my friend described it, you would think he was describing some holy place, a sort of sanctuary. I think that’s exactly what he was describing. For in his tears I remembered, my friend’s home life, with his father and two brothers was, at best, difficult. Certainly it was no sanctuary.
A Google search of the word sanctuary returned fairly predictable results as did searches of quotation databases and my theology library. Invariably sanctuary was defined or spoken of in these sources as either a physical place or a state of heart and/or mind.
Surely it is both these things, but I wonder if it isn’t even more than these? My friend held those grilled cheese and tomato soup lunches like the memory rock mentioned in our first reading, as a reminder of a place, feeling, or someone important. He carried that memory all these years not because he particularly loved grilled cheese and tomato soup. More than feeding or satisfying his appetite, the experience I think, fed his spirit. It was something good in his life, a good he held onto. It seems to me then, that sanctuary, in addition to a physical place or state of heart and mind, can also defined as what is good, that is, an experience and memory we hold of something that feeds and sustains our spirit.
Sanctuary as what is good.
Wendell Berry’s poem, “The Peace of Wild Things” speaks to this understanding of sanctuary. Amid the relentless angst of human existence and the mind’s habitual preoccupation and subsequent fear of life’s next moment, the poet goes out seeking sanctuary, seeking what is good, something that will deliver him from the anxiety of uncertain tomorrows that he might live, how ever briefly, the promise of today.
And so he goes down by the water and pauses. And in that pause, in “ the presence of still water,” he sees life as it is...as the mystics of every age and faith have spoken in one way or another, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.” (Julian of Norwich). And in that moment of awareness, the poet releases his fears, “rests in the grace of the world, and is free.” It is his experience of this awareness that now feeds and sustains his spirit and is the poet’s sanctuary, something he can recall or reconstruct when, as he writes, “despair for the world grows in him.” He has found what is good, a good he can hold onto.
What about us gathered here today, this last Sunday of the regular church year at Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church?
Way back at our first worship service of this church year, I spoke about longing and being a hungry people. We have now gathered week after week for nearly ten months. We have come together weekly for worship, for meetings, choir, religious education, social action and social events, pastoral care and community service. We have shared tears of joy and sorrow, talked about our hopes and dreams, spoken our concerns and fears. For some of us the church has been a place to get away, to find respite for a while from what often feels like a chaotic world. For others the church has been a place to learn how to engage more actively and deeply in the world. Still for others it has been a place to be in community with others in a way that is increasingly rare outside these walls.
The question or really invitation I have for you today is to think about in what way has this place, this community and your relationship with it provided you sanctuary, a good that feeds and sustains you What is it that you will carry from this place and hold on to as we transition to summer services and some of us travel from this place or community until we gather again in September? Put another way, what good have you experienced or discovered here that will continue to feed and sustain your spirit out in a world that will test and try to break it?
I can’t answer these questions for you, you must answer them for yourself. I did ask myself these questions as well and can at least share with you in what way I have found sanctuary here, the good I hold on to.
I know ministers who, when they write their sermons arrange photographs, or more often imagine in their mind, their parishioners sitting atop their computer screen. I do something like this myself, although I don’t imagine or visualize you all atop my computer screen. Instead, I see you in my mind’s eye, seated here in the sanctuary even to the point of visualizing you in your usual seats. As I think of and see you I start to think about things going on in your lives, things you’ve shared or that I’ve recently become aware of... struggles with family, illness, or loss, waiting for test results, milestones and achievements. I think of times you’ve made me laugh, times I’ve felt inspired, disappointed, irritated and hopeful and the subtle and not so subtle suggestions you’ve sometimes made.
And as I do this I become profoundly aware and humbled by not only the freedom but the responsibility of holding this pulpit...I’m moved by the trust you place in me to offer or point to something that will feed and sustain your spirit through words and actions that are affirming, empowering or challenging. I’m also mindful of the trust I place in you to be present and engaged when you’re here, even when your don’t like or want to hear what I say or do from time to time. This kind of mutuality is sacred to me, it is a good rooted and nurtured in a community willing to listen to and hear one another. I don’t have to tell you how rare that is in our world...the stories and images from our televisions, radios and newspapers are evidence enough.
The good I hold on to and carry with me beyond these walls is the spirit of mutuality I experience here at BUUC, a true sense and appreciation of our interconnectedness. It is through BUUC’s...through your...through our practice of of mutuality that I find sanctuary, a good to hold on to, that feeds and sustains my spirit.
Sanctuary as what is good.
Some of you I’m sure are certain of your sanctuary, the good you have found here and hold on to. Others may less certain right now and that’s okay. With time and reflection your answer will become more clear and may even change or expand. The important thing is to ask the question now and then and to notice when you’re away from this place what part of it stays with you continuing to feed and sustain your spirit?
Your discovery, your answer is your sanctuary, a good to hold on to until we gather together again.
Amen and Blessed Be
Rev. Craig M. Nowak
Sermon given at Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church on June 15, 2014
I went on the church’s Facebook page the other day to read the recent posts. How many of you have Facebook? Do you love it or hate it? I have to confess, I’m not a huge fan. While its true social media has become an important tool in ministry I just find it soooo boring. I mean, I love my friends but I don’t really care that they’re at home eating an amazing PB & J sandwich in their pajamas at three in the afternoon on a Thursday. And I surely don’t need to see a picture of their sandwich with a bite mark out of it. But hey, maybe I’m just a cranky guy in his forties with something...anything...better to do.
At least that’s how I usually feel about Facebook until, out of the blue, a friend request comes from someone who had been a really important part of my life at one time. This happened to me recently...my best friend from childhood, someone I seemingly spent nearly everyday of my life from 1st grade until high school with contacted me on Facebook. We talked some via email and then decided to meet for lunch. It turns out he lives about an hour from me.
We spent some of our four-hour plus lunch talking about our lives since we last saw each other, but mostly we talked about our childhood when we were best friends. As we sat there recalling those days, my friend’s expression suddenly changed. He looked as if he were about to cry... and then with tears welling in his eyes, he said, “remember the grilled cheese?” I paused and then remembered my mother often made the two of us grilled cheese and tomato soup for lunch. “Yeah, I remember,” I said, somewhat confused by his tears and thinking...geez, I know it was just Kraft Singles on white bread and Campbell’s soup, but it wasn‘t that bad. Then he said, “You have no idea how important that was to me.” He continued, “I loved coming to your house. It felt like a home. Being there, being cared for, meant so much to me.”
The way my friend described it, you would think he was describing some holy place, a sort of sanctuary. I think that’s exactly what he was describing. For in his tears I remembered, my friend’s home life, with his father and two brothers was, at best, difficult. Certainly it was no sanctuary.
A Google search of the word sanctuary returned fairly predictable results as did searches of quotation databases and my theology library. Invariably sanctuary was defined or spoken of in these sources as either a physical place or a state of heart and/or mind.
Surely it is both these things, but I wonder if it isn’t even more than these? My friend held those grilled cheese and tomato soup lunches like the memory rock mentioned in our first reading, as a reminder of a place, feeling, or someone important. He carried that memory all these years not because he particularly loved grilled cheese and tomato soup. More than feeding or satisfying his appetite, the experience I think, fed his spirit. It was something good in his life, a good he held onto. It seems to me then, that sanctuary, in addition to a physical place or state of heart and mind, can also defined as what is good, that is, an experience and memory we hold of something that feeds and sustains our spirit.
Sanctuary as what is good.
Wendell Berry’s poem, “The Peace of Wild Things” speaks to this understanding of sanctuary. Amid the relentless angst of human existence and the mind’s habitual preoccupation and subsequent fear of life’s next moment, the poet goes out seeking sanctuary, seeking what is good, something that will deliver him from the anxiety of uncertain tomorrows that he might live, how ever briefly, the promise of today.
And so he goes down by the water and pauses. And in that pause, in “ the presence of still water,” he sees life as it is...as the mystics of every age and faith have spoken in one way or another, “All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.” (Julian of Norwich). And in that moment of awareness, the poet releases his fears, “rests in the grace of the world, and is free.” It is his experience of this awareness that now feeds and sustains his spirit and is the poet’s sanctuary, something he can recall or reconstruct when, as he writes, “despair for the world grows in him.” He has found what is good, a good he can hold onto.
What about us gathered here today, this last Sunday of the regular church year at Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church?
Way back at our first worship service of this church year, I spoke about longing and being a hungry people. We have now gathered week after week for nearly ten months. We have come together weekly for worship, for meetings, choir, religious education, social action and social events, pastoral care and community service. We have shared tears of joy and sorrow, talked about our hopes and dreams, spoken our concerns and fears. For some of us the church has been a place to get away, to find respite for a while from what often feels like a chaotic world. For others the church has been a place to learn how to engage more actively and deeply in the world. Still for others it has been a place to be in community with others in a way that is increasingly rare outside these walls.
The question or really invitation I have for you today is to think about in what way has this place, this community and your relationship with it provided you sanctuary, a good that feeds and sustains you What is it that you will carry from this place and hold on to as we transition to summer services and some of us travel from this place or community until we gather again in September? Put another way, what good have you experienced or discovered here that will continue to feed and sustain your spirit out in a world that will test and try to break it?
I can’t answer these questions for you, you must answer them for yourself. I did ask myself these questions as well and can at least share with you in what way I have found sanctuary here, the good I hold on to.
I know ministers who, when they write their sermons arrange photographs, or more often imagine in their mind, their parishioners sitting atop their computer screen. I do something like this myself, although I don’t imagine or visualize you all atop my computer screen. Instead, I see you in my mind’s eye, seated here in the sanctuary even to the point of visualizing you in your usual seats. As I think of and see you I start to think about things going on in your lives, things you’ve shared or that I’ve recently become aware of... struggles with family, illness, or loss, waiting for test results, milestones and achievements. I think of times you’ve made me laugh, times I’ve felt inspired, disappointed, irritated and hopeful and the subtle and not so subtle suggestions you’ve sometimes made.
And as I do this I become profoundly aware and humbled by not only the freedom but the responsibility of holding this pulpit...I’m moved by the trust you place in me to offer or point to something that will feed and sustain your spirit through words and actions that are affirming, empowering or challenging. I’m also mindful of the trust I place in you to be present and engaged when you’re here, even when your don’t like or want to hear what I say or do from time to time. This kind of mutuality is sacred to me, it is a good rooted and nurtured in a community willing to listen to and hear one another. I don’t have to tell you how rare that is in our world...the stories and images from our televisions, radios and newspapers are evidence enough.
The good I hold on to and carry with me beyond these walls is the spirit of mutuality I experience here at BUUC, a true sense and appreciation of our interconnectedness. It is through BUUC’s...through your...through our practice of of mutuality that I find sanctuary, a good to hold on to, that feeds and sustains my spirit.
Sanctuary as what is good.
Some of you I’m sure are certain of your sanctuary, the good you have found here and hold on to. Others may less certain right now and that’s okay. With time and reflection your answer will become more clear and may even change or expand. The important thing is to ask the question now and then and to notice when you’re away from this place what part of it stays with you continuing to feed and sustain your spirit?
Your discovery, your answer is your sanctuary, a good to hold on to until we gather together again.
Amen and Blessed Be
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