What About Now?
Sermon given at the Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church
September 29, 2019
by Rev. Craig M. Nowak
Some time ago an ad ran on television that featured a visibly anxious young man leaning over and peering into an unseen case. As he points at whatever is in the case and asks if what he’s looking at is the right size and cut, he’s offered words of encouragement and support by another young man standing beside him who assures him, “She’ll love it.” The ad, steeped in heteronormativity, is presumably designed to lead viewers into thinking the anxious young man is trying to pick out an engagement ring. In fact, he’s actually trying to choose a steak to cook for dinner. The ad, it turns out, is for the meat department of a well-known grocery chain.
While I can’t relate to the young man’s trepidation in trying to pick out meat at the grocery store, the ad does remind me that many decisions we make in life are accompanied by anxiety. Even those we generally think of as routine or inconsequential can be tinged with anxiety from time to time. Decisions, like whether or not to read or listen to the news, for example.
Indeed, I’m the first to admit that over the last three years I have found this very decision increasingly tinged with anxiety. When it comes the news, every turn of a page or dial, or click on a screen, is preceded by the thought, “Am I ready for whatever stories of tragedy, outrage, presidential and political lunacy, is awaiting me?”
And the truth is, I’m often not. That is, if ready means able to take in any news, but particularly bad or disturbing news, without experiencing a broad range and depth of human emotion.
To be clear, I don’t think that’s what ready means, but I encounter a lot of people who seemingly do. Statements like, “I thought this would be easier.” or “I didn’t think it would hurt this much.” following a death that loved ones knew was coming due to illness, for example, lend credence to idea that, for many, being ready means somehow being protected against or insulated from our humanity. And that concerns me.
In the last few years, whenever I meet with someone interested in becoming a member of this church, I emphasize that the church is both a wonderfully and woefully human institution. In other words, for all the things that we do well and that perhaps inspire a person’s decision to join, we also make mistakes.
Often I will say something like, “There will be times when I will disappoint you; a sermon won’t speak to you; I or someone else will say something you don’t like, forget your name and so forth. Those are the moments that are the true test of your commitment to BUUC and, more importantly, to your spiritual life.” And I can tell you, I feel best about someone’s decision to join when they’re able to tell me I’ve already disappointed them or they’ve experienced something they don’t like here and they still want to join.
Now, I should note I don’t say these things to people in an attempt to discourage them from joining BUUC. So far, it hasn’t caused anyone to change their mind about joining. I do it because I’d hate to see someone’s chosen faith end up like “a small plastic gizmo with a serious demeanor that turns up regularly”, but “its use has been forgotten.” Or for their spiritual life, “its worth obvious”, but “lacking immediate application”, to end up, “living like royalty, a life of lonely privilege, mounted high on the garage wall.”, like the brass propeller, the poet spoke of in our second reading this morning.
Much religion and spirituality, unfortunately, has, for too long, been employed and sold as a guard against our humanity, rather than as a tool to observe and embrace it.
And so it is the most rigid among any religion’s adherents, lay or clergy, are often proud devotees of doctrine, fervent quoters of scripture and parroters of platitudes, suspicious of ambiguity and utterly terrified of uncertainty.
But even many of those who describe themselves as “spiritual but not religious” will find a practice or teaching they like and hold on tight, until one day, the teaching doesn’t seem to fit a situation as expected or the practice bumps up against something seemingly immune to its power.
A well known Buddhist teacher begins one of his books describing how, after spending years studying at a Buddhist monastery, he was shattered upon his return to life outside the monastery to discover he still got angry with people, he still wept in the face of senseless tragedy, and that even mundane things like heavy traffic still annoyed him. All that studying, all those noble ideas and practices he had learned and he couldn’t escape his humanity.
Among the central teachings in Buddhism is what is known as the four noble truths, the first of which is, “Life is Suffering”, which doesn’t mean, as is often assumed, that the Buddha was a real downer and taught life is just plain awful all around. Rather, he meant into every life the winds of change forever blow. Impermanence is the norm, not the exception in life.
Now, the well known Buddhist teacher would have known this intellectually of course, yet, when confronted with change he nonetheless felt angry, sad, annoyed. What he had to learn the hard way, which is the only way we really learn the depth of religious and spiritual truth, is that the teachings he’s learned about don’t prevent or protect him or anyone else from unpleasant feelings or experiences. What they do provide is a way to change how we respond to those experiences and feelings. And this is true not only of Buddhism, but Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, Paganism…all religious and spiritual traditions, including Unitarian Universalism. Which, in addition to the seven principles we recited in our responsive reading this morning, also includes a vast repository of ideas, teachings and practices drawn from sources ranging from the personal to the collective wisdom of humankind, from nature and the world in which live and breath to the transcendent, that which is closer than breath but beyond our grasp.
But it’s not easy. If you’re struggling with your faith, more often than not, you’re practicing it faithfully.
Is there an aspect of your personal theology or Unitarian Universalism with which you’re currently struggling?
Reading or listening to the news I struggle mightily, especially these last few years, with a principle of our faith that is near and dear to my heart, “to affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person.”
Oh how I struggle with that one as the veil of illusion has been torn from the face of this country to reveal a raging, grotesque beast foaming with resentments, both justifiable and ludicrous. A beast born and kept alive by our nation’s collective and continuing failure to face, let alone, atone for dreaming big but living small, for proclaiming liberty and justice for all, but delivering it instead only to some. Despite historical Universalism’s doubts about hell, there is, it seems “hell to pay” as the expression goes, and we’re paying it now, with interest.
Suffice it to say, my commitment to affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of all people does not prevent me from feeling angry or upset with people, especially when I read or listen to the news. The vast well of sources from which I draw my theological understanding and spiritual practices does not insulate my mind from conjuring unkind thoughts or stop my lips from uttering words that cannot be said on most radio or television programs.
What my commitment to affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of all people does do, is inspire me to be sure those with whom I feel upset or angry show up frequently in my metta or loving kindness practice, which is an ancient practice to cultivate compassion and is the only spoken meditation I practice regularly. Not only does it help me affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of all people, it helps ensure I don’t nurse hatred with hatred, or return evil for evil and it nudges me closer toward something closer to loving my neighbor as myself.
Meanwhile the vast well of sources from which I draw my theological understanding and spiritual practices don’t provide me with instant defenses against unkind thoughts or expletives, but instead help me step back, explore and translate unkind thoughts and words into experiences, insights and language I can relate and respond to more constructively.
Notice there’s no beating up on myself for feeling upset or having unkind thoughts. Neither is there any getting tangled up in definitions and mind games trying to figure out if everyone really has inherent worth and dignity or musing about which villain from history might be the exception. I want my faith to help open me to this life, not protect me from it.
Still, it is not easy. It is not a one time deal. There is no “set and forget it” option. I wonder sometimes if that’s why some of the most enduring religious observances, like Rosh Hashanah in the Jewish tradition, which begins at sundown tonight and marks both the Jewish New Year and the period of deep introspection that culminates in Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, often pair the celebratory with the solemn. To remind us life is not either/or, but both/and.
Indeed, as Unitarian Universalists it is far easier to commit to principles like the inherent worth and dignity of every person when that worth and dignity seems obvious. Like when a guy on a motorcycle stops and offers to help hang a pride flag on the church tower, a story Doug shared a couple of weeks ago during joys and concern. That was a great story. A much needed, story. The kind of story that helps remind us even in difficult times, all is not lost.
We like that kind of story. We are ready for that kind of story, always.
But, what about now?
As our service draws to a close, we know that out in the world, very different stories are playing out and being told. Stories that we’d rather not hear or read. Hard stories. Stories that challenge our own commitment to our principles. Stories that make it seem, at times, all is lost. Are you ready?
Amen and Blessed Be
Sermon given at the Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church
September 29, 2019
by Rev. Craig M. Nowak
Some time ago an ad ran on television that featured a visibly anxious young man leaning over and peering into an unseen case. As he points at whatever is in the case and asks if what he’s looking at is the right size and cut, he’s offered words of encouragement and support by another young man standing beside him who assures him, “She’ll love it.” The ad, steeped in heteronormativity, is presumably designed to lead viewers into thinking the anxious young man is trying to pick out an engagement ring. In fact, he’s actually trying to choose a steak to cook for dinner. The ad, it turns out, is for the meat department of a well-known grocery chain.
While I can’t relate to the young man’s trepidation in trying to pick out meat at the grocery store, the ad does remind me that many decisions we make in life are accompanied by anxiety. Even those we generally think of as routine or inconsequential can be tinged with anxiety from time to time. Decisions, like whether or not to read or listen to the news, for example.
Indeed, I’m the first to admit that over the last three years I have found this very decision increasingly tinged with anxiety. When it comes the news, every turn of a page or dial, or click on a screen, is preceded by the thought, “Am I ready for whatever stories of tragedy, outrage, presidential and political lunacy, is awaiting me?”
And the truth is, I’m often not. That is, if ready means able to take in any news, but particularly bad or disturbing news, without experiencing a broad range and depth of human emotion.
To be clear, I don’t think that’s what ready means, but I encounter a lot of people who seemingly do. Statements like, “I thought this would be easier.” or “I didn’t think it would hurt this much.” following a death that loved ones knew was coming due to illness, for example, lend credence to idea that, for many, being ready means somehow being protected against or insulated from our humanity. And that concerns me.
In the last few years, whenever I meet with someone interested in becoming a member of this church, I emphasize that the church is both a wonderfully and woefully human institution. In other words, for all the things that we do well and that perhaps inspire a person’s decision to join, we also make mistakes.
Often I will say something like, “There will be times when I will disappoint you; a sermon won’t speak to you; I or someone else will say something you don’t like, forget your name and so forth. Those are the moments that are the true test of your commitment to BUUC and, more importantly, to your spiritual life.” And I can tell you, I feel best about someone’s decision to join when they’re able to tell me I’ve already disappointed them or they’ve experienced something they don’t like here and they still want to join.
Now, I should note I don’t say these things to people in an attempt to discourage them from joining BUUC. So far, it hasn’t caused anyone to change their mind about joining. I do it because I’d hate to see someone’s chosen faith end up like “a small plastic gizmo with a serious demeanor that turns up regularly”, but “its use has been forgotten.” Or for their spiritual life, “its worth obvious”, but “lacking immediate application”, to end up, “living like royalty, a life of lonely privilege, mounted high on the garage wall.”, like the brass propeller, the poet spoke of in our second reading this morning.
Much religion and spirituality, unfortunately, has, for too long, been employed and sold as a guard against our humanity, rather than as a tool to observe and embrace it.
And so it is the most rigid among any religion’s adherents, lay or clergy, are often proud devotees of doctrine, fervent quoters of scripture and parroters of platitudes, suspicious of ambiguity and utterly terrified of uncertainty.
But even many of those who describe themselves as “spiritual but not religious” will find a practice or teaching they like and hold on tight, until one day, the teaching doesn’t seem to fit a situation as expected or the practice bumps up against something seemingly immune to its power.
A well known Buddhist teacher begins one of his books describing how, after spending years studying at a Buddhist monastery, he was shattered upon his return to life outside the monastery to discover he still got angry with people, he still wept in the face of senseless tragedy, and that even mundane things like heavy traffic still annoyed him. All that studying, all those noble ideas and practices he had learned and he couldn’t escape his humanity.
Among the central teachings in Buddhism is what is known as the four noble truths, the first of which is, “Life is Suffering”, which doesn’t mean, as is often assumed, that the Buddha was a real downer and taught life is just plain awful all around. Rather, he meant into every life the winds of change forever blow. Impermanence is the norm, not the exception in life.
Now, the well known Buddhist teacher would have known this intellectually of course, yet, when confronted with change he nonetheless felt angry, sad, annoyed. What he had to learn the hard way, which is the only way we really learn the depth of religious and spiritual truth, is that the teachings he’s learned about don’t prevent or protect him or anyone else from unpleasant feelings or experiences. What they do provide is a way to change how we respond to those experiences and feelings. And this is true not only of Buddhism, but Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Hinduism, Paganism…all religious and spiritual traditions, including Unitarian Universalism. Which, in addition to the seven principles we recited in our responsive reading this morning, also includes a vast repository of ideas, teachings and practices drawn from sources ranging from the personal to the collective wisdom of humankind, from nature and the world in which live and breath to the transcendent, that which is closer than breath but beyond our grasp.
But it’s not easy. If you’re struggling with your faith, more often than not, you’re practicing it faithfully.
Is there an aspect of your personal theology or Unitarian Universalism with which you’re currently struggling?
Reading or listening to the news I struggle mightily, especially these last few years, with a principle of our faith that is near and dear to my heart, “to affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person.”
Oh how I struggle with that one as the veil of illusion has been torn from the face of this country to reveal a raging, grotesque beast foaming with resentments, both justifiable and ludicrous. A beast born and kept alive by our nation’s collective and continuing failure to face, let alone, atone for dreaming big but living small, for proclaiming liberty and justice for all, but delivering it instead only to some. Despite historical Universalism’s doubts about hell, there is, it seems “hell to pay” as the expression goes, and we’re paying it now, with interest.
Suffice it to say, my commitment to affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of all people does not prevent me from feeling angry or upset with people, especially when I read or listen to the news. The vast well of sources from which I draw my theological understanding and spiritual practices does not insulate my mind from conjuring unkind thoughts or stop my lips from uttering words that cannot be said on most radio or television programs.
What my commitment to affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of all people does do, is inspire me to be sure those with whom I feel upset or angry show up frequently in my metta or loving kindness practice, which is an ancient practice to cultivate compassion and is the only spoken meditation I practice regularly. Not only does it help me affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of all people, it helps ensure I don’t nurse hatred with hatred, or return evil for evil and it nudges me closer toward something closer to loving my neighbor as myself.
Meanwhile the vast well of sources from which I draw my theological understanding and spiritual practices don’t provide me with instant defenses against unkind thoughts or expletives, but instead help me step back, explore and translate unkind thoughts and words into experiences, insights and language I can relate and respond to more constructively.
Notice there’s no beating up on myself for feeling upset or having unkind thoughts. Neither is there any getting tangled up in definitions and mind games trying to figure out if everyone really has inherent worth and dignity or musing about which villain from history might be the exception. I want my faith to help open me to this life, not protect me from it.
Still, it is not easy. It is not a one time deal. There is no “set and forget it” option. I wonder sometimes if that’s why some of the most enduring religious observances, like Rosh Hashanah in the Jewish tradition, which begins at sundown tonight and marks both the Jewish New Year and the period of deep introspection that culminates in Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, often pair the celebratory with the solemn. To remind us life is not either/or, but both/and.
Indeed, as Unitarian Universalists it is far easier to commit to principles like the inherent worth and dignity of every person when that worth and dignity seems obvious. Like when a guy on a motorcycle stops and offers to help hang a pride flag on the church tower, a story Doug shared a couple of weeks ago during joys and concern. That was a great story. A much needed, story. The kind of story that helps remind us even in difficult times, all is not lost.
We like that kind of story. We are ready for that kind of story, always.
But, what about now?
As our service draws to a close, we know that out in the world, very different stories are playing out and being told. Stories that we’d rather not hear or read. Hard stories. Stories that challenge our own commitment to our principles. Stories that make it seem, at times, all is lost. Are you ready?
Amen and Blessed Be