Sermon by Rev. Alan Taylor
Preached at Unity Temple Unitarian Universalist Congregation
January 29, 2006
First Reading:
from Mark Mosher DeWolfe as
quoted in "The Gospel of Universalism" by Tom Owen-Towle
Know
that the love which blooms inside you is stronger than fear, for people who love
find strength they didn’t know they had. Know that the love inside you is
stronger than illness, for people who love hang in when physical health is gone.
And know that love is indeed stronger than death, for people who love are like
stones tossed into a pool. The circles of love radiate out and echo back long
after the stone has come to rest on the bottom. So remember your love as a
source of strength; remember who you are: lovers tossed by these difficult
times.
Second Reading:
from "Our Passion for
Justice" by Carter Heyward
Love,
like truth and beauty, is concrete. Love is not fundamentally a sweet feeling;
not, at heart, a matter of sentiment, attachment, or being “drawn toward.” Love
is active, effective, a matter of making reciprocal and mutually beneficial
relations with one’s friends and enemies.
Love
creates righteousness, or justice, here on earth. To make love is to make
justice. As advocates and activists for justice know, loving involves struggle,
resistance, risk. People working on behalf of women, blacks, lesbians and gay
men, the aging, the poor in this country and elsewhere know that making justice
is not a warm, fuzzy experience. I think also that sexual lovers and good
friends know that the most compelling relationships demand hard work, patience,
and a willingness to endure tensions and anxiety in creating mutually empowering
bonds.
For this
reason loving involves commitment. We are not automatic lovers of self, others,
world, or God. Love does not just happen. We are not love machines, puppets on
the strings of a deity called “love.” Love is a choice—not simply, or
necessarily, a rational choice, but rather a willingness to be present to others
without pretense or guile. Love is a conversion to humanity—a willingness to
participate with others in the healing of a broken world and broken lives. Love
is the choice to experience life as a member of the human family, a partner in
the dance of life, rather than as an alien in the world or as a deity above the
world, aloof and apart from human flesh.
Sermon:
A
good friend of mine, Marisha, shared with me a memory. The story begins in
Krakow, September of 1939. The Nazi army had marched into
Poland
with guns, tanks, and rows and rows of well armed, well equipped soldiers. With
the occupation, many Jewish people fled, leaving everything they had, even the
very wealthy. Kuba was among them, a middle-aged Jewish widower. He had a
lucrative factory that made jewelry and a whole block of luxury apartments that
he rented. Fearing for his life, he abandoned them and was evacuated to a remote
Russian village, given a job of guarding the sugar beet crop from the local
teenagers, but when he realized that the teenagers were just as hungry as him,
he didn’t try to stop them. One day, in the market, he noticed a ruby ring. The
vendor assured him it was real. Kuba fancied himself as a good judge of jewelry,
so he bought the ruby ring, believing it would some day be worth far more than
his already devalued paper money. Years went by as the war dragged on. Kuba
nearly sold the ring to make his life easier. Finally the war ended. The
refugees who never thought they were going to come home were allowed to return,
but the return was bittersweet. Many of their loved ones did not come back. Kuba
learned his factory was gone and, worse, he had nowhere to live. He was walking
aimlessly without shoes in the snowy street when a woman recognized him. It was
Zofia, the mother of my friend, Marisha. Marisha’s parents had once rented an
apartment from Kuba and they had remained friends. Kuba and Zofia greeted each
other warmly, and then Zofia informed Kuba that her husband Adolph, a beloved
physician, had died at Auschwitz. Her daughter Marisha had been put into a
Catholic orphanage and only two years later had Zofia found that she was still
alive. She asked Kuba where he was living, and Kuba answered, “Nowhere.” On the
spot, Zofia invited him to live with her and her mother and daughter, even
though the apartment could hold only the two beds that were there. Kuba lived
with Zofia for 27 years. In time, Zofia and Kuba fell in love, and as a token of
his affection, he gave her the ruby ring. Zofia always wore it and at times
wondered whether it was indeed a real ruby. A cousin who was a jeweler said that
she never saw a ruby like this one but to make sure it was real, it needed to be
taken to a university in Haifa. But Zofia was wise. She knew that if the ruby
was not real, then Kuba’s feelings would be hurt to think that the gift he gave
her was not valuable. So, she didn’t go to Haifa. During a hard winter, Kuba
died. Everyone thought Zofia would go and find out if the ruby was real, but by
that time the ring was so special to her, it had changed from an investment to a
token of love. When Zofia died, Marisha took the ruby ring. Because the love
between Kuba and her mother was real, she never sought to learn if the ruby was.
It didn’t matter. That’s the way with love.
This week,
Pope Benedict distributed his first encyclical, a thoughtful set of reflections
on the nature of love as manifested in sexual relationships and in charity. I
appreciate his words, “Love is indeed ‘ecstasy,’ not in the sense of a moment of
intoxication, but rather as a journey, an ongoing exodus out of the closed
inward-looking self towards its liberation through giving, and thus toward
authentic self-discovery and indeed the discovery of God.” This morning I want
to talk about the love that emerges among people that binds them together,
whether it be in a committed partnership, a longstanding friendship, or even
among a group such as a congregation.
I always
thought I was a naturally loving person. I held this illusion for 34 years. And
then I got married. For sixteen years, I had been living on my own. I could do
whatever I wanted with my time. I often ate alone and enjoyed simply reading the
newspaper or being engrossed in my own thoughts. But love crept up on me when I
least expected it and my heart was stolen. When Angie and I finally married a
couple years later, she moved to the United States and into my home, and I was
faced with the reality that I had a lot to learn about love, especially the kind
of love that we have for those with whom we spend most of our time—and those who
see us at our most vulnerable, most tired, and very likely at our meanest.
Looking
back, I don’t know why I held the belief that I was a natural at love,
especially in the realm of romantic relationships. For most of my life, I
couldn’t keep a relationship going for more than six months. And the hearts that
I broke, I rarely did so delicately, and I had my share of heartache. In
Massachusetts, I dated a woman who told me that she wasn’t looking for a
committed relationship but that didn’t stop me from setting my heart on her. And
then, when it ended ugly, I felt betrayed, angry, sad. I was blind to my
emotional immaturity. I fell even more deeply in love with the next woman I
dated. From the beginning we were convinced that we were a match. We talked of
marriage. Then one day, she wanted to rendezvous with a former lover—and stay in
the same hotel room, albeit not in the same bed. I went ballistic. I couldn’t
fathom why she felt so compelled to do this. Never had I known such anger and
sorrow, confusion and heartache.
I was so
out of sorts that my Jewish friend, Marisha, noticed and asked what was going
on. I told her, and my friend with the ruby ring responded to me: “Alan, I am so
sorry.” Marisha had a tone of voice that made anyone feel better. It was
empathic and direct, with her Jewish grandmotherly accent. “Alan, I am so
sorry.” That’s all she needed to say to make me feel better. And then she said,
“But remember this isn’t the end of the world. I’ve been there. And it doesn’t
look anything like this.”
Our
culture promotes all sorts of illusions about love: that it should be easy; it
should be natural; that love is a feeling; that you deserve love just as you are
and you shouldn’t have to stretch yourself to receive it; and that if you are
lonely or unhappy with your partner, then tying the conjugal knot or holding a
service of union will make things all better. I am constantly amazed at how many
good people find their lives torn asunder by the evaporation of a love that one
day seemed so true that it would never fail. When I sit down with couples during
pre-marital counseling, I always ask why they want to get married or commit to a
lifelong union. More often than not, the answer is that the other makes them
feel whole. Or they say, with so-and-so, love is so natural. I always fear for
those couples who tell me that life has become so much easier now that they have
met their soulmate because, just as soon as the spell of romantic love wears
thin, they will be confronted with their beloved as full of shortcomings,
weakness, and uncertainty that each and everyone of us has. Ironically, not
until such a time does the opportunity for truly loving reveal itself. For love,
as Carter Heyward says, is a conversion to humanity. It is looking upon another
through the lens of one’s own humanity. Reaching this kind of love can be
transforming, both for the lover and the loved. For when we can see our partner,
or a friend, or a family member for the human being they are with all their
weaknesses and shortcomings and be able to say, “I love you” and truly mean it,
that is transforming love.
Carter
Heyward, from whom I took today’s second reading, was one of the first five
women ordained into the Episcopal church in 1974. Five years later, she came out
of the closet. She still is an Episcopal priest and teaches at Edens seminary
near Boston. She has come to know both publicly and privately that loving
involves struggle and risk. As she says, both “lovers and good friends know that
the most compelling relationships demand hard work, patience, and a willingness
to endure tensions and anxiety in creating mutually empowering bonds.”
It has
always struck me as odd that the Catholic Church prohibits its priests from
committed partnerships or sexual relationships. The struggle with celibacy does
not seem as enriching as the struggle with learning how to love another human
being. It was only in the 11th century that celibacy was mandated
among priests, in part because there were so many illegitimate children of popes
and priests who were draining resources of the church. I truly believe that we
are made to love, that we are free to love, but many, like the Catholic Church
forbid homosexual love . The depth of love among many gay and lesbian couples is
as transforming as any love I’ve witnessed. And the authentic love I’ve seen
between a number of gay men and their former wives provides testament to the
spirit of love to support the growth of another.
Anybody in
a committed relationship of integrity knows the tension and anxiety that comes
with creating mutually empowering bonds. For this reason, loving involves
commitment. “We are not automatic lovers of self, others, or God. Love does not
just happen. Love is a choice, a willingness to be present to others without
pretense or guile.” And, I would add, love takes practice. Just like learning
how to play an instrument or to speak a foreign language, one must work at it
over time, and there will plenty of mistakes to learn from!
Every now
and then, an honest individual, such as my wife, will point out to me just how
earnest I can be. Now that I’ve been here with you over two and a half years,
this is no revelation to you, I’m sure. Several years ago, one such person said
that watching me strive so to be good, to be right, to be perfect was simply
exhausting. Over time I have come to realize that most of us human beings act as
if deep down, we aren’t deserving of love, that instead we must earn it. It’s
that salvation by character idea so beloved by Unitarians. This manifests in the
one who must always smile and never show disapproval, or the one who must put in
ever more hours into their job and then similarly strives in their projects at
home, or the one who is compelled to always bring a gift when visiting someone.
I have been that one at various stages of my life, and perhaps I will always be
earnest. But in the context of a loving relationship, we need not be perfect to
be loved. It’s a good thing—because most of us are far from it. We need only to
strive to be honest. And the Universalists, with their belief of salvation
irrespective of character, know we can be loved just as we are; indeed, we are
free to love just as we are.
The story about Marisha’s
mother and step-father, Kuba, demonstrates that love can emerge even when our
lives are laid to ruin. Kuba had already lost his wife when he had to choose
between his own safety and his accumulated wealth. Zofia lost her husband and
several other members of her family to the Holocaust. Marisha was placed in an
orphanage for years without knowing if or when she would see her family again.
She then lived as a refugee for several years before coming to the United States
at age 16 and speaking no English. Love emerges even after the most devastating
of experiences. Today, Marisha is a beloved grandmother who has learned how to
practice daily acts of love, always responding to anyone she knows who is
hurting with a card, a casserole, and an offer of help.
My
friendship with Marisha has been personally transforming. Not only did she help
me years ago gain perspective when my world seemed to be crashing down amidst
heartache, but she then sat me down one day and said, “Alan, it is time for you
to grow up.” I knew she was right, as much as I didn’t want to admit it, and I
knew that this was an act of love.
We human
beings are capable of teaching each other how to be more loving. And I believe
that learning how to love well comes with a kind of inner transformation. The
Greeks called it “metanoia,” a transformation of the heart, a change of heart
that stops us from running away from the tough work of creating authentic
relationships of integrity. For me, it was a moment of personal clarity when I
committed to myself to change and grow, to stay the journey when opportunities
for love arose, and to be more honest with myself and more self-reflective.
I also
believe this same process occurs when joining a congregation. If you resist the
work of cultivating authentic relationships, then when something occurs that you
don’t like here, it will be easy to move on and find another group to be a part
of. But connections of depth won’t get made when we shun opportunities of
becoming more loving. Anyone who has moved beyond the honeymoon phase of a
relationship knows that the fruits of deepening in relationship come with
learning to love the other despite their limitations and flaws, and this is true
in friendship, committed partnership, and even with a relationship one has with
a congregation.
Mark
Mosher DeWolfe, whom I quoted earlier, was an openly gay minister who in 1981
was ordained and installed by a Unitarian Universalist congregation in Ontario,
Canada. Five years later, Mark was diagnosed with AIDS. His congregation
responded by caring for him. He wrote, “Loving me in their own way meant more
than just letting them bring me casseroles when I was too ill to cook. It meant
letting them worry even when the worry was distressing them. … Just as they were
willing to take the original risk in calling an openly gay minister, they could
have chosen to take the risk of remaining faithful in the face of death. They
could have pensioned me off right away, removing me and the stigma of my disease
from the church. They could even have done that in the name of compassion,
claiming that it was the best for me. But they stuck to their religious
principles, and are showing the world that people with AIDS are not to be
feared; people with AIDS are to be loved.” In 1988, Mark died. But the love that
Mark shared and that the congregation brought forth to care for him lives on. I
appreciate Mark’s insight that we are lovers tossed by difficult times.
Mother
Teresa wrote, “Love cannot remain by itself—it has no meaning. Love has to be
put into action, and that action is service. Whatever form we are, able or
disabled, rich or poor, it is not how much we do, but how much love we put in
the doing; a lifelong sharing of love with others.” While being interviewed by
a reporter, Mother Teresa was attending the sores on a leper. The reporter
commented, “I would not do that for a million dollars.” Mother Teresa looked at
him, and said, “And neither would I.” For she believed that everything we do
should be done for love. Just as Marisha has learned with the ruby ring, and all
of us who have true friends or a committed partnership, what is most real and
valuable cannot be bought, it can only be given, cultivated, and shared.
In his
discourse on love, Pope Benedict refers to a Unitarian saint. Martin of Tours,
canonized in 391, had been a soldier who became a monk and then a bishop. And he
was a follower of Arius At the gates of Amiens, he saw a poor beggar, freezing
in the cold. He cut his cloak in two and gave one half to the freezing man. That
night, he had a vision of Jesus who said, “I was naked and you clothed me ... as
you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me.” Are we
not called to this kind of love?
Our
religious task, both as individuals and as a congregation, is to become more
loving. At the program council yesterday, Allison Price, the co-chair of the
membership committee, asked everyone to reflect on what it is like for newcomers
during coffee hour. At my table, a couple of people who are relatively new
members talked about just how cool an atmosphere they first experienced at our
coffee hour. We all agreed that we want to offer hospitality to our newcomers,
to have warmth radiate from our being together. Individuals noted we need to do
better at making eye contact and warmly engaging newcomers, especially if they
look at all lost or alone. One person said, “We need to be asked to be more
loving.”
Well,
okay, I will ask. And what better time then during this sermon series on love? I
ask of you, I urge you to consider what it would mean for you to grow in love,
both in your own private life as well as here amidst your spiritual home. What
can you do to practice love, even if it means learning from mistakes? I will
explore this more in two weeks during the final sermon of this series. This
week, consider how you are called to be more loving, truly loving and not just
seeking out the warm and fuzzy kind of love, as lovely as that can be. Remember,
committed relationships - whether in the context of partnership, friendship, or
congregation - relationships provide the crucibles in which we learn how to love
well. We can cultivate habits of love, but it takes practice. Attend to your
relationships.
Blessed
be. Amen.
© Copyright 2006 Rev.
Alan Taylor, All Rights Reserved.
