There is a story, perhaps a myth ... I cannot remember whether I
heard it or read it, or where or when ... All I know for certain is that this
version came to me with a title. It is called The Rabbi's Gift.
The story concerns a monastery that had fallen upon hard
times. Once a great order, as a result of waves of anti-monastic
persecution in the 17th and 18th centuries and the rise
of secularism in the 19th, all its branch houses were lost, and it
had become decimated to the extent that there were only five monks left in the
decaying mother house: the abbot and four others, all over 70 in age. Clearly
it was a dying order.
In the deep woods surrounding the monastery, there was a little
hut that a rabbi from a nearby town occasionally used for a hermitage.
Through their many years of prayer and contemplation, the old monks had become
a bit psychic, so they could always sense when the rabbi was in his hermitage.
"The rabbi is in the woods, the rabbi is in the woods again," they
would whisper to each other. As he agonized over the imminent death of
his order, it occurred to the abbot at one such time to visit the hermitage and
ask the rabbi if by some possible chance he could offer any advice that might
save the monastery.
The rabbi welcomed the abbot at his hut. But when the
abbot explained the purpose of his visit, the rabbi could only commiserate with
him. "I know how it is," he exclaimed. "The spirit
has gone out of the people. It is the same in my town. Almost no one
comes to the synagogue anymore. " So the old abbot and the old rabbi wept
together. Then they read parts of the Torah and quietly spoke of deep
things. The time came when the abbot had to leave. They embraced each
other. "It has been a wonderful thing that we should meet after all
these years," the abbot said, "but I have stilled failed in my
purpose for coming here. Is there nothing you can tell me, no piece of
advice you can give me that would help me save my dying order?"
"No, I am sorry," the rabbi responded. "I
have no advice to give. The only thing I can tell you is that the Messiah
is one of you."
When the abbot returned to the monastery, his fellow monks
gathered around him to ask, "Well, what did the rabbi say?"
"He couldn't help," the abbot answered. "We
just wept and read the Torah together. The only thing he did say, just as
I was leaving it was something cryptic was that the Messiah is one of
us. I don't know what he meant."
In the days and weeks and months that followed, the old monks
pondered this and wondered whether there was any possible significance to the
rabbi's words. The Messiah is one of us? Could he possibly have meant one
of us monks here at the monastery? If that's the case, which one? Do you
suppose he meant the abbot? Yes, if he meant anyone, he probably meant
Father Abbot. He has been our leader for more than a generation. On
the other hand, he might have meant Brother Thomas. Certainly Brother Thomas is
a holy man. Everyone knows that Thomas is a man of light. Certainly he
could not have meant Brother Elred! Elred gets crotchety at
times. But come to think of it, even though he is a thorn in
people's sides, when you look back on it, Elred is virtually always
right. Often right. Maybe the rabbi did mean Brother Elred.
But surely not Brother Phillip. Phillip is so passive, a real
nobody. But then, almost mysteriously, he has a gift for somehow always
being there when you need him. He just magically appears by your
side. Maybe Phillip is the Messiah. Of course the rabbi
didn't mean me. He couldn't possibly have meant me. I'm just an
ordinary person. Yet supposing he did? Suppose I am the Messiah? Oh God,
not me. I couldn't be that much for You, could I?
As they contemplated in this manner, the old monks began to
treat each other with extraordinary respect on the off chance that one among
them might be the Messiah. And on the off, off chance that each monk
himself might be the Messiah, they began to treat themselves with extraordinary
respect.
Because the forest in which it was situated was beautiful, it so
happened that people still occasionally came to visit the monastery to picnic
on its tiny lawn, to wander along some of its paths, even now and then to go
into the dilapidated chapel to meditate. As they did so, without even
being conscious of it, they sensed this aura of extraordinary respect that now
began to surround the five old monks and seemed to radiate out from them and
permeate the atmosphere of the place. There was something strangely
attractive, even compelling, about it. Hardly knowing why they began to
come back to the monastery more frequently to picnic, to play, to pray.
They began to bring their friends. And their friends brought their
friends.
Then it happened that some of the younger men who came to visit
the monastery started to talk more and more with the old monks. After a
while one asked if he could join them. Then another. And another.
So, within a few years, the monastery had once again become a thriving order
and, thanks to the rabbi's gift, a vibrant center of light and spirituality in
the realm.
This morning we gather to explore together stewardship of this
place. This morning we gather to talk about our annual canvas.
Ann, our church’s secretary, asked me on Thursday how many orders of service we
ought to print. I said, “Well, everyone knows it is the annual canvas
sermon, so I don’t know, 30?” I’m glad to see you all!
All my seminary friends and friends new in the ministry warned
me about this sermon. And the warnings were always accompanied by
laughter, a laughter that points to our ambivalence about money, perhaps the
last taboo in our religious movement. So given that ambivalence, allow me
to start with the week’s news.
Have you noticed how much religion is in the news this
week? Atlantic Monthly has a cover article on The Next
Christianity. Time has a picture of Abraham, the father of Muslims,
Christians and Jews. It is a poignant picture, Ficherelli’s Abraham from
the painting The Sacrifice of Isaac. Looking to the heaven’s as if to
say, “Can this be true?” We continue to ask “Can This Be True” as Christians
are killed in Algeria, as Muslims are killed in Gaza City, as Jews live within
the shadow of terror. All emerging out of the same faith, but there is no
sense of brotherhood, sisterhood. There are those that insist that we
would be divided amongst ourselves.
Religion is in the news in places like Cobb County, Georgia and
Ohio and Kansas, which all continue to accommodate a religious conservatism
that insists on inserting a bit of poetry from the first chapters of Genesis
alongside lessons about evolution. This poetry they have called the
science of creationism. At seminary, we called the first eleven chapters
of Genesis First-Story, not history. First-story, myth, poetry. A Cobb
County School Board member, Lindsay Tippins, told CNN that the effort to put
creationism in the school system was a necessary element of providing a
balanced education. This new policy of teaching creationism was part of
an effort to clean up a set of policies earlier passed by the school board that
barred the district from teaching views contrary to “family values.”
There are those who insist that science and religion are divided, at odds with
each other.
The news item that really got me this week involved
Representative Dick Armey, the leader of the House of Representatives.
This week the Leader was in Florida campaigning for a candidate hoping to join
the House of Representatives. In comments that are stunning in their
divisiveness, in their ignorance, the Leader of the House of Representatives
said this: “There are two types of Jewish communities in America: those with
deep intellect and those with shallow intellect. People with occupations
in the arts, those are occupations of the heart. They’re going to be
liberals…because they want to feel good…people with occupations of the brain,
like economists, engineers and scientists, have a deeper intellect and are
therefore conservatives.”
Shameful (and that is not a word I use too often)! Equal
Partners in Faith, a multiracial, national network of religious leaders and
people of faith committed to equality and diversity issued a statement decrying
this kind of divisiveness coming from a national leader - -And this is the kind
of language that he uses? There are those who insist that religion be
used as a dehumanizing influence. There are those who insist that religion be
used to promote inequality and exclusion.
Not here. Not in this tradition that insists that each
person has a spark of the divine within them, a holiness that might yet teach
us a new way of being in the world.
Last week at our Teacher Dedication, we read a portion of a
reading that provides an alternative to the religion of fear, isolation,
divisiveness, aggression that we hear all too much about. Last week we
lifted up Sophia Lyons Fah’s reading, “It matters what we believe.”
I want to share with you a portion of that reading because it so
captures our highest resolution in this place, in this congregation. It
is what we hope for, what we aim for. Let me share her wisdom with
you. Some beliefs are like walled gardens. They encourage
exclusiveness. Other beliefs are expansive and lead the way into wider
and deeper sympathies. Other beliefs are like sunshine, blessing children
with the warmth of happiness. Other beliefs are bonds in a world
community, where differences beautify the pattern. Other beliefs are like
gateways, opening wide vistas for exploration. Other beliefs nurture
self-confidence and enrich the feeling of personal worth. Other beliefs
are pliable, like the young sapling, ever growing with the upward thrust of
life.
This is our approach to religion. At our best, ours is a
religion of abundance, a religion of generosity. We who calls ourselves
Unitarians and Universalists. We who belong to the strain of an eternal
religious liberalism. We in this congregation who are the inheritors of
the vision of those who gathered so many years ago, in 1868 to be exact, who
resolved to establish in this town, by this river, a free faith. Who
insisted that belief could draw us more and more into a unified holiness. We
inherit their vision. So this morning, let us take up their charge.
Let us think of the founders for a moment. Those who gathered in
1868. They wanted a free religion. They wanted a progressive voice
in this part of the world. They wanted to unify around a gracious view of
human nature, a positive view of the world. They rallied around
abundance. What bravery. What courage & vision. What sacrifice.
They scraped together enough folks to start meeting in the opera
house. They scraped together enough folks to call a minister. They
scraped together enough liberals to build a church. And now here we
are. What was theirs be ours to do.
This is a month of canvas time. We started last week and
we will wrap up precisely on October ____. You will be going to a
potluck--there is a sign up sheet out in the lobby if you haven’t yet signed
up. You will hear from a canvasser perhaps. You’ve already heard
from the church ladies--let us hope they make more appearances! You have
heard from Harley, the Vice President for Motorcycle repair and fundraising at
the Unitarian Universalist Association--or something like that.
Leaves are appearing on our tree here that documents our
pledging. Our very own tree of life. That is what your
contributions are---life, the very essence of life. Good stewardship is a
life well lived. Good stewardship is life.
A case in point. I was reading the Washington Post one day
over the summer. I start with the Sports section. Move to
Style. Go to the front section because eventually you have to get to the
news. And then if there is time, the Metro section. I was reading Michael
Wilbon’s column in the sports section. Wilbon loves the Georgetown
University basketball team, just remembers when they were a powerhouse under
their one time coach John Thompson. Thompson had a thing for big men. He
developed great centers. And one of them was Alonzo Mourning.
Alonzo Mourning was diagnosed with a rare liver condition and has been hampered
in his efforts to play basketball in the last year or so. Over the
summer, it appeared that this was to be the year that he came back. He
was strong. His treatment was in good shape. He was ready to go.
And Wilbon was amazed. So he talked with him. Here is what Alonzo said,
“I was reading Deepak Chopra’s book, The Seven spiritual Laws of Success, and
in it he talks about how giving is probably the most powerful act (man, woman)
is capable of. He says giving is contagious, that it is a part of a
cycle, and that if you stop giving you stop the flow. He used the analogy of
blood flow, and how if you stop the flow of blood it coagulates. If you
stop giving, you stop the cycle, the flow of helping. You’ve failing to
acknowledge that the reason you’ve reached a point in time is because of the
effort of others who gave to you. I’m reading this, Alonzo says to
Wilbon, and I’m thinking about all my coaches, my teachers, my mother and
father, my foster mother, all my relatives, neighbors, people who gave me rides
to basketball practice in high school while not realizing what they were doing
was contributing to part of the cycle.
Remarkable, here is this guy who is very sick, whose career as a
basketball player may be over, and all he can talk about is how we are all in a
cycle of giving and that when we stop giving we stop—essentially—being fully
human. Stewardship is life.
We are part of a cylce of giving--that is past and future
oriented. Stewardship is a thank you to those who came before us, who
gave of their time and energy and passion and who contributed financially as
well to make this place a reality. “If you stop giving, you stop the
cycle, the flow of helping,” Alonzo Mourning told Wilbon this summer.
Stewardship is an acknowledgment of those who will come after us
as well. Our giving will provide the foundation for all of those who will
come after us well after we are all gone.
The cycle includes the past and the future but also the
present. Stewardship, this year, is an acknowledgement of the hard work
that you all have undertaken in the last few years. In the canvas newsletter, I
put a quote from Eleanor Roosevelt: The Future Belongs to Those who Believe in
the Beauty of Their Dreams. We have talked of the founders, we have
talked of the next generations. Now it is up to you. Each one of you is the
bearer of beautiful dreams. For the last few years, you as a congregation
have been figuring out what the beauty of your dreams would make of the future.
You have worked on a covenant of right relations, which we will unveil next
week and celebrate. You have worked on a vision for the future of this
church. You have come to see that you enjoy being together. You
have made out of nothing a Wonderful Wednesday that is so beautiful. You
have learned important lessons about open communications. You have undertaken
an ambitious and important study of the grounds. You rallied around the
search committee and you have ushered in a new day, a new day that belongs to
you. You have rallied around each other.
This past week I held my first new U session for newcomers who
wish to explore our religious community. I asked them--14 showed up on
Wednesday night--to talk of their desire to come here. The big theme was that
we are not a one size fits all kind of church and that is to be celebrated.
Remember Sophia Lyon Fah’s words: Some beliefs are like sunshine? I think
that what is true, when I hear stories of people coming to this place, I think
that what is true is that we come here with a desire to bloom, to shine, to lay
down in the field of the spirit and be washed by the sunshine of encouragement
and support in a desire for a meaningful life. I think we come here out
of a sense of hope--a sense of hope that who we are might be acknowledged as
good enough and who we are becoming might be supported in a community of grace
and sunlight and peace.
Hope for our children--that they might learn a path of religious
tolerance and respect. Hope for our individual unique spiritual
journey. Hope for a strong community, a sense that our individuality is
best expressed religiously among other free thinkers. A hope for
meaning. A hope that we might bridge the gap of our incompleteness, on
our journey toward wholeness. That Rabbi in the story, the gift he gave
those old monks was a sense of hope.
Out of that hope--we come to recognize that here is a place that
we value. The Unitarian Church is a place that if it weren’t here we
would sorely miss. There is still much to do. We have made great gains,
but we have staffing needs. We have advertising needs. We have
needs related to our music program, our religious education program. We
have needs related to sharing our sense of mission, our sense of purpose.
Give this year out of a sense of gratitude for those who have come before. Give
this year out of a sense of gratitude for those who will come long after we are
gone. Give this year out a sense of accomplishment for all that you have
undertaken in the past few years. Give out of a sense of mission and
vision.
The canvas this year is nothing more than an extension of the
reasons why you come to this church. To celebrate a religious approach, a
faith, that attempts to build up the broken hearted, that attempts to stand
against unnecessary destruction, and stand with those who are on the side of
peace and justice. This past week, Connie Sauer Adams and Kathy Bowman led
a discussion by UU Theologian Rebecca Parker. Her words remind us of the
importance of our financial support for our religious witness.
We will close with her poem about our faith.
In the midst of a world marked by tragedy and beauty there must
be those who bear witness against unnecessary destruction, and who, with faith,
stand and lead in freedom, with grace and power.
There must be those who speak honestly and do no avoid seeing
what must be seen of sorrow and outrage, or tenderness and wonder.
There must be those whose grief troubles the water while their
voices sing and speak refreshed worlds.
There must be those whose exuberance rises with lovely energy
that articulates earth’s joys.
There must be those who are restless for respectful and loving
companionship among human beings, whose presence invites people to be
themselves without fear.
There must be those who gather with the congregation of
remembrance and compassion, draw water from old wells, and walk the simple path
of love for neighbor.
And, there must be communities of people who seek to do justice,
love kindness and walk humbly with God, who call on the strength of soul-force
to heal, transform and bless life.
There must be religious witness.
May that be our vision. As we move forward this year and
build our community of engagement, community of passion, community of
joy. May that be the guiding vision that drives our giving, that we might
ever grow in the community of faith we are called to be, in this town, by this
river, in this place.
This is our time. Let us claim it. The generosity of
our movement. The generosity of our spirit. The generosity of our
giving be blessed now and ever more.
Amen!!!
September 29, 2002, Unitarian Church, Davenport, Iowa.
Roger Butts