The Human Story

Sermon from November 20, 2016

South Church UU

In her book Kitchen Table Wisdom, Rachel Naomi Remen writes:
Hidden in all stories is the One story. The more we listen, the clearer that [universal] Story becomes. Our true identity, who we are, why we are here, what sustains us, is in this story. The stories at every kitchen table are about the same things, stories of owning, having and losing, stories of sex, of power, of pain, of wounding, of courage, hope and healing, of loneliness and the end of loneliness. Stories about God. In telling them, we are telling each other the human story.

This month’s worship theme has asked us to reflect on the ways in which we are a community of Story. The Thanksgiving holiday is filled with reference to stories of the beginning of our country. Effective stories, told and retold to help solidify American identity. In his 1789 Thanksgiving Proclamation, President George Washington called for

"A day of public thanksgiving and prayer to be observed by [the people of the United States] acknowledging with grateful hearts the many signal favors of Almighty God, especially by affording them an opportunity peaceably to establish a form of government for their safety and happiness."

At the time of this proclamation our new nation had already decimated the native populations of this land. When our then president speaks of ‘Our’ safety and happiness, he does so with a very focused lens as to who ‘we’ are. In 1789 citizens of our country are fluent with the use of selective humanity. George Washington was not offering safety and happiness to the slaves in the new world. He was not offering it to native people, or to women, for that matter. We have made progress since 1789 in terms of our understanding of ‘who’ is included when our government refers to it’s people, but we still have a long way to go. I am not alone in feeling like we are losing ground right now. We still live in country that employs selective humanity.

Story is powerful. I believe it holds answers to some of the complex issues we are facing as a nation and a world. Conversely, we do not have to look far to find countless ways in which story has been used as a weapon. Stories can be intimate, reflecting experiences that live at the core of our formation. We hold on to stories in our lives. We connect with each other through stories. Sometimes stories offer us power and sometimes we wield power by silencing stories.

Over the course of this past year I found myself, several times, in conversations about sexism, misogyny, and the commonality of sexual assault of women and girls in our country. Many of these conversations grew out of the palpable discomfort that was felt by myself, and others, in reaction to the discourse of the election year. The rhetoric of this campaign season was a triggering example of the ways in which women in our country are continually dismissed, devalued, and assaulted. Each time I found myself in conversations that circled back to this topic, women would inevitably begin sharing details about their our own stories of assault, because the words being slung across debate stages, ringing out from T.V news, and in twitter posts brought these traumas boiling to the surface of our minds.

The largest group-sharing I experienced occurred at a collegial training with no less than 150 women in the room. In every one of these moments, every woman had a personal story of physical sexual assault, and many had more than one, often beginning during childhood.

In a room of more than 150 women, when the question was raised asking who in the room has experienced sexual assault in their life, EVERY WOMAN RAISED HER HAND.

This prevalence surprised me some, but watching the men who were present for some of these moments was illuminating. They were stunned. Stunned in a way that women are not. Often, the men who were present for these emotional conversations, left with an understanding of the experience of being female that they did not have before. The shocking tone of this election offered them a glimpse of stories women tend to share only with one another because we lean on one another to get past these traumas, teach one another ways to try to keep ourselves safer- We all know we are not safe.

Many men, however, do not know this experience, and we do not as a culture, often talk openly about it, it does not get much attention in a still-male dominated system. These stories have been silenced for a long time. And clearly, it was not damning enough to have a person (running for the highest office in the land) be disqualified when he confessed to a pattern of engaging in sexual assault of women regularly. No matter that this is illegal, morally reprehensible, and horrifying.

And I need to be clear, here, because in this election cycle, in this moment in our history, and every moment up until this point, the struggle for women’s safety and women’s equality is well down the list if one were to rank the realities of what it’s like to be marginalized in America. Being female makes you a marginalized person, and I can speak from my heart about it. However, being a black woman is exponentially harder. Being transgender, arguably harder still. If you are black and trans, I can’t even fathom the regularity of hate you experience. Being poor in our country makes you marginalized. Native populations, lesbian, bisexual, gay, queer, disabled, Muslim, Jewish, immigrant… the list goes on and on. The melting pot of America, has always been simultaneously held up as a point of pride, and used by people seeking to maintain power as a place to direct our anger, fear, and blame. In our presidential election it was used with stunning finesse, all the while hidden behind a crass demeanor that made many of us, myself included, blind to its effectiveness. This strategy is older than our country:

1. Define the ‘other’(always pick an already marginalized population)

2. Explain over and over again, how separating ourselves- from the other- will offer us safety and happiness.

The thing is, this strategy never works. It is a false and dangerous story. There is no long term, lasting happiness that comes from valuing one human being over another, and safety… is not real. None of us are safe. We can only aim for safer.

And

Safer comes from understanding one another, from breaking down the construct of ‘other’. This is our work. This is what is meant when we say: “we celebrate the worth and dignity of ALL people”.

On Tuesday and Wednesday of this past week, I started my work day at the Kittery community center co-facilitating a 7th grade parent discussion about adolescent sexuality. A one-hour talk to offer some information to 7th grade parents from Portsmouth middle school about how to be the primary sexuality educator in their child’s life (because, as parents, we are just that, whether we know it or not). I was asked to volunteer my time with this program because South Church offers comprehensive sexuality education, the Our Whole Lives program (OWL for short) multiple times through adolescence, as a supplement to the work our parents do while trying to raise healthy adults. I do not say this lightly: I believe that the OWL program is the single most effective justice work that we do at South Church. It is a life-changing program, and it is desperately needed in this world. Students who participate in the OWL program become sources of accurate information for their peer network. Marginalized youth have shared that OWL is a life saving experience, because it validates and values their truth. Owl is steadily arming our youth with the power of knowledge, self advocacy, and the skill of deep acceptance of one another as sexual beings. This program creates advocates for change.

We are doing this. Here.

When I travelled to West Virginia last June with our High School youth group, we arrived in a community very different from our own. We arrived with a resolve to learn, and to listen. We talked before hand about how our trip was less about the work projects that would fill our days, and more about the people we would meet, and the understanding we would gain from spending some time in this community, seeing it’s challenges in real time, and hearing stories. The stories filled almost every moment. They are woven into the culture of West Virginia in a way that sucks you in immediately. I got the sense that people share stories more in communities that are suffering, because they need one another. Without a doubt the many stories we heard during our trip helped us to build a deeper connection with our hosts.

When we returned from West Virginia, each of our youth wrote reflections and a handful of them shared some of their reflections in a worship service. One of them was Annika Strand, who said something that struck me immediately, and many of you have come back to her words in the past few weeks. She said: being in West Virginia was the first time that she could understand why someone in our country might vote for Donald Trump. I credit this understanding to the stories; to narrative’s ability to disarm us, and allow us to put ourselves into the shoes of ‘the other’. Every service learning trip, every justice project, brings us closer to others. We are doing this. Here.

There are a few members of our congregation who have been actively volunteering their time in the Strafford county prison, near Dover. They have had a long-term relationship with the prison, and have brought to our congregation the beginning of an opportunity to partner with this part of our community, through a book drive this month. It is a beginning that I hope will grow into a deeper relationship between our congregation and these families who are so often dismissed in our country as ‘others’. Kimberly Cloutier-Green, and Maggie Cataldi are both wisely protective of these marginalized people, even from us. Stressing the importance to go slow and be intentional in how we offer help, in how we begin to learn and connect as a congregation so we do not do harm. They know, deeply that this work is not short term. It does not help to show up once and check it off our list.

We are learning this. Here.

When the shooting in Orlando happened this past year, you were probably sitting in these pews. Our congregation has built a network with other like-minded faith communities and our larger community, and this building often hosts our shared grief when devastating events play out in the world.

We will keep holding that space, and forging that network. Here

I know that I am not the only one who felt gratitude for this South Church community as the outcome of the election unfolded. This is a ‘thing’ about having a church in your life. It is a community that will hold us when our hearts are breaking.

But I have to say this. There is difference between claiming membership to this congregation, and being a member. Change requires us to be verbs, not nouns; to be active; To be awake; To be advocates; To be allies; To sign up. It is sloppy work, where we stumble on our own feet. It requires us to be humble, introspective, and vulnerable. It requires the consistent gift of our time, and even when we do all of that, this is a slow climb, replete with moments, like this one, when we find ourselves sliding backwards. Together, we are a force, and we are one of many.

We are doing this. Here.

This week, if you are counting the moments till you can exhale and break bread with the people you love most, challenge yourself, to look for the ways in which stories deepen that love, and to take time to reflect on the stories of others. Consider checking in on friends who may be feeling deep fear right now. Offer them welcome if you are able. Offer them love, it makes more of a difference than you can possibly know.

If you have yet to figure out where to go this Thanksgiving because you do not feel safe, this is not a time when you need to roll up your sleeves and argue ideology. Be kind and gentle with yourself. Reach out if you need help, or company. Trust your feelings, they are real.

And if you are anxious about how to navigate through time with people that you love, but from whom you feel deeply disconnected and hurt. Maybe the answer is stories.

Share your stories. Hear their stories. Speak from your heart and listen from your heart. Start where we are, and slowly climb.