Sermon given at South Church Unitarian Universalist Congregation, in Portsmouth, NH
In Berkeley, Ca in 1955 Allen Ginsberg wrote the poem
Footnote to HowlThe idea of holy as something set apart or distinct from the rest of the world doesn’t sit with me. I’m sharing Ginsberg’s vision of salvation, because he is describing an earthly salvation. The holiness is here, mixed up with everything else- it is dispersed and surprising and inherent. The holiness of this world is like a source of food- I need it to feel whole. I depend on the holy, because it carries me, it propels me. Catching sight of it is fortifying. It is in sunbeams and laughter and tears, it is in predictability and routine and also in surprises. It is in the darkest people and things. It is ever present, and it is so easy to miss.
(I left out a few parts to keep things child friendly):
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy! The nose is holy! The tongueand cockand handand assholeholy!
Everything is holy! everybody’s holy! everywhere is holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman’s an angel!
The bum’s as holy as the seraphim! the madman is holy as you my soul are holy!
The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is holy the hearers are holy the ecstasy is holy!
Holy Peter holy Allen holy Solomon holy Lucien holy Kerouac holy Huncke holy Burroughs holy Cassady holy the unknown buggered and suffering beggars holy the hideous human angels!
Holy my mother in the insane asylum!Holy the cocks of the grandfathers of Kansas!Holy the groaning saxophone! Holy the bop apocalypse! Holy the jazzbands marijuana hipsters peace peyote pipes & drums!
Holy the solitudes of skyscrapers and pavements! Holy the cafeterias filled with the millions! Holy the mysterious rivers of tears under the streets!
Holy the lone juggernaut! Holy the vast lamb of the middleclass! Holy the crazy shepherds of rebellion! Who digs Los Angeles IS Los Angeles!
Holy New York Holy San Francisco Holy Peoria & Seattle Holy Paris Holy Tangiers Holy Moscow Holy Istanbul!
Holy time in eternity holy eternity in time holy the clocks in space holy the fourth dimension holy the fifth International holy the Angel in Moloch!
Holy the sea holy the desert holy the railroad holy the locomotive holy the visions holy the hallucinations holy the miracles holy the eyeball holy the abyss!
Holy forgiveness! mercy! charity! faith! Holy! Ours! bodies! suffering! magnanimity!
Holy the supernatural extra brilliant intelligent kindness of the soul!
Maybe that resonates for you, too. Maybe it doesn’t. There is something holy in that as well.
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I would like to invite you this morning to think about three words, actually, what they mean to you and how they live here with us.
First (again), Holy, that which is sacred or divine. In this sanctuary you are expressly invited to reflect on the holy- the mystery of your existence, the infinite. You sometimes might lose your breath here in this room, perhaps on occasion you cry cleansing tears. Here, you are often reminded of what really matters and, sometimes maybe, you open your eyes and find something new that is undeniably essential to your understanding of the world, to the way forward.
The second word, Wholly, as in entirely, or fully. What are all the pieces that make you whole? Like the poetry assignment that Chris tasked us with two weeks ago- what are you from? And what are you for? In this place you are invited to bring your whole self and share your whole self, and I am also invited to bring my whole self and share my whole self. And we are conscious of the gifts that come from each of our individual identities swirling in relationship with one another, and we are always looking to welcome in more, to learn from the new perspectives of newcomers who share new identities and experiences with our ever-changing whole.
The third word, Holey, in that we are filled with holes. We are invited here to reflect on the holy, we are invited, each to bring our whole selves, but we fail as much as we succeed in welcoming one another completely, in opening our eyes to that which will carry us forward. In this community you are imperfect, and I am imperfect. We are practicing and failing on the regular. But every hole, every misstep, offers us opportunity for growth. We are always circling back to check that we are whole, to check that we have made space for the holy. We are committed to being humble and curious. We admire flaws and learn from them.
---
How many of you have ever seen a murmuration of starlings?
To witness one as it bends through the sky is incredible. It is as if the birds are all following some wildly choreographed dance— even in a video it is astonishing.
Adrienne Marie Brown is a writer who published a book last year titled Emergent Strategy. Early on, she quotes Sierra Picket, who writes:
“[A] Starlings’ murmuration consists of a flock moving in synch with one another, engaging in clear, consistent communication and exhibiting collective leadership and deep, deep trust. Every individual bird focuses attention on their seven closest neighbors and thus manage a larger flock cohesiveness and synchronicity (at times upwards of over a million birds).”When I read this description I immediately pictured all of us—my highest aspirational version of us. A flock moving in synch with one another, engaging in clear, consistent communication, exhibiting collective leadership and Trust; Deep, deep trust as we practice being Unitarian Universalists together.
Yes, I thought, that! That is what I want us to be. How can we do it better than we already are?
And then I thought-- the part about every individual bird focusing their attention on their seven closest neighbors-- How did she know the birds were each tracking seven neighbors?
Why seven?
According to a study published by Princeton University in 2013[1], there was a team of Italian physicists spent years filming Starlings flocking above a train station in Rome. Their research concluded that the birds do, in fact, each track seven neighbors in flight. Sometime later a team at Princeton used the data from the Italian team, and manipulated it to see what would happen if each starling tracked fewer than 7 neighboring birds, or tracked more than 7. The Princeton group were looking to determine how well the birds can coordinate at a minimal cost to each individual.
"Based on this cost-benefit model, the analysis showed that for a flock to be efficient, the optimal number of neighbors that a bird should pay attention to is seven, exactly the same as what the Italian researchers showed actually occurs in nature."So, basically, Starlings have figured out that paying attention to their 7 closest neighbors is the most efficient way to exist. It takes the least amount of effort.
“What is easy is sustainable”, says Adrienne Brown, “Birds coast when they can.”
So, maybe we can learn from the starlings. How do we each bring our whole self and how do we share who we are with one another? When do we lead others into a turn, and when do we follow and coast?
Who is lonely and needing company, or tired and needing encouragement? Who has music to share, or just arrived with their arms filled with flowers they’ve grown. Who has been leading for too long, or coasting for too long? Who is looking for help and feels like no one hears them?
Who arrived this morning intent on volunteering with children in our community knowing that to be one of the most impactful actions you can take in this world? (By the way, it only requires about an hour or two each month!)
What I’m asking, is how conscious are you about the things you are carrying into this community? How intentionally are you sharing them? Who are your seven closest neighbors? What are they carrying and what are they sharing? Do we flock in separate streams or do we arch and bend toward our many parts, looking for new neighbors to open our eyes in a new ways?
Who are we, wholly?
What about the holy? What is it for you, and how do you make space for it? When was the last time you found yourself breathless, transformed, lifted up? Certainly, there are times when those kinds of experiences are personal, but when was the last time you talked with someone about your spiritual life?
What can you teach me about your faith, and what can I share with you?
And then there are the holes.
There are a ton of clichés about learning from our mistakes. As parents we tell our kids all the time that “mistakes happen”, “they are a part of life, it doesn’t matter if you make a mistake it matters what you do about it”. But there are also just as many more subtle messages in our world telling us to avoid our mistakes, to downplay them, cover them up, leave them behind. My dad, who I love with all my heart, has lived his whole life, 75 years, believing that apologizing is a sign of weakness. He and I had a long talk about it a couple years ago, and his conclusion in our conversation was that his near inability to apologize is not something he can change about himself- it’s been too many years, he said- he learned early in his life that if you admit to a mistake, you make yourself more vulnerable. I don’t think he’s alone in that experience- quite the contrary, I think it is painfully common for people to believe that admitting to a mistake is a dangerous act. If you don’t believe me, watch how people respond when a mistake they’ve made is exposed- particularly people in powerful positions. We are not good at taking accountability.
But what’s strange, is that more times than I can count, I have seen mistakes which are acknowledged and examined become the impetus for lasting positive change. In fact, I can think of very few examples of progress that came devoid of conflict and mistakes. I grew up being taught not to admit to mistakes, but every time in my life when I have faced my own missteps and taken the time to be accountable to them and to move to a place of resolve about them I have become more whole, more forgiving of myself, more aware of the gift of those very missteps I fear making. I have changed through this understanding.
We are human beings, and human beings are complicated, messy creatures. Sometimes, with the best of intentions we cause deep harm. Sometimes, we don’t have the best intentions. We are capable of greatness, and we are equally capable of less than greatness. So what would it look like if, instead of trying to pretend that isn’t true- instead of looking for ways to separate ourselves from the mistakes in the world we acknowledged that life is messy and complicated and we committed to examining the moments where that not-so-perfect stuff showed up in our own lives and in our own community.
Engaging in clear, consistent communication, exhibiting collective leadership and deep, deep trust. We can learn something from the Starlings.
We are starting a new year together this fall. We are moving back into a new space for learning and sharing and growing together. We are living in a world that is facing tremendous challenges, and we are each living lives replete with obligations, struggles, joyful distractions, and perplexing endeavors.
What is easy is sustainable.
And as
I watched, one bird,
prompted by accident or will to lead,
ceased resting; and, lifting in a casual billow,
the flock ascended as a lady’s scarf,
transparent, of gray, might be twitched
by one corner, drawn upward and then,
decided against, negligently tossed toward a chair:
the southward cloud withdrew into the air.
Long had it been since my heart
had been lifted as it was by the lifting of that great
scarf.
Committing to one another makes our journey easier—we each just have to track our seven closest neighbors, we each have to lead sometimes, and remember to coast when we need the rest.
Bring your Whole self
Make space for the holy
Examine the holes.
And let us soar, together.
Bring your Whole self
Make space for the holy
Examine the holes.
And let us soar, together.
Benediction: The Great Scarf of Birds, by John Updike
[excerpt]
…
The rise of the fairway above us was tinted,
so evenly tinted I might not have noticed
but that at the rim of the delicate shadow
the starlings were thicker and outlined the flock
as an inkstain in drying pronounces its edges.
The gradual rise of green was vastly covered;
I had thought nothing in nature could be so broad
but grass.
[excerpt]
…
The rise of the fairway above us was tinted,
so evenly tinted I might not have noticed
but that at the rim of the delicate shadow
the starlings were thicker and outlined the flock
as an inkstain in drying pronounces its edges.
The gradual rise of green was vastly covered;
I had thought nothing in nature could be so broad
but grass.
And as
I watched, one bird,
prompted by accident or will to lead,
ceased resting; and, lifting in a casual billow,
the flock ascended as a lady’s scarf,
transparent, of gray, might be twitched
by one corner, drawn upward and then,
decided against, negligently tossed toward a chair:
the southward cloud withdrew into the air.
Long had it been since my heart
had been lifted as it was by the lifting of that great
scarf.
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