It is a Blessing

Sermon Offered at South Church Portsmouth, NH

Martin is a janitor who works for our congregation. He has cared for the building for many years. In the first few months of my employment with South Church, I can remember coming to work through the back door on Court street in the mornings and down the stairs to the social hall where I would often find Martin cleaning up from the 7 am AA meeting. I would greet him with some version of, “Good morning, Martin. How are you today?” To which, every time, he would respond, “I’m perfect. And so are you.”

I am a little uncomfortable admitting this, but I also remember that at the time, and for quite some time, I really didn’t like that response. In my mind as he replied, I would think, “That’s not what you’re supposed to say to this question.” I knew he didn’t mean to offend me. I could tell, even without knowing him very well, that he was speaking philosophically- that this was a practice of mindfulness; or gratitude. I just didn’t like it. It felt like he was pushing something on me that I didn’t want. It was fine if he wanted to reply that he was perfect… but the ‘and so are you’ bothered me. In my view he was breaking an unspoken rule I had somehow learned about spiritual practice. My question was appropriate for coworkers starting their day. His response was too personal. It felt uncomfortable in the same way that it might feel uncomfortable if someone said ‘I will pray for you,’ when you do not have a practice of prayer in your own life, and the offer leaves you feeling weird.

Sometimes I’d laugh and reply with some kind of counter response—something like, “oh, I don’t know about that!” Or, “Hmm. I don’t feel perfect.” As I headed off to my office. But in a relatively short period of time, I simply stopped asking Martin how he was. I would say, “good morning, Martin,” and he would return a ‘good morning, Kirsten” back to me, and we would go on our way.

I liked Martin from the start. He is pleasant and easy going. I just didn’t like that one exchange, and so I avoided it. IF he noticed my shift in greeting, he never mentioned it.

Time passed.

It’s a funny thing, when you work with people for a long time. Martin and I had very different work schedules, but slowly, I began to learn things about him.

He was a boat maker for many years. He lives near the water, and takes a dip nearly every day. In the winter, he often cuts out a hole in the ice for this activity. Martin is deeply spiritual. He spends a lot of time thinking. He has a fascinating shorthand that he uses to record his thoughts about life on scraps of paper that he carries in his pocket. When I am able to slow down and strike up a conversation, he is very generous about sharing his time and his ideas. He seems like he has gotten to a place in his spiritual practice where it has become a formidable buoy for his life, and informs his choices and his priorities. Even when he is in the midst of really hard stuff, he seems to take it all in stride, aware that there is always something to learn from what is unfolding in a moment. Honoring the emotions that come, recognizing what is his to hold, and what he can let go, knowing that things will change; evolve.

Martin, for years, has planned his working hours in this building around the always changing happenings of our busy community. To do this, he pays close attention to the church calendar. Still, many times, Martin has come in on a Friday night or a Sunday afternoon, expecting to be able to mop the social hall, or vacuum in the sanctuary only to find me with some collection of people in the midst of a program that I forgot to put on the calendar. Sleep overs and parent groups have interrupted his work. Glitter has complicated his tasks. Paint has splattered on the carpet. Sometimes we cook in the classrooms…

Every time (Every time!), when I come to Martin with my hands clasped, to apologize for disrupting his routine, he always has the same response. “It’s a blessing,” he says, “everything is as it is meant to be.”

His gratitude has not stopped me from apologizing for missteps and messes, but over the years I have learned to trust his response. Martin truly sees it all as a gift.

I have come to appreciate him deeply and I have learned things from him, including his gentle, but consistent reminders that there are deep rewards which come from having a spiritual practice, and, when you deepen into a truly meaningful practice, it is all but impossible to keep that part of yourself contained to specific times and places.

I grew up in a Unitarian Universalist congregation, but it has only been the last few years that I have begun to understand that what Unitarian Universalism has the potential to be, and how UUism is actually practiced in our churches- those are two different things. I don’t mean that as a criticism. If anything, it’s an invitation to breathe.

I am perfect, and so are you.

I think when I was growing up, something about the way we talked about religion gave me the impression that UU’s should keep our personal beliefs out of the way most of the time, so that we don’t make one another uncomfortable. The idea of avoiding discomfort doesn’t seem like a bad goal, but I have discovered it can have the effect of separating people from one another. Now, when I reflect upon this puzzle, I realize that asking people to minimize parts of themselves for the benefit of others—that’s problematic. I do not want to ask people to keep parts of themselves hidden, I want a faith that celebrates human difference, and marvels at all that we share.

I want our young people to learn about spiritual practices and for us to encourage them to develop their own. That is far less likely to happen if we are not sharing our own faith journeys with one another.

December is a busy month. UU congregations spend this month contemplating lots of different source traditions; digging into Christian teachings, Jewish practices, Black church traditions, and Pagan rituals. We do this because of our shared commitment to the many religious identities represented among us, because intentionally multi-faith experiences break down walls in a world that is too often building them up, and because we have a culture of curiosity in this church, a desire to learn about new things, to find new inspiration. It is no surprise that this month asks a lot of us, and we have to be careful or we risk missing something important. Curiosity is not a bad thing, we can enjoy being exposed to faith experiences that are unfamiliar to us or are quite a stretch from our own world view, but when that occurs, it is easy to separate ourselves from what we are observing. Conversely, if a particular offering speaks to our personal beliefs, we run the risk of feeling like this part is specifically for me, which can also isolate some of us from everyone else.

So what is the work, then, for us as a collective, in order to be in religious community with one another rather than engaging in spiritual practices… individually… next to other people… while those people may or may not be doing the same?

“We are here to awaken from the illusion of our separateness,” says Thich Nhat Hanh.

Religion- writ large- has a complicated history. It has not always been practiced with good intentions, it has been used to hoard power, to manipulate followers, to separate people from one another. Like everything else humans do, it can be a tool to grow love or a tool to grow hate. Unitarian Universalism is not exempt from either of those outcomes. There is nothing inherently ‘special’ about us in this way. However, this idea of covenantal community, a faith that welcomes people with a wide range of perspectives into religious practice, and puts the focus on how we commit to be in community with one another, that idea is compelling. And. If we hope for this faith to be transformative and not shallow or exclusive, it requires real intention.

I am so glad that Martin has a practice in his life that is a buoy for him. What is required of me so that I can receive his understanding when he offers it to me, even if my own perspective draws from a different pool?

I am so grateful to be in community with people who have a practice different than my own. What is required of each of us so that we are actively sharing as we grow; So we are connected through our differences, not in spite of them?

Every Sunday, we pledge to nurture spiritual growth through worship, learning, and community. How are we checking on ourselves to make sure spiritual growth is living through all of our spaces?
How do we talk about the challenges that come with that intention?
What does that look like for you?
Early on, my role in this congregation compelled me to start actively examining my own faith and trying to figure out my own practice. I have been blessed to have meaningful relationships with many deeply faithful people, where I can explore these questions. Among those people are athiests, agnostics, Moslems, Christians, Buddhists, Pagans, Quakers.. What I have observed in all of them, is that they all practice their faith, consistently. (Even if they don’t use the word ‘Faith”, themselves.)

We know this. We know practice is a key to healthy living, to improving in an instrument or a sport. This is true about church, too.

Poet Mary Oliver in her poem, Sometimes, wrote:

Instructions for living a life: Pay Attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.

When I read that, knowing her well (at least as well as you can know someone by reading what they write), I immediately heard in those words a reflection of her spiritual practice.

Spiritual practice becomes religious, I believe, when it is shared with others, when it is changed by others. As UU’s we are essential to one another. Covenant depends on more than one person.

What I have discovered about my own practice, is exemplified in my story about Martin. As I grew into this work, I found it increasingly impossible to keep my own faith in a neat box. The more it reveals itself to me, the more it spills out of me in all kinds of ways. I think people sometimes avoid certain topics around me because they fear I may say something that will make them uncomfortable. How’s that for ironic?

It’s hard to answer a question the way you are expected to answer it, when the question has begun to mean something very different for you.

God is not a part of my faith, but the way God lives in the hearts of people with whom I am committed, allows me to make space for God in my heart somehow. It feels a little like a guest at my table, and I am happy to welcome Them when They show up.
We each have so much to learn, and collectively, we have so much to do if we want to create the Unitarian Universalism that might someday exist.

What do you believe about how the world works?
What has changed for you over time?
What do you do, every day, to push yourself to grow?
Who are your teachers? Who do you teach?
What do you do with suffering?
With grief?
With hate?
With fear?

Relationship is essential to finding the answers to most of the biggest challenges we face- as individuals, as part of a family, a church, a community, a country, a planet. Everything we do not know about other people and other living things is a liability for our collective liberation. I believe that inspiration, hope, energy, awe, all of the things we need to nourish our souls, can be found in the work we endeavor to do with one another.

Teachers are everywhere, and you can spot them when the things that are most essential to who they are, seep out and are offered to you. When you begin to learn how to welcome those moments, you start to discover them everywhere. They grow, much like the light that will begin to grow next week, as we pass the solstice and move toward spring.

What begins here in this small community, inevitably spreads beyond our walls.

Pay Attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.
It is a blessing.