Where Charity Begins

"Did universal charity prevail, earth would be a heaven, and hell a fable."
-- Charles Caleb Colton

Opening Words: 

Let us gather for worship this morning, mindful of the words of the Taoist sage Lao Tzu, who said, 

 “If there is to be peace in the world,

There must be peace in the nations.

If there is to be peace in the nations,

There must be peace in the cities.

If there is to be peace in the cities,

There must be peace between neighbors.

If there is to be peace between neighbors,

There must be peace in the home.

If there is to be peace in the home,

There must be peace in the heart.”

Mindful of such peace, let us worship

Reading: a conversation between a young clergyman and Francis de Sales, who was the Bishop of Geneva in the early 1600s, renowned for his spiritual insights, and later sainted by the Catholic Church (The Perennial Philosophy by Aldous Huxley, p. 81) 

I once asked the Bishop of Geneva what one must do to attain perfection. “You must love God with all your heart,” he answered, “and your neighbor as yourself.”

“I did not ask wherein perfection lies,” I rejoined, “but how to attain it.” “Charity,” he said again, “that is both the means and the end, the only way by which we can reach that perfection which is, after all, but Charity itself… Just as the soul is the life of the body, so charity is the life of the soul.”

“I know all that,” I said. “But I want to know how one is to love God with all one’s heart and one’s neighbor as oneself.”

… At last… the Bishop said, “There are many besides you who want me to tell them of methods and systems and secret ways of becoming perfect, and I can only tell them that the sole secret is a hearty love of God, and the only way of attaining that is by loving. You learn to speak by speaking, to study by studying, to run by running, to work by working; and just so you learn to love God and [neighbor] by loving. All those who think to learn in any other way deceive themselves. … Those who have made the most progress will continually press on, never believing themselves to have reached their end; for charity should go on increasing until we draw our last breath.”

Reading:  by the neuroscientist Donald Pfaff  from The Altruistic Brain: How We Are Naturally Good (p. 4) 

For too long, it has been common wisdom that human nature is essentially selfish. We are taught that our instincts are somehow designed by nature to promote ourselves, and that these “animal” selves must be tamed to fit “civilization.” …This view [roughly] reflects Christian doctrine, with … a type of unforgiving, “total depravity” as the result of Original Sin…

Indeed, neurobiologists like me have spent lifetimes studying cells in a primitive part of the brain called the hypothalamus… demonstrating how those hypothalamic cells regulate eating, drinking, and even fighting… all behaviors that are essentially “selfish.” 

…The average person no doubt would say that there is … a perpetual struggle between good and evil, that is, a 50-50-ness somehow wired into the nature of things. Thus for every 9/11 – full of fanaticism, brutality, and hate – there are stories of first responders, willing to give up their lives to pull strangers from the rubble…. The question is: where do we find the raw materials that make up a more benign version of human nature?

It turns out the raw materials are in our brains. ... The innate biology of the human brain compels us to be kind. That is, we are wired for goodwill.

Reading: one of Aesop’s fables, entitled “The Wolf And The Goat” (americanliterature.com)

A hungry Wolf spied a Goat browsing at the top of a steep cliff where he could not possibly get at her.

"That is a very dangerous place for you," he called out, pretending to be very anxious about the Goat's safety. "What if you should fall! Please listen to me and come down! Here you can get all you want of the finest, tenderest grass in the country."

The Goat looked over the edge of the cliff.

"How very, very anxious you are about me," she said, "and how generous you are with your grass! But I know you! It's your own appetite you are thinking of, not mine!"

An invitation prompted by selfishness is not to be accepted. 

Where Charity Begins

A Sermon Delivered on February 22, 2015

By

The Reverend Axel H Gehrmann

Charity begins at home, the saying goes. You’ve heard it before, haven’t you? It’s a familiar figure of speech. But what does it mean?

Does it mean that, if we want to engage in charitable activities, we should begin by taking care of those closest to us? If we want to be generous and kind, we should attend to family and friends, our next of kin with whom we share a home.

Or does it mean that whatever spirit of charity we have learned to cultivate in the course of our lives, odds are we learned the basics of kindness from our family, from mother and father, aunts and uncles, sisters and brothers. All those who helped raise us, and taught us what it means to be a good person. 

* * *

When I think of charity, what comes to mind is the work done by social service agencies to help the poor, the homeless, or the hungry. Locally, I think of the Salvation Army and Goodwill, and shelters for women and men. I think of the work of the refugee center right here in the church, and Francis Nelson Health Center. This is the way the word charity is used most often today.

But long ago charity was simply another word for love, the love that is expressed in selfless acts of service.

So, for instance, the familiar passage from the Christian scriptures in Corinthians, when translated for King James in the early 1600s, said: “Though I speak with the tongues of men and angles, and have not charity, I am… as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge…. and have not charity, I am nothing… Charity [suffers] long, and is kind…. Charity never [fails]. … And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of theses is charity.”

* * *

I was thinking about charity and selfless acts of love yesterday morning, as I put on my boots, my winter coat, my warm gloves, and headed out into the icy cold to shovel the thick blanket of new-fallen snow from the sidewalk. I was thinking about selfless acts of love, as I assured Elaine, my beloved wife, who was sitting on the sofa, tucked snugly under a warm blank, working on her Sunday sermon, and who offered to shovel, “No, no, I’m happy to do it.”

As I was shoveling snow, I realized it was deeper than I had thought, and clearing a path was more of a chore than I had anticipated. And every time I took a break to catch my breath, and noticed a twinge in my lower back, and an ache in my shoulder, I was reminded not only that I am out of shape, but that my body is getting older. I thought wistfully of the good old days, when our kids were still at home, and when snow shoveling was one of the household duties assigned to the younger generation. 

As a parent my selflessness took a different shape. So, for instance, concerned for the health and interests of my son, who liked to lift weights on a bench press in the basement, on winter days when there was snow that needed shoveling, I might strike up a casual conversation, “Noah, wouldn’t you like an opportunity to get some exercise?” That’s the kind of father I am – always looking out for the best interests of my children.

Sort of like the hungry wolf, who was concerned for the safety of the goat standing on a high mountain ledge, peacefully enjoying the grass there. “Goat, wouldn’t you like an opportunity to snack on the much lusher green grass down here?”

Most of Aesop’s fables are about animals: cunning foxes, proud lions, hard-working horses, and greedy dogs. But the moral of every story tells us something about human nature. For instance, that we should be wary of selfishness disguised as kindness.

* * *

The path to perfection involves practicing a selfless love – this is the greatest commandment of the Christian scriptures, which in turn is based on the Jewish teaching found in the books of Leviticus and Deuteronomy, that tell us: “You should love God with all your heart, and all your soul, and all your strength, and your neighbor as yourself.”

And this has always been easier said than done. We may want to selflessly serve others, but experience shows that we often do just the opposite. 

The Jewish prophet Isaiah had a vivid sense of the human struggle between good and evil, between justice and injustice. Isaiah saw himself as a messenger of God, charged to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to free the captives, and to comfort all who mourn. Isaiah said our task is to share our bread with the hungry, to bring the homeless poor into our houses, and to satisfy the needs of the afflicted. Then we will create a world of peace and justice. A world, in which the wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid. And yet, again and again, the faithful failed to do as God had instructed.

We want to be good, and yet there is something that leads us to do evil. In Christian theology, early church fathers understood our struggles with good and evil as part and parcel of the whole scheme of salvation. Think about it: if Adam had not fallen, if humanity were not marked by original sin, Christ would not have come to the world to save us and usher in the kingdom of God. Somehow our sinfulness is a necessary aspect of our salvation. 

Are we essentially sinful and selfish, driven by our basest animal instincts? What do you think? Or are we basically good, driven by a desire to be caring and kind, and practice selfless love?

These questions have long confounded scientists and scholars. And over the years we have found different answers. 

Historians say a significant philosophical shift took place during the European Renaissance. At that point, rather than condemning our baser human impulses of greed and pride as wicked, our selfish desires were reinterpreted as potent forces that could be used to govern a successful society.

So, for instance, in the early 1500s Machiavelli offered the following advice. He said a wise prince treats people as they are, not as they should be. A wise ruler shrewdly exploits the fickleness, hypocrisy and greed of his subjects to attain his own ends. The goal of politics, Machiavelli said, is not virtue, but success. 

In the 1700s Adam Smith built on this idea, when he framed the rules that would govern modern economics. Human beings are driven by a natural desire for self-improvement, he said. And our private self-interest - our selfishness and greed - through free competition and the wonders of the free market, will promote public well-being and serve a greater good, as if guided by an “invisible hand.”

To this day these ideas are found in political platforms and economic theories that guide the workings of Wall Street, the limits of welfare, and a foreign policy always ready to go to war whenever our own national interests at stake.  

* * *

Are we essentially selfish? Does social justice and social order depend on our ability to shrewdly manipulate and re-direct our basest animal instincts?

Most people would say we are neither essentially selfish nor selfless, neither completely evil nor good, but somewhere in the middle. And for every horrific 9/11 – full of fanaticism, brutality, and hate – we find comfort in stories of first responders, willing to give up their lives to pull strangers from the rubble.

But Donald Pfaff disagrees. He says, our interests are not evenly divided between virtue and vice. Latest scientific research shows clearly that in the deepest regions of our being we are designed to be good. The innate biology of our brain compels us to be kind.

He cites a slew of studies that show we are hardwired for empathy and compassion, that we are happiest when we help others, and that we find deep joy in being generous.

It makes perfect sense that our brains have evolved toward empathy and altruism. Evolutionary theories say that since the earliest days of humanity, our survival depended on our ability to create strong social bonds. As one author writes, early humans were “a small, slow, weak species on a planet filled with large, fast, and strong predators.” (Barbara Ehrenreich, Blood Rites) We had to band together to defend ourselves. Our social instincts were key to our survival and success, and to this day are hard-wired in the deepest and most ancient regions of our brain. 

The fact that our society is nevertheless beset by violence and injustice is not evidence that we are essentially evil, but rather that we struggle with competing altruist impulses.

Examining the anti-social dynamics of gangs and warfare, Donald Pfaff explains, part of what makes gangs attractive for young men, is that this close-knit group of peers provides support and affirmation. Reciprocal altruism sustains gangs. The motto is: “You take care of me, and I’ll watch your back.”

He writes, 

“The fact that types of gang warfare can persist for centuries, and that as a phenomenon such hostility reveals an ancient lineage, demonstrates the perverse internal dynamics of gangs, where each member “sticks up” for the other on account of Altruistic Brain imperatives. Think, for example, of the thuggish retaliation among Shiite and Sunni gangs, which has lasted for centuries since each sect split off from the other. Or how about the Montagues and the Capulets in Shakespeare’s Romeo and Julia? The families were already sworn enemies as the play opens with a street brawl between them.” (p. 235)

* * *

It is a tragic fact, that the depth of care and concern we feel for those who are a part of our social circle, or the loyalty and solidarity we feel toward fellow citizens of our nation, are directly related to the hostility we direct toward those outside our community of concern. 

The first and perhaps most profound social bonds we build are among members of our families: mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers – the people who raised us, fed and clothed us, who loved and cared for us, and taught us the meaning of charity.

The psychologist Steven Pinker writes, the most obvious human tragedy comes from the difference between our feelings toward family and non-family. 

“Love and solidarity are relative. To say that people are more caring toward their relatives is to say that they are more callous toward their non-relatives… Family love… subverts the ideal of what we should feel for every soul in the world. Moral philosophers play with a hypothetical dilemma in which people can run through the left door of a burning building to save some number of children or through the right door to save their own child. If you are a parent, ponder this question: Is there any number of children that would lead you to pick the left door? Indeed, all of us reveal our preference with our pocketbooks when we spend money on trifles for our own children (a bicycle, orthodontics, an education at a private school or university) instead of saving the lives of unrelated children in the developing world by donating the money to charity.” (The Blank Slate: The Modern Denial of Human Nature, p. 245)

* * *

Charity begins at home. What does that mean for us? Does it mean we reserve all our love and loyalty for those closest to us? Or does it mean we are firmly committed to carry the love we have known far beyond our small circles?

I like the way the seventeenth century historian and preacher Thomas Fuller put it. He said, “Charity begins at home, but should not end there.”

I like the way Francis de Sales put it: “Just as the soul is the life of the body, so charity is the life of the soul.” The sole secret of a perfect life is love. “You learn to speak by speaking, to study by studying, to run by running, to work by working; and just so you learn to love… by loving.” We are called to continually press on, our charity increasing until we draw our last breath. 

May we remember that even if charity begins at home,

it need not end there. 

May we keep pressing on, until our acts of love clearly show that 

all humanity is our family, 

and the whole world is our home. 

Amen.

Open Minds, Loving Hearts, Helping Hands

"In oneself lies the whole world and if you know how to look and learn, the door is there and the key is in your hand. Nobody on earth can give you either the key or the door to open, except yourself."
-- Krishnamurti

Opening Words: 

It was Mother Teresa who said:

“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 [that matters.]”

Let us join for worship in gratitude that whoever we are

We all have the capacity to share our love.

Reading: by the congregational consultant Rem Stokes from Cultivating Generosity: Giving What’s Right, Not What’s Left (p. xvi)

Money is a delicate subject. When I was a kid, it was considered to be in bad taste to discuss sex, politics, religion or money. Well, times have changed. One taboo after another has fallen. Sex is now about as explicit as it can get in… movies, magazines and music. Politics are on the front page of every newspaper… Religion has bolted out of the closet and extremist words like fundamentalism… and terrorism have become part of everyday language.

But not money! Money may be the last great taboo. Money may be the toughest of all walls we build with doors that are locked and dead-bolted from the inside. Somehow our psychological worth and self-image are bound up in money.

Reading: by the activist fund-raiser Lynne Twist from The Soul of Money: Transforming Your Relationship With Money and Life (p. 17) 

Each of us experiences a life-long tug of war between our money interests and the calling of our soul. When we’re in the domain of the soul, we act with integrity. We are thoughtful and generous, … courageous, and committed. We recognize the value of love and friendship. We admire a small thing well done. We experience moments of awe in the presence of nature and its unrefined beauty. We are open, vulnerable, and heartful. We have the capacity to be moved, and generosity is natural. We are trustworthy and trusting of others… We feel at peace within ourselves and confident that we are part of a larger more universal experience, something greater than ourselves.

When we enter the domain of money, there often seems to be a disconnect from the soulful person we have known ourselves to be. It is as if we are suddenly transported to a different playing field where all the rules have changed. In the grip of money, those wonderful qualities of soul seem to be less available. We become smaller… We often grow selfish, greedy, petty, fearful, or controlling, or sometimes confused, conflicted or guilty. We see ourselves as winners or losers, powerful or helpless, and we let those labels deeply define us…

The result is a deep division in our way of being… This dichotomy, this break with our truth, not only confuses us around the issue of money; it also keeps us from integrating our inner and outer worlds to experience wholeness in our lives, the exquisite moment when we feel at peace in the moment, a part of and one with life.

Reading: by the great Indian poet Rabindranath Tagore (from Lover’s Gift and Crossing p. 126)

I lived on the shady side of the road and watched my neighbors’ gardens across the way reveling in sunshine.

I felt I was poor, and from door to door went with my hunger.

The more they gave me from their careless abundance the more I became aware of my beggar’s bowl.

Till one morning I awoke from my sleep at the sudden opening of my door, and you came and asked for alms.

In despair I broke the lid of my chest open and was startled into finding my own wealth. 

Open Minds, Loving Hearts, Helping Hands

A Sermon Delivered on February 15, 2015

By

The Reverend Axel H. Gehrmann

This is the church of the open mind. (hold open hands to head) This is the church of the helping hands. (extend open hands in front of yourself) This is the church of the loving heart. (cross open hands over heart) 

These are words and motions from our children’s the chalice lighting. And this is what our faith is all about: learning how to open our minds and hearts, and extend our hands to others. This is what we try to teach our children. And to be perfectly honest, this is what I try to teach myself. That’s why I come to church: to be inspired by a spirit of wisdom, compassion, and service in all I do. That’s what I strive to discover and rediscover every week. 

In the course of our Unitarian Universalist liturgical year, when it comes to keeping an open mind, few weeks are more challenging than this week. And few Sundays are trickier than today. Today is our annual Stewardship Kick Off. It is the day we dare to talk about the last of the great taboos: money! 

I know money-talk makes a lot of us uneasy. So let me break the ice by telling you right from the get-go what the final message of today’s sermon will be (to the tune of “Holy, Holy, Holy;” words by Bill Donovan):

Money! Money! Money! / Our church needs your money! / We won’t grow unless you give / Enthusiastically!...

You know we’re not wealthy, / Pledges keep us healthy, / Please pledge with love and / Generosity!

* * *

For many of us, money is a loaded issue. And what makes this even trickier is that for each of us, it is loaded slightly differently. The psychologist Olivia Mellan identifies nine distinct money-related personality types. Think about which one you might be:

First there’s the Spender who enjoys spending money to buy things for immediate pleasure. Then there’s the Hoarder, who likes to save money and has a hard time spending it, especially for luxury items. Third, the Binger is a combination of the Hoarder and the Spender, this one saves and saves and then blows the wad all at once. Then there’s the Monk who thinks money is dirty and bad. Fifth, we have the Avoider who feels incompetent and overwhelmed by money details. Sixth, the Amasser is happiest with a lot of money, and equates money with self-worth and power. Seventh is the Worrier who, regardless of the amount of money he or she has worries about money all the time. Eighth is the Risk Taker who enjoys the thrill of financial risk, regardless of the outcome. And ninth is the Risk Avoider who enjoys safety and security above all else. Taking a financial risk feels like jumping off a cliff. 

What do you think? Which one are you? … When I ponder my own personality type, I think at different times and different stages of my life I have embodied all nine of them. 

Often we are most aware of our own attitudes, when we compare them with someone else’s. So, for instance, this is an issue in the vast majority of committed relationships. This is something I point out to young couples, who are planning to get married. If you don’t watch out, arguments about money can become a serious source of marital conflict.

In my marriage with Elaine, over the course of our twenty-five years together, it has become abundantly clear that we have real differences when it comes to money. We are each shaped by our respective family backgrounds and cultures. You may have heard of the stereotype that Germans are very cautious and conservative when it comes to money, especially in contrast with the more adventurous American spirit. Well let me tell you, it’s true. 

But luckily, our differences are manageable. If you imagine a continuum with the most miserly hoarder on one side, and the most excessive spender on the other, Elaine and I are pretty close together, pretty much in the middle. But sometimes, when we are stuck in a disagreement, focusing only on each other, it can feel as if we were on the far opposite ends of the spectrum.

* * *

Most of us have a hard time talking about money. For some reason, talk of money creates walls between us, and doors slammed shut, and locked and dead-bolted from the inside. Why is that? 

Rem Stokes thinks we are afraid that talking about money will reveal aspects of ourselves we would rather keep hidden.  We are afraid money is a mirror that reflects some inner secrets about who we are and what we believe, and that discussing them is embarrassing. 

Rem Stokes links our anxiety about money to our inner child. Somewhere within each of us there is the spirit of a small child, impulsive and indulgent, needy and never satisfied. The inner child is at the heart of our sense of scarcity, and the fear that we won’t have enough money satisfy all our wants and wishes. And so, regardless of how much we have, we forever strive to acquire more and more.

“I know I have an indulgent child living in my adult body who influences my decisions,” he writes. 

“The rational adult in me knows I should buy a modest home so I will not deplete the planet’s resources for the future…. And so I will have money left to share with those in greater need. But the child in me says to buy the biggest, loveliest home possible, commit to the biggest mortgage and enjoy.

“The same discussion holds true for cars, clothes, vacations and everything every time. The child in me says: “Keep it for yourself... You need it… You deserve [the] $70 after-shave… You can afford the $5,000 cruise. Be good to yourself. You only go around once. Just do it. The winner [in life] gets all the toys.” (p. 98)

The adult, of course, knows better. The adult knows there is more to life than toys. The adult wants to make a difference in the lives of other people. The adult knows that true happiness is found by serving, by caring, by sharing with other people.

In Rem Stokes’s mind, the adult and the inner child are perpetually battling with each other. The adult believes in life’s abundance, the child is driven by a fear of scarcity. 

Lynne Twist has a sense of a similar internal battle, a life-long tug of war between our money interests and the calling of our soul. When we are in the grip of money, convinced that it will always be scarce, we grow smaller, we become petty and fearful. 

When we are mindful of the enlightened dimensions of the soul, we are able to loosen our tight-fisted grip, we can be open and heartful. We can recognize the value of love and friendship. We can experience moments of awe in the presence of beauty. And we realize that the myth of scarcity is a lie.

The fearful child within us imagines that if we give away what we have, we will remain empty-handed. And thus the child sits sad and lonely behind the walls fear have built, and behind doors locked and dead-bolted from the inside. 

But the adult knows that when we open our minds, open our hearts, and open our hands to others, when we loosen our grip, we will realize that we have more than we need to survive. We have more than we need to thrive. And the more we give away, the more clearly we will see the over-abundance that is already ours.

* * *

Now some religious traditions encourage the faithful to give away everything. The Buddha was a prince, who gave up all his riches and his life in the palace to live as an ascetic in the woods. Jesus told a rich young man to sell all his possessions and give all his money to the poor. This is not my recommendation for you.

A few years ago the Salwen family, from Atlanta, Georgia, made national news headlines, when they decided to sell their big house – a historic mansion in downtown Atlanta – buy a smaller and more modest home with half the money, and give the other half to charity. They ended up donating $800,000 to help provide basic health services to 40 villages in Ghana. For the family, this radical act was transformative and profoundly rewarding. They wrote a book about their experience called The Power of Half: One Family’s Decision to Stop Taking and Start Giving Back. But giving away half of your wealth is not my recommendation for you.

Instead, I would ask you to consider the advice John D. Rockefeller gave his sons. John D. Rockefeller, one of most generous and certainly the richest man in the world, told his sons, however much or little they earn, they should be sure to give 10% away – “so that you can look in the mirror and know that there is something more important to you than yourself,” he said.

Rem Stokes is a big believer in Rockefeller’s approach. A responsible model for personal finance, he says, is this: dedicate 10% of your income to charity, invest 15% for retirement; and use the remaining 75% to support the lifestyle of your choice.

Stokes doesn’t say you have to give those 10% to your church, although that is a good idea. Those 10% should support institutions that embody your values and build community – whether libraries, schools, NPR, or yes, even your church. The point is it should go to something other than yourself. 

There is an important psychological benefit to managing our money this way. The majority of our money, which we use to support our lifestyle, never seems to be enough. Experience has shown that no matter how much we earn, our expenses, when left unchecked, have a stubborn habit of always exceeding our income. Money always feels tight. Money is always a worry, no matter how much we have.

But if we put aside 10% first, we can be sure to have some experience of what it is like to live in affluence, to give money away, to be truly and joyfully generous. This provides a desperately needed corrective to our perpetual fretting about making ends meet with the majority of our money. So that’s what I do. I put aside 10%, and practice the “UU Tithe”: 5% to this church, and 5% to other worthy causes. 

“In giving you feel strangely enriched rather than deprived,” Stokes says. “It gives rise to a whole new set of emotions. You experience the joy of being responsible and helpful. You have assumed a Mother Teresa mentality in this significant corner of your money dealings, [and] over time, you will find yourself increasing the percentage you allocate.”

* * *

Most of us have a hard time talking about money, but not everyone does. Lynne Twist says she loves to ask people for money. For her, fundraising is certainly hard work, but it is sacred work. It is a rare and powerful opportunity to be in meaningful conversation with others about their highest commitments and deepest values. In her experience, all around the globe, she has found that people everywhere want to contribute their money to make a difference in the world. And when they do so, they discover new dimensions of their own wealth. This is true of people who live below the poverty line as well as billionaires – their eyes are opened. Their minds, and hearts and hands – are opened. 

“One of the great dynamics of money is that it grounds us, and when we put money behind our commitments it grounds them, too, making them real in the world” Lynne Twist says. Money allows our dreams to become realities. 

* * *

Talking about money isn’t easy for me. Somewhere within me there is a Hoarder, a Monk and an Avoider. Choosing to freely give away my hard-earned cash isn’t easy, because there is Worrier inside of me. And there is a child within, forever needy and afraid. All these voices tell me to build walls, to slam doors shut, and to keep them locked and dead-bolted from the inside.

But this is not the way I want to live. I want to trust a different voice: the calling of my soul. I want to heed the voice of friendship and love, the voice of courage and commitment, the voice that is awed by the world’s beauty and abundance. I want to live life guided by a voice of wisdom, kindness, and compassion. 

That’s why I come to here. That’s why I support this place. To be reminded of deeper truths, and my own vision of health and wholeness, of justice and love.

May we all be inspired here to open our minds, and our hearts, and our hands, 

So that together we can create the world of our dreams.

Amen. 

More Than Enough

"Find ecstasy in life; the mere sense of living is joy enough."
-- Emily Dickinson

Opening Words: by the Rev. Gordon McKeeman 

Ministry is all that we do—together…

Ministry is what we do together as we celebrate triumphs of our human spirit— 

miracles of birth and life, wonders of devotion and sacrifice… 

Ministry is what we do together… 

in grief… and pain, enabling us in the presence of death to say yes to life. 

We who minister speak and live the best we know 

with full knowledge that it is never quite enough 

and yet are reassured by lostness found, 

fragments reunited, wounds healed and joy shared. 

[Mindful that] Ministry is what we all do—together,

let us worship.

Meditation: by the Rev. Mark DeWolfe

A person is a puzzle.  

Sometimes from the inside it feels as if some pieces are missing.

Perhaps one we love is no longer with us.

Perhaps one talent we desire eludes us.

Perhaps a moment that required grace found us clumsy.

Sometimes from the inside it feels as if some pieces are missing.

A person is a puzzle. We are puzzles not only to ourselves but to each other. 

A puzzle is a mystery we seek to solve –

-- and the mystery is that we are whole even with our missing pieces.

Our missing pieces are empty spaces we might long to fill,

empty spaces that make us who we are.

The mystery is that we are only what we are

and that what we are is enough…

…let us know that we are accepted… exactly as we are.

Accepted – missing pieces and all.  

Reading: by Robert and Edward Skidelsky, economist and philosopher respectively, from How Much is Enough? Money and the Good Life  (p. 12) 

Perhaps the chief intellectual barrier to realizing the good life for all is the discipline of economics, or rather the deathly orthodoxy that sails under that name in most universities across the world. Economics, says a recent text, studies “how people choose to use limited or scarce resources in attempting to satisfy their unlimited wants.” The italicized adjectives are strictly redundant: if wants are unlimited, then resources are by definition limited relative to them, however rich we may be in the absolute sense. We are condemned to dearth, not through want of resources, but by the extravagance of our appetites. As [one economist] put it… “we live in a rich society, which nevertheless in many respects insists on thinking and acting as if it were a poor society.” 

Reading: by Mark Matousek from When You’re Falling Dive: Lessons in the Art of Living (p. 195)

How often does anything feel like enough? When, for more than a random instant, does life appear completely sufficient, with nothing to edit, improve, aspire to, arrange, or nudge forward in some way or another? Isn’t there always something more to be done, work to be finished, ground to cover, prospects to investigate? When it came to enough, I had always believed, it would not be my personal fate in this lifetime.

But burnout is an insidious process. You don’t know you’re choked until you’re already smoking. For a long time… taking a break [for me] seemed an affront to the gift of vitality. Living fully meant overdrive. Forced to choose between sanity and productivity, I would have gladly chosen prolifically nuts. But the smell of smoke was in my nostrils. I woke up too many mornings feeling like toast. My calendar was booked, my downtime upbeat, but my life had turned into a run-on sentence. … I needed to figure out how to stop.

For someone like me this was difficult. I was the insecure geek in school who wrote twenty-page papers when five pages were assigned... Double the effort for half the self-esteem, that had been my lifelong motto. My Swiss-cheese ego just wouldn’t stop leaking. These cheese holes announced that I was fully deficient and nothing I did could keep them stuffed. 

Reading: by Sam Keen from In the Absence of God: Dwelling in the Presence of the Sacred (p. 1) A brief description of his religious journey.

I stumble, unstable on shifting ground. My mind wanders through layers of rubble, discarded beliefs, outworn creeds, broken hopes, shattered illusions, bones of failed heroes and false saviors.

Socrates, that old trickster, taught me a way of thinking, dialectic and dialogue, an endless approach. But I never arrived at the promised vision of the good, the beautiful, the true.

I believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, with as much heart, mind, and soul as I could manage, but he failed to save me from death’s dominion and the fear of nothingness.

I trusted Freud to lead me down into an underworld... from which I returned wounded, with little redemptive wisdom other than a sermon on coping and the virtues of love and work…

Should I mourn and build again? Clear away the debris, smooth out the ground, prepare a solid foundation for a new edifice to house my spirit?

Wherever I stand, tectonic plates rumble. I am earth-quake prone. Not a good insurance risk.

I think it is better to dwell in the desert under open skies, look for hidden oases, make a hearth, light a fire, cherish sunrise, noonday, moonset, a flight of Canada geese, an ant empire being built an arm’s length away, the comfort of touch, the language of glances, smiles, laughter, tears – sacred moments. 

More Than Enough

A Sermon Delivered on February 1, 2015

By

The Reverend Axel H. Gehrmann

When they were little, our kids loved to play with puzzles, jigsaw puzzles that came in all shapes and sizes. For Elaine and me this seemed like a good thing. Puzzles seemed like the next best thing to perusing picture books or learning to read. It taught them to concentrate, look closely, and imagine how a jumble of pieces could fit together to create a coherent whole.

When they were preschoolers, one of their first favorites was a big puzzle shaped like a red and yellow fire truck. It was made up of twelve easy pieces, each about the size of my hand.

The bigger the kids got, the more challenging the puzzles became. I remember when they were a few years older, they got a lot of mileage out of a puzzle their German grandmother gave them: it was a map of the world, with about forty sturdy pieces in the shape of countries, continents, and oceans. Every once in a while, playing on the floor, one of the pieces would go missing: a glaring hole in the middle of Africa, or the Atlantic. This provided them a real incentive to keep their play area reasonably picked up, and – thankfully – what was lost was found.

By the time our kids were in their teens, the puzzles they tackled depicted dizzying landscapes, made up of a thousand tiny, almost identical pieces. For days or weeks at a time our dining room table was covered with a work in progress. And at this point, more often than not, the most ambitious puzzles would never be completed. Gaping holes remained empty. 

The fact that we have two cats certainly didn’t help. Our cats love to play with little things they knock off the edge of kitchen counters, and coffee tables, and then bat around floor, into the darkest corners of the house. Some of those missing pieces are gone. Some of those puzzles will remain forever incomplete. 

* * *

Our kids are in college now, trying to figure out what to do with their lives. They each have their own unique collection of interests and abilities, their own passions and past experiences, which they are trying to put together into a coherent picture, a vision of the life they would like to lead, their vision of the good life.

Putting all the pieces together isn’t easy. And as an anxious, over-involved parent, I have to tell you, it isn’t easy to watch. I feel like I am looking over their shoulders, constantly trying to point out pieces that are lying right in front of them, that they don’t seem to see, and offering sage advice about where I think the pieces should go, how they should put them together, so that they end up with a solid education some day, and – dare I hope – gainful employment.

But I bite my tongue - or at least I try to – because I know at this stage of life parents need to step back. The children are adults. And I remember my own struggles, when I was in my early twenties, trying to figure out what to do with my life. 

I remember when I was two years into my seminary education, profoundly doubtful as to whether I was cut out for the ministry. Much younger than many of my peers, I had a very clear sense of my own inadequacy, of all the wisdom and life experience I lacked.

Gordon McKeeman was the president of Starr King School, and my advisor at the time. I remember clearly the conversation we had, when I had decided to take a year off from school. My plans for the future were a jumble, but my self-doubts were unmistakable. I remember clearly how, after expressing my conflicted state of mind and heart, Gordon looked at me kindly over his the top of his reading glasses, and quietly but firmly assured me: “You are enough.” Despite any feelings to the contrary, you are enough.

Today, thirty years later, Gordon’s words still echo in my mind. And today I know that his quiet conviction was not merely an expression of his confidence in my personal potential. He was speaking of a much larger truth, a universal human experience, that also happened to apply to me. Gordon died a year ago. He was 93 years old. But his words are still with me: You are enough.

* * *

Mark Matousek gets at this experience, when he asks, “How often does anything feel like enough?” No matter how hard he tried, he always had the sense that there was something lacking, something missing.  “Double the effort for half the self-esteem,” was his lifelong motto. His “Swiss-cheese ego just wouldn’t stop leaking.” The holes he clearly felt confirmed in his mind that he was deficient. And nothing could fill those holes. So what could he do?

Struggling with these existential questions, Matousek finds helpful answers in Buddhist teaching. “The drive to fill internal emptiness stems from fundamental doubts about our own existence, the Buddha taught… [And] because confronting this emptiness feels so scary, we’re driven to keep trying to cover it up, to papier-maché the abyss with stuff.” (p. 197)

* * *

Trying to fill up our existential emptiness with stuff can take many different shapes. Sometimes we try to satisfy our spiritual longings with material things. Economists call it “an attempt to satisfy unlimited wants.”  Some would say this is a good thing. It is a driving force of our consumer culture, it fuels the free market, it keeps our economy strong. 

But our extravagant appetites exact a cost, and are ultimately not sustainable. Ultimately, even the greatest over-abundance of material wealth and possessions will fail to fill our spiritual holes. And yet once we have joined the economic rat race, it is very difficult to stop. 

The problem, Robert and Edward Skidelsky write, “is that a competitive, monetized economy puts us under continual pressure to want more and more.” This is a kind of madness. The beginning of sanity, they say, is to realize that even though we feel and act as if we were needy and poor, we are in fact profoundly rich. They say, “Considered in relation to our vital needs, our state is one not of scarcity but rather of extreme abundance.” When we realize this we will be one big step closer to toward creating a world in which all can attain the good life. 

* * *

Coming from the Christian tradition, Sam Keen describes our sense of existential emptiness, as the absence of God. Many of us experience a “god-shaped hole.” Sam Keen has tried in different ways to fill this hole. He studied the wisdom of the ancient sage Socrates. He tried the teachings of Jesus. He followed Freud into the underworld of the psyche. 

But none of these beliefs bring lasting satisfaction. One after the other breaks down, until Sam Keen stands in a wasteland amidst the rubble of discarded beliefs, shattered illusions and broken hopes.

There he slowly realizes, rather than fill his emptiness with yet another philosophy or yet another creed, he is better off opening his eyes to the world around him. The world as it is. It is better to stand under open skies, to cherish sunrise and moonset. To watch the flight of Geese overhead, and the army of ants at work beneath his feet. It is better to find the simple comfort of a friend’s touch, smile, laughter and tears. It is better to recognize that these are sacred moments.

Rather than frantically trying to fill imagined holes, it’s better to realize what the great Jewish scholar Abraham Heschel put so succinctly: “Just to be is a blessing. Just to live is holy.” 

* * *

If only we could believe that being itself is a blessing. If only we could believe that life itself is holy. It is much easier said than done. Many of us have tried.

In a book entitled Everyday Sacred the artist Sue Bender writes of her efforts. Like others before her, she begins from an experience of inadequacy. For as long as she can remember, a voice has been echoing inside her head. It is the harsh voice of a critical judge, who passes judgment on everything she does. “You’re not measuring up,” the judge shouts. She doesn’t know exactly what she’s supposed to measure up to, but only that she never will. The harsh judge tells her nothing she ever does will be enough. 

For Bender, an understanding of the sacred somehow became associated with the image of a simple bowl, a begging bowl. It is the empty bowl monks carry in their hands every day. And whatever generous givers place in the bowl provides nourishment for the day. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but always enough. 

For Bender, the image of the bowl conveyed a sacred simplicity, generosity and humility. Carefully crafted bowls are beautiful and fragile. They can break. But still they are beautiful.

A Japanese tea bowl that had been broken was pieced together again. Instead of hiding the flaws, the cracks were emphasized, filled with silver. The bowl was more precious after it had been mended than before. The image of this bowl inspired her.

And a friend named Kevin inspired her. Kevin was a potter, who specialized in making cracked pots. He made beautiful sturdy pots, broke them, and then glued them back together, creating even more beautiful pots. Fascinated by this practice, after some initial reluctance Sue Bender, joined him. The simple act of putting the broken pieces together was a revelation for. She writes:  

“Holding together the first two pieces of what would become my new old pot was deeply, unexpectedly satisfying. Holding those two pieces, waiting for them to be joined, knowing there was nothing else I could be doing in those moments, I felt I was holding a baby in my arms – just holding, with such a quiet tenderness, doing a task and being still at the same time.

“All of me” was present.

I could not have imagined that holding two pieces of broken clay together and waiting could be so deeply satisfying. Time felt full. Closer to the truth, there was no time. That same calm engulfed me as each one of the pieces was joined to make the pot whole.

This simple act was so full of sweetness that now, when I am feeling rushed, I try to remember the stillness of that moment…

When I finally held my own pieced-together pot in my hands, a circle was completed.

I looked at my bowl and saw that it was beautiful.

In the past, no matter what I did or accomplished, I still felt that something was missing. When I put the pieces of my cracked pot together, I saw that nothing was missing.

Nothing.

I saw I was WHOLE.”  (p. 155-156)

The bowl, broken and restored, is a puzzle. The pieces, created by accident, are assembled with greatest care and attention. Put together, they reveal hidden patterns of beauty – now made visible. Because we care, because we stop and pay attention, we can see how truly precious it is.  

* * *

Every person is a puzzle. Sometimes it feels as if some pieces are missing: a loved one lost, a talent longed for that remains out of reach, a moment that required grace but found us clumsy. We dropped a bowl, and it broke. The mystery is that we are whole even with our missing pieces. 

The empty spaces – like Swiss cheese holes that never stop leaking - make us who we are. The mystery is that we are what we are, and that what we are is enough. 

This mystery is at the heart this place. It is at the heart of what we practice here, the heart of our shared ministry. 

We speak and live the best we know how here, trusting that despite our emptiness we are enough, despite our brokenness we are whole. 

This is our ministry: everything we do together. Together we make this a place of caring, where fragments are reunited, wounds healed, and joys shared. We make this a place where, even in the presence of death we say yes to life. Here we celebrate the spirit, the miracle of birth, the wonders of devotion and sacrifice. Here we realize that our lives are full of riches, when we share our extreme abundance of love and care.

We are enough. We are more than enough. 

May we remember that just to be is a blessing and just to live is holy. 

May we remember to cherish every sunrise and every moonset.

May we remember the smiles, the laughter, the tears we share are sacred. 

And may we remember the mystery hidden and found in every act of care and kindness here, in everything we do together.

Amen.