The Things I DidnÕt Want to Happen
by Rev. Tony Lorenzen
First Parish Church in Billerica, MA
Sunday, November, 4, 2007
I applied to three doctoral programs as I was
completing my Master of Divinity degree in the spring of 1994. I didnÕt get into any of them. Not even the Ph.D. in Religious
Education at Boston CollegeÕs Institute for Religious Education and Pastoral
Ministry, which was my first choice, and I figured my best chance at getting
accepted. I was angry. I felt
stupid. Not to mention the overwhelming feelings of rejection and being told I
wasnÕt good enough.
I
was the Massachusetts Green PartyÕs (now, after a merger with Mel KingÕs
Rainbow Coalition, the Green-Rainbow Party) candidate for Lt. Governor of the
Commonwealth in 2002. Our
gubernatorial candidate, Jill Stein and I came up less than 100 fair elections
contributions short of qualifying for millions of dollars in state matching
funds for our campaign. IÕm still
not convinced that some of the contributions disqualified were actually not
acceptable, but such is Massachusetts politics when you question the status
quo. Without the bankroll, we
couldnÕt compete with the Republican the comedy program the Colbert Report
calls Guy Smiley and you may know as Mitt Romney or the lackluster Democrat
Shannon OÕBrien. I debated Chris
Gabrieli and Kerry Healey on Channel 4.
I did well. Jill was
declared the winner of her debates with Romney and OÕBrien. We ended up with 3% of the vote. We lost like few people lose at
anything. But we werenÕt
losers. Many of the key elements
of our platform are now state-wide and national political issues: universal
health care, global warming, ending mandated state testing such as MCAS in
education. Still, at the time, it
was very hard not to feel like a loser instead of someone who lost in a just
cause.
After
leaving both my job as a Catholic high school theology teacher and the Catholic
Church in 2003, I took the Massachusetts state teacher exam, figuring to be an
English teacher. I received a high
passing score on every section of the tests, except for one, which I
failed. I didnÕt matter who I
explained my situation to, I didnÕt matter who I told that there had to be some
mistake, that a Harvard educated person with high passes on every section failing
a section in his specialty subject just didnÕt make sense, no one wanted to
hear it. It was just another sob story.
I could pay more money and retake the test.
I
didnÕt want to be rejected by Ph. D. programs. In spite of our long shot candidacy, I didnÕt want to lose
the 2002 election. And I really
didnÕt want to fail the Massachusetts state teacherÕs exam. Looking back now though, IÕm
thankful I wasnÕt accepted for doctoral work. IÕm grateful that we didnÕt get
elected, and I look back with thanks and gratitude that somehow my test results
for becoming a high school teacher were messed up. If I had gotten a Ph.D.; if by some miracle we had won that
2002 election or if I had become a high school English teacher, I most likely
wouldnÕt be here today. I almost
certainly wouldnÕt be a Unitarian Universalist minister and truth be told, I
canÕt imagine doing anything else.
In
the end, these three instances in my life are but a few example of things of
things for which IÕm thankful that I truly didnÕt want to happen at the
time. At the time they happened, I
wanted the opposite result because I knew, I was certain, that in the plan I
had for my life that only the result I had in mind would get me where I knew I
had to go. I can be so dense and
shortsighted.
But,
IÕm like most people I suppose.
Our need to be in control forces us to set our sights on a certain
outcome, single-minded in our pursuit of the future happiness weÕre convinced
is in store if we can just control events to work out just as we have
planned. But we are not in
control. Regardless of the
plans we sometimes make, other things can and do happen. And sometimes, those other things turn
out to be for the best.
One
of my favorite singers and songwriters is Martin Sexton. In his song Black Sheep he sings about
this.
I'm
so grateful for every heartbreak
and
everything that came my way
that
I didn't want to happen at that time-
I thank God Almighty for getting me out
of my own way
Oh Angels we are mighty
... my dreams are outside the door,
all I gotta do is learn to chase them,
maybe even one day learn to let Õem
in.[1]
ItÕs
easy to be thankful or grateful for the comfort in life, for the big pleasant
gifts of ease that surround us.
ItÕs another thing entirely to look at our trials and hard traveling and
recognize that we wouldnÕt be who we are; wouldnÕt be where we are without
them. After all, they donÕt call
it the easy way out for nothing.
ThereÕs something in us that seeks out the easy way. We donÕt go through our life, through
our days asking ourselves, ÒHow can I make this more difficult for myself?Ó
And
yet, most of us find ourselves on a lifeÕs journey full of roadblocks and
stumbling blocks, trials and tribulations many of which seem to repeat
themselves over and over as if in a test pattern or holding pattern. As if thereÕs something inside us
putting a check on breaking past a barrier or chasing a dream. As if thereÕs something that doesnÕt
want to answer the door when the dreams come knocking.
ThereÕs
a great quote on this topic from contemporary spiritual writer and activist
Marianne Williamson. Perhaps
youÕve heard it as its been featured in two recent films, Akeela and the Bee and Coach Carter.
Ms. Williamson writes:
ÒOur deepest fear is not that we are
inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our
light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to
be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is
nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure
around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make
manifest the glory of God that is within us. It is not just in some of us; it
is in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other
people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our
presence automatically liberates others.Ó [2]
We
need to liberate ourselves from the fears of our day; from the fears that keep
us from our light and using our power and freedom. We need to liberate ourselves so that we can give thanks
with a genuinely grateful heart for the things we didnÕt want to happen as well
as the bountiful blessings.
We
fear much in our society today, chief among them pain and death. Have you been to a funeral lately? We
donÕt deal with death well in our culture. In many cultures in the world a dead body is dead body, but
in our culture the first thing we do with a dead body is put make up on it, and
dress it up like itÕs going to a cotillion. Anything so that it doesnÕt look dead. WeÕd rather not deal with death.
We dress it up and allow crying at gravesites and funeral homes, but grief lasts
and lasts. ItÕs okay for a dead body to be a dead body and itÕs okay to miss
and mourn people we love long after the burial and a memorial service. ItÕs okay to cry, and be upset for no
reason when we experience loss.
Death is not something you dress up and outfit in consumer friendly
packages for funeral homes.
Our
culture also doesnÕt deal with pain very well. Like death, pain can leave us empty. As Matthew Fox writes in his book Original
Blessing, ÒIt is one
thing to be empty. It is an even deeper thing to be emptied. Pain does this. It
empties us, if we allow it to.Ó[3] But we donÕt allow pain to empty us in
American culture. We kill pain with alcohol, drugs, sex, television, sports,
anything. Whatever pain we have,
weÕll take anything, do anything,
keep ourselves busy with anything so as not to deal with it.
ÒFacing
the darkness,Ó writes Fox,
Òadmitting the pain, allowing the pain to be pain is never easy. This is
why courageÉ is the most essential virtue on the spiritual journey. But if we fail
to let pain be painÉthen pain will haunt us in nightmarish ways. We will eventually become painÕs
victims instead of the healers we might become. There is no way to let go of pain without first embracing it
and loving it.Ó[4]
Fox
is not talking about suffering and pain being a good thing. Neither am I. I
donÕt believe in redemptive suffering.
What Fox is talking about is being able to face pain and admit there is
pain instead of pretending it doesnÕt exist. Fox is talking about being able to sit with pain and observe
it the way a Buddhist monk or a person practicing meditation is taught to sit
and breathe and notice but not react to all the thoughts that come through
oneÕs mind. That way the mind can
eventually be calmed. This
is about owning, naming and claiming oneÕs pain and suffering, not that pain
and suffering is redemptive and good. I canÕt find the redemptive value in the suffering of
child abuse or sexual violence, or
domestive abuse, or war, or famine, or torture -even the name of fighting
terrorism.
Sometimes
the things we didnÕt want to happen are the result of malicious and evil
intent. Seeing these instances as
the source for redemptive suffering has been one of religions biggest sins. I agree with Rita Nakashima Brock
and Rebecca Parker in their 2002 book Proverbs to Ashes that violence canÕt save. For centuries now they argue, the
Christian story has been one of redemptive suffering. Jesus being tortured to death on a cross has been held up as
a sign of redemptive love because this act was seen as an act of atonement
paying for the sins of humanity.
A religious story based on this type of violent salvation canÕt be a
saving story.
In
the Spring 2002 issue of UU World Magazine Brock and Parker explain
ideas from their book that there is a different view of the Christian and
biblical message not based on violent redemption.
ÒOne
important part of the Biblical vision of the world is that the world—this
life—is good. And beautiful,Ó says Parker. ÒSalvation is the experience of freedom and joy on this
earth. In the midst of violence, hunger, injustice, and betrayal, this world
can be the place in which one stands in the presence of God, of glory, beauty,
and goodness.Ó
Brock
continues by adding, ÒThis is what four centuries of Christian art in Ravenna
(Italy) shows. It does not show the dying martyr; it doesn't show death as
salvific. The only image I could find of any kind of threatened violence is a
depiction of Abraham about to sacrifice Isaac. It shows Abraham holding the knife—and
the hand of God dipping down from the sky to stop him. A clear, divine
"no."
When
we encounter things that we donÕt want to happen in our lives, let us take a
step back. Let us ask, ÒWhy?Ó ÒWhy donÕt I want this to happen?Ó Let us try and sit with the negative
outcomes in our lives and wrestle with the why of their negative impact. Are we trying too much to control
everything thatÕs happening? Do we need to be in control? Are we trying to avoid pain? Is there something that perhaps, we
should be facing, even though it might hurt? From where we stand now, are there things for which we can
be thankful that we didnÕt want to happen when they first occurred, but we can
now name and own as blessing?
In the midst of violence, hunger, injustice and betrayal, can we give
thanks for the beauty, freedom and joy we may have missed the first time
around? Try to see it that way
because when you do ask yourself, ÒWho am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,
talented, fabulous? The
answer truly is: Who are you not to be?
Reading for this Sermon
Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.