Meditation for 9/30/01

Creative Spirit, Spirit of Life

That which is greater than all

But present in each…

Through this season of turning

As the leaves begin to display their color--

Painted by the artistry of ever-increasing night--

May we learn from their example,

Taking that which we have been given

And seeing there an opportunity

For beauty and for brilliance.

Through this season of turning

As the leaves begin to fall

Littering the earth’s carpet

With their passionate skins,

Returning to the soil

The very life-food that

Enabled them to sprout last spring,

May we learn from their example,

Knowing that each of our lives, given freely,
can feed the greater fount of our living.

Through this season of turning

As the air grows cooler and nights grow longer

Encouraging us to renew our connections

To those with whom we share this planet,

May we find the courage

to forgive those who have wronged us, and to make amends to those we have wronged,

Discovering once again that our ability to change

Is a blessing we bestow upon each other, yes,

But also, a blessing we bestow upon ourselves.

Amen.

Reading

“A Visitor”  by Mary Oliver[1]

My father, for example,

who was young once

and blue-eyed,

returns

on the darkest of nights

to the porch and knocks

wildly at the door,

and if I answer

 I must be prepared

for his waxy face,

for his lower lip

swollen with bitterness.

And so, for a long time,

I did not answer,

but slept fitfully

between the hours of rapping.

But finally there came the night

when I rose out of my sheets

and stumbled down the hall.

The door fell open

and I knew I was saved

and could bear him,

pathetic and hollow,

with even the least of his dreams

frozen inside him,

and the meanness gone.

And I greeted him and asked him

into the house,

and lit the lamp,

and looked into his blank eyes

in which at last

I saw what a child must love,

I saw what love might have done

Had we loved in time.

Sermon

The service this morning was inspired by the recently ended Jewish High Holy days, also known as the Days of Awe.  Beginning with Rosh Hashanah (the Jewish New Year) and continuing for ten days until Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement) this most holy time in the Jewish calendar is a time of deep reflection, self-examination and prayer.  It is a time when unfinished issues are to be unearthed and resolved.  It is a time when Jews are encouraged to admit wrongs to self, others and God, making amends where necessary and granting forgiveness where appropriate.  By so doing, each person’s conscience can be cleared and life can be renewed. 

From the first moment I learned of this period of reflection and soul searching, I was captivated by the concept.  A period of the year specifically set aside for forgiveness…what a beautiful idea, for Jews and non-Jews alike.  A kind of yearly grace period at the library of our living, the High Holy Days are a time when our overdue volumes of error and regret can be returned without fine.  A time when it is not only OK to admit faults and frailties, but a time when we can be expected to do so. 

It seems fitting that the Jewish new year falls each year around the time of the autumnal equinox…a season when the world around us begins to burst with color in anticipation of colder, grayer days ahead.  What a perfect time to pay attention to our lives, to account for our actions, to do some soul digging…to search in the soil of our living for those broken chards of past mistakes, miscues, and misunderstandings, so that they can be unearthed and removed before the winter winds freeze us in place.

And yet, even with this time set aside for reflection and reparation, the task of forgiveness can seem too great a burden for us to carry…particularly now.

This year, the Days of Awe were in many ways awful days, for they began just a few days after the terrorist attack.  This typically sweet time of year, a time of new beginnings and forgiveness, suddenly became a time when forgiveness in many ways seemed impossible.  How can one forgive those so devoted to death and destruction?  How can those around the world who now have empty spaces in their lives forgive the fanatics who gave their lives in the creation of those empty spaces? There is still a great deal of grieving to be done…so much grieving, in fact, that we cannot realistically expect forgiveness to be possible any time soon, if ever.

And yet, the terrible events of the recent past have in fact lent some urgency to the need for forgiveness in our lives, for they have pointed up how life is not something to be taken for granted and that the unresolved issues existing between us and our neighbors and loved ones today may be rendered impervious to resolution tomorrow.  A clarion call for forgiveness, for making amends, for clearing away the wreckage of regret from our lives is sounded each time we catch a glimpse of how fleeting our time together really is, and the recent tragedy has given us more than just a glimpse.  The cries of the thousands of people calling out for their now missing loved ones continue to serve as warning sirens piercing the fog of our living, reminding us of the reality that life holds no guarantees…that each day we have on this earth is a precious gift, a priceless opportunity for growth and change, for turning toward the forgiveness we all require, the forgiveness that reaches beyond resentment.

Still, no matter how much we may be reminded of the need for forgiveness, we are often challenged by significant obstacles, not the least of which was summed up by poet Karen Holden when she wrote, “The hardest part is people.”[2]  I think the hardest part is probably not other people, though, no matter how deeply we may have been hurt by their actions.  The hardest part is more typically ourselves.  We may sometimes resist forgiving those we believe have wronged us because to do so feels like defeat, like giving in…giving in to someone who doesn’t deserve our giving…giving in to someone who doesn’t deserve to be taking from us yet again.  Giving, giving, giving!

And yet, without this giving, it seems like we will never be truly satisfied.

Anne Lamott writes of this struggle in her book on faith, Traveling Mercies:

“I went around saying for a long time that I am not one of those Christians who is heavily into forgiveness—that I am one of the other kind.  But even though it was funny, and actually true, it started to be too painful to stay this way.  They say we are not punished for the sin but by the sin, and I began to feel punished by my unwillingness to forgive.  By the time I decided to become one of the ones who  is heavily into forgiveness, it was like trying to become a marathon runner in middle age; everything inside me either recoiled, as from a hot flame, or laughed a little too hysterically.”[3] 

To forgive does not mean that we relinquish our power to the past; on the contrary, when we forgive, we give power to our future.  To forgive is to remove a burden, to lighten our load, to let go of  all that does not contribute to our peace and happiness.  To forgive, then, is to approach freedom.  Forgiveness does not mean forgetting and forgiveness does not always lead to reconciliation, but it is the ultimate act of self-definition, of responsibility for ourselves in the face of circumstances outside of our control.  When we forgive we say in some way “I have been wronged by you.  I have the right and reason to end any connection between us.  I have the right and reason to demand from you a payment or an apology.  My sense of dignity and my values require nothing less.  Nonetheless I refuse to let the wrong consume me in resentment.  And I refuse to let the wrong come between us.  I give no assurance that I’ll be able to forget the wrong that you’ve done. I demand no conditions.  Whether or not you accept my forgiveness or ask for it has nothing to do with my offer.  I want to be at peace with myself and be glad in your presence.  I want to open the door to tomorrow.” [4] 

To forgive is to invite peace.  To forgive is free oneself from the chains of the past and to welcome the possibilities of tomorrow. There is perhaps no more powerful assertion of our personal independence and authority than when we truly forgive another. When we forgive, we do not deny the pain of being treated unfairly; but we do deny ourselves otherwise inevitable feelings of resentment, hostility and anger.

There is a Sufi tale that emphasizes this point well.

“Once a Dervish holy man and his student were walking down a long, quiet road.  Suddenly they saw dust rising in the distance.  A fine carriage pulled by six horses approached at full gallop.  The men soon realized that this carriage was not going to slow down or veer to avoid them.  In fact it was coming upon them at such speed that they had to throw themselves from the road, landing quite unceremoniously in a ditch.  The two men got up as quickly as they could and looked back at the carriage as it sped by.

        “The student thought to curse, but not before the teacher ran after them calling: ‘May all of your deepest desires be satisfied!”

        “’Why would you wish something so good for those men?’ the student asked. ‘They just forced us into the ditch, we could have been hurt.’

        “’Do you really think,’ replied the teacher, ‘that if their deepest desires were satisfied, they would go around treating others as they treated us?’”[5] 

The story really emphasizes the challenge each of us faces whenever we have been wronged.  Will we find the strength to see that underneath the unfair treatment always lies pain?  Will we respond with the easy resentment that always leads to hostility and anger or will we make the always more difficult and more life-affirming choice of forgiveness, the choice that allows for transformation.  UU minister Forrester Church wrote in his book Lifelines “Each change of heart changes the world.  This is how forgiveness works….  When we forgive someone we don’t change her, but ourselves.  We liberate ourselves from all obligation to continuing bitterness.  This doesn’t reverse the past.  It doesn’t remove from the record whatever crime was perpetrated against us.  But it changes the present and the future.”[6]

Oftentimes, changing the present and the future can also change the way we view the past.  In her poem “The Visitor,” which was shared as this morning’s reading, Mary Oliver welcomes her father back into her life not because he needs to be saved by her forgiveness…but because she does.  Suddenly, almost by surprise, she can grasp what her resentment has denied her…and can see what love might have done, had they loved in time…in time…

The time that is never ours to keep…that precious time that is always passing and always beckoning us toward recognition of our common frailty, our common humanity, our common need for love…our common need for forgiveness.

Closing Words

“It is I who must begin…

Once I begin, once I try—

Here and how,

Right where I am,

Not excusing myself

By saying that things

Would be easier elsewhere,

Without grand speeches and

Ostentatious gestures,

But all the more persistently

--to live in harmony

with the “voice of Being,” as I

understand it within myself

--as soon as I begin that,

I suddenly discover,

To my surprise, that

I am neither the only one,

Nor the first,

Nor the most important one

To have set out

Upon that road….

Whether all is really lost

Or not depends entirely on

Whether or not I am lost….”

                --Vaclav Havel[7]