The Table Where Rich People Sit

A pre-Thanksgiving Service

Rev. Mark Stringer

First Unitarian Church of Des Moines

11/24/02

 

Story (with stage pictures provided by Brian Banse, Maddie Cole, Susan Jellinger, and Steven Stanford)

 

The Table Where Rich People Sit

by Byrd Baylor

(New York: Aladdin, 1994)

 

 

Sermon         What Is Your Table?

 

So which character in our story this morning did you identify with?  Are you like the daughter, concerned that the riches of life are passing you by?  Wondering why you, or your family, don’t have a nicer car, or closets with better clothes, or a lifestyle that everyone else seems to be having?

 

Or are you like the parents in the story, able to see the true wealth of your life, the things that don’t appear in bank accounts or as living room furniture or as long hours spent in some office somewhere?  Are you able to appreciate the simple joys of living that cannot be taken away?  Are you willing to withstand the ever-mounting pressure to work more, so you can earn more, so you can buy more?

 

Or maybe you are like the young boy in the story.  Just along for the ride, willing to accept whatever happens, not too worried about it either way.

 

If you are anything like me, you probably identify with all of the characters at different times. 

 

Sometimes I really identify with the girl.  For example, I can’t help but feel frustrated when I look at the economy and recognize that my meager IRA investments are less than half what they were worth just over one year ago.  And when I write out the check for my monthly student loan payment, I can feel a little bitter that I had to incur so much debt in order to become a minister.  And certainly there are days when I convince myself I would be much happier if I did not have to worry about that old rusty Toyota I drive and whether or not it will get me to my next destination.  I had it in the shop a few weeks ago and the mechanic told me not to put any more money into it.  He said that the frame was only one pothole away from collapsing.  I sometimes think my whole financial life is a lot like my old Toyota:  one pothole away from collapsing.

 

But just when I am feeling most sorry for myself, just when I start to believe I deserve more than I have, something happens to remind me to change my perspective.  Something reminds me that I’m missing the bigger picture.  Something reminds me that I need to think like the parents in the story and recognize that I am rich beyond measure. 

 

After all, how could I possibly complain about my investments when so many of my neighbors here in the US  and around the world are in poverty?  How could I forget that the money I borrowed to go to seminary enabled me to prepare for a job I love, a job that challenges me in all the best ways, a job where I get to serve a community of people who attend this church because they want to live life to the fullest and to encourage others to do the same? And how could I let myself be frustrated about the condition of my car when there are countless others who do not have one of those big chunks of metal to drive around town?  But, you know, I can do it.  I can forget how rich my life truly is.  And, I suppose, you can too.  Maybe you too can focus on the things you don’t have…all the while missing what is right in front of you.

 

After all, if each of us lived lives of gratitude, we probably wouldn’t need to have Thanksgiving …a yearly time when each of us is encouraged to see our lives as the gifts that they truly are.  We wouldn’t make such a big deal about Thanksgiving because we would be celebrating every day.

 

Now I know there may be some among us this morning, who may not feel much like giving thanks this year.  Some who have lost jobs, and some who have said goodbye to family members for the last time; some who are dealing with illness or addiction, and some who have had to face their own mortality.  And there are some here this morning wounded and hurting from relationships gone awry.  It’s true, there are some among us who may not believe there is much to be thankful for this year; and it’s also true that I may not be able to convince you that gratitude is something you can feel despite whatever you may be going through.  But I can do at least one thing this morning.  I can humbly and gently suggest that if you do not feel thankful, if you cannot feel gratitude, you may not be listening closely enough to the story of your life.  You may not be listening closely enough to the world around you.  You may not be listening closely enough to hear the crickets.

 

What do crickets have to do with gratitude?  Listen to this North American folktale:

 

Once two friends were walking down the sidewalk of a busy city street during rush hour. As is the case in most cities, there was a lot of noise: car horns honking, trucks rumbling by, feet shuffling, people talking.  And amid all this noise, one of the friends turned to the other and said, “I hear a cricket.”

         “No way,” her friend responded.  “How could you possibly hear a cricket with all of this noise?  You must be imagining it.  Besides, I’ve never even seen a cricket in the city.”

         “No, really, I do hear a cricket.  I’ll show you.”  She stopped for a moment, then led her friend across the street to a big cement planter with a tree in it.  Pushing back some leaves she found a little brown cricket.

         “That’s amazing!” said her friend.  “You must have super-human hearing.  What’s your secret?”

         “No, my hearing is just the same as yours.  There’s no secret,” the first woman replied.  “Watch, I’ll show you.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out some loose change, and threw it on the sidewalk.  Amid all the noise of the city, all of the people within thirty feet turned their heads to see where the sound of the money was coming from.

         “See,” she said.  “It’s all a matter of what you are listening for.”[1]

 

She said, “It’s all a matter of what you are listening for.”

 

I think gratitude is a lot like that.  You sometimes have to listen closely to be able to hear it.  So, what are you listening for?  Amidst all the noise of your life, amidst all the confusion and the running around and the uncertainty and the disappointment, what is it that you discover when you listen most closely to the world you know best? 

 

Or using the metaphor of the earlier story, what do you see when you sit at the table of your life? What riches do you look past?  What moments of beauty do you miss?  Do you just see a rickety pile of wood, or do you see a table where rich people sit? 

 

Yesterday, I made a conscious decision to live my day with gratitude.  Now I know I should probably be doing this every day, but I’ll be honest with you.  I don’t.  Or at least, I haven’t been lately. Knowing that I still had to write this sermon on gratitude, I figured I better get in touch with some of my own gratitude or I’d not have much to say. 

 

By the way, that’s the real gift that comes from having to write sermons: I have to do some conscious living or else I’d have nothing to write about.  I guess that’s why when a UU minister I know was asked what he does for his spiritual discipline, what he does to keep himself grounded and awake to the world, he said, “I write sermons.”  I can relate.

 

This past week—for reasons unknown—I have been feeling harried and grumpy and out of sorts.  So, yesterday, I decided to slow things down and to try to see the table of my life as a place where a rich person sits.

 

My wife left early in the morning to spend the day with her family and even though work kept me from joining them, I didn’t let myself feel bad about missing the fun.  I reminded myself to feel gratitude that I had work to do.

 

I drove to the church to rehearse the story you saw today.  I was grateful to have such nice people to work with, to continue to get to know Brian, Susan, Steven and Maddie a little better.  It was so fun to see them working on their parts, sharing their time with me and with the church. 

 

After the rehearsal, I went for a walk around Gray’s Lake.  The sun was sparkling on the water, the wind was gently rustling the dried up wildflowers and grasses.  Families were out walking and several people smiled at me.  My body welcomed the chance to be outside and moving.  As I walked along the bridge, the sun shone through the colored panels, leaving rectangles of color on the cement as though the world was my personal cathedral. 

 

On my way home, I got stuck by the construction workers on Ingersoll.  Several men were busy at work pouring concrete.  I was grateful for their labor.  When a policeman finally waved me through, I waved back, and smiled.  He looked confused. 

 

When I got home, I went outside and raked leaves, streaking the copper, red and brown across the yard and into the compost pile.

 

I knew that I needed to write, to finish this service before it got too late, so I went to my office and sat down in front of my computer. I tapped away on the keys I have come to know so well, stopping every now and then to watch the sun setting on a beautiful November afternoon.  The colors of the sky shifted from brilliant orange, to pink and magenta, to a deep blue, and the branches of the trees became an intricate black lace, a living piece of artwork worth more than any amount of money could possibly buy.  Many days I might have sat at my computer, busy at work, completely missing the sunset show being played out for me. But not this day.  I was paying attention.

 

And I guess that’s what gratitude is really about: paying attention.  Not just paying attention to what is annoying or troubling us, or to what we don’t have.  But paying attention to what we can often look past. Paying attention to the tiny fingernails of infants, or to the shining eyes of a third grader. Paying attention to the awkwardness of a teenager, or to the deep lines on an older friend’s hands.  Paying attention to the feel of comfortable furniture against our bodies or to the tune of a song we know well.  Paying attention to the different voices of a choir or to the handshakes and hugs of our friends at church.  Paying attention to handwriting on a note from a loved one. Paying attention to the shape of clouds and to the colors of the sky and to the stars at night…to the smell of the air when it rains and to the warmth of a pet curled up on our lap.  Paying attention to the simple pleasures of simple food: a crisp apple, a hearty soup, a fudgey brownie. Paying attention to it all.  Paying attention to how rich we really are.  And we are rich…rich beyond measure.

 

I have a Thanksgiving challenge for you.  In the next few days, make a commitment to pay attention.  Let yourself see what you don’t normally see.  Give yourself permission to be grateful.  See what effect it has on you.  Just like “Mountain Girl” [from the story], just like your minister, you might just discover that you are a millionaire after all.

 

 

Closing Words (adapted from Rev. Gordon McKeeman)

Nothing else matters much, not wealth, nor learning, nor even health, without this gift—the spiritual capacity to keep zest in living.

This is the creed of creeds, the final deposit and distillation of all our important human faiths, that we shall be able to believe in life.

 

This Thanksgiving, as we gather around the tables of our lives, may we each have reason to think about and give thanks for how rich our lives truly are.