We’ve Got Spirit…How ‘Bout You?

Rev. Mark Stringer

First Unitarian Church of Des Moines

12/7/03

 

Reading         “For the New Year, 1981” by poet Denise Levertov

 

I have a small grain of hope--

one small crystal that gleams

clear colors out of transparency.

 

I need more.

 

I break off a fragment

to send you.

 

Please take

this grain of a grain of hope

so that mine won't shrink.

 

Please share your fragment

so that yours will grow.

 

Only so, by division,

will hope increase,

 

like a clump of irises, which will cease to flower

unless you distribute

the clustered roots, unlikely source--

clumsy and earth-covered--

of grace.

 

Sermon

While I was in seminary, doing my best to become familiar with Unitarian Universalist history, I came across accounts of an 18^th century Puritan minister named Charles Chauncy, who is considered a forefather of what would become American Unitarianism.  One remarkable fact about Reverend Chauncy was that he served as minister of Boston’s First Church for sixty years.  Sixty years!  Even more impressive considering he did not have the best reputation as a preacher.

 

The thing about Rev. Chauncy that most captured my attention was his distrust of enthusiasm.  In fact, he once wrote a sermon with the intriguing title of “Enthusiasm Described and Caution’d Against.” “What kind of a minister would be against enthusiasm?” I wondered.  I imagined Rev. Chauncy in his Boston pulpit droning on and on…and on….  I began to think that maybe he served for sixty years because he had put everyone to sleep!

 

In order to understand Rev. Chauncy’s position against enthusiasm, however, we need to keep in mind the kind of enthusiasm he was talking about.  During the mid-18^th century, New England Congregationalist churches like Chauncy’s were being challenged by a period of revivalism known as the “Great Awakening.”  This movement was driven by charismatic preachers who would go from town to town offering passionate sermons about how inherently miserable and worthless the colonists were and how only an emotional and spiritual conversion could provide them hope for redemption in the face of an angry God.  Witnessing many of the colonists, including some of his congregants, being drawn in by these fear-mongers, Chauncy called the emotional appeals of the preachers unacceptable.  He wrote:

 “…in nothing does the enthusiasm of these persons discover itself more, than in the disregard they express to the dictates of reason.  They are above the force of argument, beyond conviction from a calm sober address to their understandings.” 

He contended that this kind of manipulative focus on emotions would turn good people into “subjects of terror,” and he cautioned that “real religion” is “a sober, calm, reasonable, thing.”

 

If we follow the thought of Rev. Chauncy, the question still remains: If overt emotionality is not to be trusted in matters of faith, is there a place for enthusiasm in religion, particularly in our contemporary UUism?  I say, yes, unequivocally yes, but clearly not enthusiasm in the 18^th century sense of the word, which was defined as the approach of one “who mistakes the workings of his own passions for divine communications, and fancies himself immediately inspired by the SPIRIT OF GOD, when all the while he is under no other influence than that of an over-heated imagination.”   After all, many of us, in this church at least, have trouble getting our minds around stories of divine communication, whether they are told by Oral Roberts or by President Bush.  Incidentally, the only “divine communication” I can point to with certainty around here occurred when the satellite internet hookup for our church computers finally worked.  Still the tension between reason and emotion has come into play throughout the history of our denomination: from the Transcendentalist controversy to the more recent discussions among UU Christians, orthodox Humanists and people yearning for a feeling of “spirituality” they sometimes have difficulty defining.  Through it all, I contend there is room in our UU faith for emotion, for a more contemporary sense of enthusiasm that coincides with reason…an enthusiasm not rooted in fear, but in gratitude and wonder.

 

But, then again, you should expect me to believe in enthusiasm.  At least one man in North Carolina predicted twenty-five years ago that I would. Let me tell you the story.

 

When I was 11, I liked football.  I liked to watch games on tv with my father.  I liked to play pick-up games with my friends in the neighborhood. I even liked football enough to play for the pee-wee team of the small town in North Carolina where I lived.  I liked to ride my bike to practice. I liked hanging out with my friends.  I liked wearing the equipment.  I liked being on the team.  There was one problem though.  I didn't really like to hit anyone...and I definitely didn't like to be hit myself.  Oh, I would try to get fired up as I faced off with one of my teammates during practice.  The coaches would yell "Get it boys" and I would try to act tough.  But, you know, I don't really remember much hitting and I don't think I came away from many practices bruised. 

 

It wasn't long into our season when, despite my size (I was one of the bigger kids on the team), I was moved to the "B" team.  Probably a creation to allow creampuffs like me to play, the "B" squads of teams would face off for a short game before the main attraction to follow...the A game.  This was fine with me.  I didn’t mind being placed on the B team. I still got to wear the helmet, and the mouthpiece, and the pads.  I still got to wear the uniform.  And I didn’t have to get hit as much.

 

One thing I didn't like about football this year, though, was one of the coaches.  I don't remember much about him now except his name--Bandy--his hands (they were huge), and his voice--a Southern drawl-dipped mixture of gravel, wheeze, and rooster crow.  I also remember that to Bandy, football was everything, and any player who didn't meet his expectations heard about it.  Kind of makes you wonder what had happened in Bandy's life that left him capable of chewing out 11 year olds.  Man, that guy could yell. We all heard it at one time or another.  Bandy inspired several of my friends to quit the team, but I stuck it out. Even though I despised him, I was kind of fascinated with the guy.  I’d never seen or heard anyone quite like him.

 

One week, our A team was getting drubbed by our opponent.  The game was winding down and out of reach, so the coaches decided to teach the A team a lesson.  They would send in the B team.  I assume this change was the brainchild of Bandy.  After all, if the team pipsqueaks were on the field, he would have more time to berate the “the most sorry expletive excuses for expletive football players he had ever seen in his whole entire expletive life”.  During the timeout when the change was being made, the coaches did their best to get the B team fired up.  By the time we ran on to the field we were yelling and screaming about how we were "gonna show 'em."  As I took my place on the line of scrimmage, and I looked up at the guy who was waiting to hit me, I felt true terror I felt as I realized the mismatch.  These guys were huge!  I was going to get clobbered. 

During the play that followed, something truly unexpected happened: little bow-legged Ricky Smith found a hole and broke away down the sideline.  My fellow creampuffs and I were amazed.  How could this be?  In just one play, we were actually going to score.  We all ran after Ricky, probably at least 50 yards, and I think I led the pack.  I remember hugging him in the end zone (after all, that's what the guys on tv did).  It was a great moment.  Before we could get the ball again, the game was over.  As the team made its way to the locker room beneath the bleachers of the high school stadium where we were playing, Bandy who was walking with another coach yelled out to me.  "Hey Stringer!" 

I turned to look at him, still feeling proud of what my B team had accomplished.  "Yeah" I said.

"I think I know what position you should be playing..."

My mind raced with the possibilities. "Yeah," I said.

"You should be a cheerleader." 

I glanced at the coach who was with him.  He looked embarrassed.  Even though I knew Bandy was trying to insult me, to squash my enthusiasm, and I suppose his swipe did sting a little, I responded as though his remark had been a compliment.  And I laughed and said, "Thanks!"  Then I ran off to be with my friends.

 

I've thought a lot about that moment over the twenty-five years since it happened.  And mostly I feel sad.  Not because Bandy hurt my feelings.  No, looking back, I'm proud of how I responded.  By that time, I was beginning to understand that football was probably not the sport for me…especially if being a football player meant having to listen to blowhards like Bandy.  When I think back to that afternoon, I'm mostly sad because I wonder how many kids Bandy did hurt and how many spirits he snuffed out in the process. I can only hope that others laughed at him too.

 

I think there are two morals to this story.  But I want to save them until the end of my sermon.  In the meantime, I will tell you that there is another thing that I have to admit about my exchange under the bleachers with Bandy:  He was right.  That sorry expletive excuse for an expletive football coach was right!  The best position for me probably was “cheerleader.”  Is it any wonder that I ended up as a minister?   Ministry is a lot like cheerleading…but probably not in the most traditional sense.  You definitely don’t need a pretty face to be a minister.  You don’t have to be able to do handstands and backflips, though it does help to be flexible.  Ministry is not about cheering against one’s opponent, but rather cheering for our common endeavor: cheering for all of us to get through this roller-coaster life with as much love and dignity and forgiveness as we can muster.  Ministry is not about over-emphasizing our strengths, but embracing and learning from our weaknesses.  Ministry is not about ignoring our defeats or the painful things that happen in our lives, but welcoming all that life has to offer and seeing victory each time we are able to overcome our own pain or disappointment long enough to bring joy to someone else.

 

Of course, when I speak of ministry, I speak of much more than what I, or any of my professional colleagues, might do.  Certainly the most talented and committed ministers among us are seldom the ones speaking from pulpits.  When I speak of ministry, I speak of the things each of us does in our better moments…the moments when we are creative and caring and playful and able to see that life and love are not ours to keep but only to live and to give away…moments when we are present to a loved one or a neighbor in a time of need; when we put aside our fear and doubt and let ourselves experience the world through someone else’s eyes; when we work for justice in any of its forms, when we stand up for what we believe, when we reach out to strangers, when we find the courage to live according to the fearless love of creative interchange rather than paranoia of thinking we have to know everything ourselves. 

 

Rev. Chauncy’s position notwithstanding, one of the foundational elements of ministry then, as I see it, is enthusiasm…enthusiasm that carries us through the inevitable challenges of working for the way we think the world should be in the cold face of the way the world really is…enthusiasm that helps us laugh in the midst of setbacks and disappointments… enthusiasm that reminds us that, as Albert Camus wrote, “real generosity toward the future lies in giving all to the present.”

 

I’ve seen a lot of enthusiasm in this church since I started my ministry with you less than three years ago.  From those participating in Small Group Ministry, to those making up our various affinity groups, like Windbreakers and Interweave; from the committed members of the board of trustees working to keep our church focused on the future to the Visionquest group working to lead us toward a capital campaign.  From the volunteer teachers in our Sunday school and the children and youth who make up their classes, to those who offer their cooking, quilting, crafting, gardening or musical talents. From our sharing the light presenters to those who write “This I Believe” columns to the committed members of the Care Crew and UUs in action.  There are countless people around here who not only contribute to the ministry of this church, but who do it with love and devotion and enthusiasm.  And I have found their enthusiasm to be contagious.  It makes me want to cheer.  That’s right Bandy, wherever you are. It makes me want to cheer.

 

I want to cheer when I attend an AMOS meeting and see several members of our church taking leadership roles in this broad-based community organization made up of Des Moines area institutions who are working together to change the political landscape in central Iowa.

 

I want to cheer when I think about all the vibrant community leaders, activists, educators, health professionals, social workers and citizens who make up our congregation.

 

I want to cheer when I consider the generous financial contributions that our members continue to offer our church and the social service organizations we support.

 

I want to cheer when we help each other through difficult times, when we dedicate children and honor those who have died.  I want to cheer when we can laugh at ourselves, when we don’t take things too seriously, when there are disagreements among us and we stay at the table even if we don’t get our way…even if we must agree to disagree.

 

But perhaps most of all I want to cheer when I see how well we have been welcoming newcomers and guests, how we have not been afraid to grow and share our celebration of life and our message of hope and acceptance for all who are willing to give it in return. 

 

So what is it about this church, or this Unitarian Universalist faith that makes you want to cheer.  And to whom do you do it, if you do at all?

As a denomination with not much over 200,000 members in the U.S., Unitarian Universalism exists as only an anomaly for many.  A good example of this fact occurred a few years back on the television quiz show Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?  A question was posed: “What is the religious affiliation of the Rev. Sun Myung Moon?”  The contestant was stumped and used a life-line to ask the audience.  The second most popular response was the Unification church (the correct answer).  However, the majority of the audience chose Unitarian-Universalism.  The contestant trusted the audience and made it his final answer…in more ways than one.

 

What is it about Unitarian-Universalism that keeps it a secret?  Maybe Rev. Chauncy’s anti-enthusiasm legacy has stayed with us.  Maybe we are so eager to not confuse reason with passion that we forget how truly exciting our liberal approach to religion really is and how much so many people might appreciate what Unitarian Universalism has to offer.

        

With respect once again for Rev. Chauncy, can you allow your reason to stretch a little, to allow a sense of wonder at what we have here?  Can you feel a sense of enthusiasm, not as an artificial overlay or a trite adherence to what you imagine you are supposed to feel in church, but an enthusiasm which emerges out of your sense of reason, out of your experience of this church as a place where you can celebrate life, call forth your best self, and challenge yourself to work for a better world for all? 

 

Reason and enthusiasm are not mutually exclusive.  We can nurture an enthusiasm which grows out of our beliefs, fueled by gratitude and an ever-resilient optimism, which tells us repeatedly that this precious life is ours to use to build the common good and to make our own days glad.  This community, like any community of humans, is not a utopia, nor can it ever be.  But it is a fertile ground, a ground worthy of our planting, worthy of our hope. We will not always find our needs met at every turn, but, as Denise Levertov suggested in this morning's reading, we can share our fragments of hope, of enthusiasm (no matter how tiny they sometimes are) so that others will grow, so that by division, hope will increase. 

 

That’s why I think the two morals of my football story are the same as the morals of this sermon:

First, don't let anyone take away your enthusiasm.  It's your gift to the world; and second, if you have the ability to be a cheerleader, don't forget to cheer.

 

Closing Words (Mary Oliver)

"When it's over, I want to say: all my life

I was a bride married to amazement.

I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder

if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened

or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world."

 

 

Bibliography

Edward M. Griffin, Old Brick: Charles Chauncy of Boston, 1705-1787 (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1980).

Charles H. Lippy, Seasonable Revolutionary: The Mind of Charles Chauncy (Chicago: Nelson-Hall, 1981)

Mary Oliver, "When Death Comes," New and Selected Poems (Boston: Beacon Press, 1992).

David Robinson, The Unitarians and the Universalists (Wesport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1985).