Why
Am I So Lucky?
Rev. Mark Stringer
First Unitarian Church of Des Moines
1/12/03
Meditation
for 1/12/03
That
which is greater than all but present in each.
We
sit together now
in
peace and safety and quiet
kindred
spirits who have come here this morning
for
different reasons.
There
are those among us
who
arrived today without a second thought,
who
are here because there is nowhere else they’d
rather be.
There
are those among us who entered this hall
with a spring in their step,
excited
to have finally found a home for their questions,
a
place where they can bring their doubt and their
joy.
And
there are those among us who barely made it here,
who
had to talk themselves into coming,
who
had to talk themselves into believing that there
might be something here to fill their aching spirit
or the empty space they didn’t know they had.
There
are some here looking for a respite from their busy
lives,
thankful
for the chance to sit in quiet, to breathe our
common breath.
There
are some here who are worried about loved ones,
close
by or far away,
who
are battling illness or addiction or uncertainty.
And
some who are troubled by concerns about their own
health,
maybe
facing questions they never thought they’d ask.
Some
with us this morning are distracted by financial
matters,
hoping
for a new job, or a new opportunity.
And
some who are distracted by new love or new life
or new possibilities.
Some
came here seeking challenge
and
some came here seeking comfort.
Some
came here hoping to laugh
and
some came here hoping to cry.
Whatever
brought us here today
may
we find something to take with us and
may
we give thanks for this warm, well-lit, space…
A
space big enough to hold us all,
and
always one more.
Amen.
Reading
“The
Miraculous Pitcher” by Barbara Rohde
During
the hot Nebraska summers of my childhood, I spent
hours, high in my treehouse, devouring the books I
found in the small collection my parents had
acquired from the estates of various relatives.
One
of my favorites was A
Wonder Book, Nathaniel Hawthorne’s retelling
of classical myths. My favorite of those stories was “The
Miraculous Pitcher,” the story of Baucis and
Philemon. This
elderly, poor, but generous-hearted couple invite
two gods, disguised as beggars, to come into their
cottage to rest and eat. The gods keep asking that their bowls be
replenished, and the old couple become sad and
embarrassed because they know the pitcher is empty.
But the gods show them otherwise. No
matter how often they pour from the pitcher, it is
always full.
I
suppose that as a child, what I liked was the
thought of possessing such a pitcher.
Much later I realized that in some sense I
did. The
story of the miraculous pitcher seems to be telling
us that in the realm of the spirit there is no such
thing as a non-renewable resource.
That
is an important concept.
Most of us have it backward.
For centuries we have had it backward.
We have believed that material resources are
infinite but the resources of the spirit need to be
hoarded with care.
We act as if the supply of oil can go on
forever but that there are limits to the amount of
love we can give away.
How often I have found myself closing off
from people in need because I was afraid of being
spiritually drained, only to find myself in the
driest of deserts.
We
have arrived at a time in our history when we are
beginning to realize that this planet is our only
home; we can no longer make a mess of the place
where we are and then move on.
A species can come to an end.
Resources can be used up.
All growth is not a sign of health.
But
I suspect we doubt more than ever the truth in the
story of the miraculous pitcher—or the loaves and
the fishes. We
find it hard to believe that we will find the
spiritual nourishment to meet the needs of this
chaotic age.
The
wisdom of the centuries and our own experience tell
us otherwise. If
we do not let our fears have dominion, we may
discover that in the midst of pain we find inner
strength, in the midst of bewilderment we find inner
clarity, in the midst of nourishing another we find
ourselves nourished.
Sermon
Last
spring, as I was beginning to put together the
Sunday service schedule for this year, I asked in
one of my newsletter columns if there were any
future sermon topics that members wanted me to
explore. The
only response I remember receiving was, as all good
sermon topics usually are, in the form of a
question. The
question was “Why am I so lucky?”
As I recall, the person who posed it
explained that she has been growing her spirituality
through reading, exercise and hobbies and that she
has been trying to keep herself grounded and awake
to life. But,
she admitted, she often feels a disconnect when
engaged in these activities in light of all the
inequities in the world.
“Why do I get to do all this stuff?” she
asks. “Why
do I have the time, or the money, or the privilege
to fully inhabit and enjoy my life in ways that
others cannot?
Why,” she wonders, “am I so lucky?”
I
guess that most of us, at one time or another, have
asked this question, have struggled with how to make
sense of whatever comparative advantages we may
have. And
I suppose that many of us have also felt the
struggle of wanting to embrace our lives in the face
of the reality that there are many who may not be in
a position to do the same.
I certainly have.
I
remember living in NYC and spending 60 dollars a
month for a gym membership, a gym that was within a
few blocks of our East Village apartment.
As I would run back and forth to the gym
after work several times a week, I would usually run
past people looking for handouts, people who
probably did not have the money for a sandwich, much
less a membership at a gym.
I knew that keeping my body healthy was
important…but it just didn’t seem right that I
had enough money (and time…and ability) to belong
to a gym when others were going hungry.
Why am I so lucky? I’m sure I must have asked myself.
Here
in Des Moines, I think, “Why am I so lucky?”
every time I drive my rickety old car around. I make
fun of my rusty Toyota a lot from this pulpit, but
the reality is I know how good I have it.
When I drive past people waiting for the bus,
I almost always have the urge to stop and pick them
up. I
suppose that some of these folks are choosing to
ride the bus, and maybe even enjoy taking public
transportation.
However, I remember how tough it can be to
wait for the bus…especially in the winter…and
since I am usually looking at them across an empty
passenger seat, I regularly wonder why I should be
driving alone when there are people who obviously
need a ride. Why
am I so lucky? Why shouldn’t I be picking them
up? But
you know that I don’t.
I don’t because I’m afraid.
I’m afraid that I would scare them, or that
they would assume that I’m up to no good, or that
they would take one look at my jalopy and say,
“What, get a ride in that thing?” And, of course, I’m afraid that by
offering a ride, I could be inconveniencing myself.
Maybe I’d have to go a few miles out of my
way. Maybe
I would lose a few minutes of time from my busy day. But why, I wonder, am I so lucky to have
a day filled with things to do, with places to go,
and people to see?
Why am I so lucky?
Lately
I’ve been seeing the images of soldiers being
shipped off to the Persian Gulf, saying goodbye to
wives and children.
One of these pictures has stayed in my mind.
It featured a tall young man in his uniform
complete with a white sailor cap.
He was holding his wife and in his eyes,
ringed red with emotion, I could see his
sadness…and maybe his fear…and maybe even his
anger. There
was a lot going on in that picture…and I guess
that’s why it has stayed with me.
I think of that young sailor nearly every day
now, and I wonder what he’s up to.
I wonder why he enlisted in the first place. And I wonder what it must be like to say
goodbye to family and friends for months at a
time…to go to foreign lands without assurance that
you’ll return.
I have never had to serve in the military…I
have never been subjected to a draft and I have
never been in a position where serving in the
military seemed like a desirable option.
With thousands of our young men and women now
overseas in turbulent times with what seems to be a
war-hungry president in charge, I have to ask,
“Why am I so lucky?”
Each
morning as I wake with my wife to our pre-set
furnace filling our house with heat…and I climb in
the shower, where the warm water always entices me
to linger…and I wander downstairs to grab the
paper that has been dropped off at our front
door…and I select my breakfast from the
refrigerator (a box…even on the mornings of
grocery store days, usually packed with food and
assorted condiments and restaurant left-overs)…and
start the water boiling for a cup of tea…I have to
wonder, “Why am I so lucky?”
Each
time I take a moment to really pay attention to the
glories of this planet, this enormous ball of earth
and water and sky and life, I have to ask “Why am
I so lucky?”
Just this week, for example, on my way to
work, I drove past Gray’s Lake and was simply
entranced with the scene.
It was one of the warm January days we have
been having. The
sun was brightly shining.
The sky a piercing blue dabbled with islands
of marshmallow.
A brisk wind was coming in from the
northwest, making my car shudder and swirling
countless leaves across the road, as though the
earth was finally shedding the last of its dried
autumn skin. Why
do I get to live in a place with abundant trees, and
open spaces, and natural beauty?
Why am I so lucky?
Each
time I enter the church and someone greets me with
my spoken name, and offers me a hug or a handshake
or a smile…each time I get to gather together with
you as we have today to celebrate the mystery and
wonder of our shared lives…each time the
connections I have nurtured here allow me to share
an important milestone of my life with others, or
allow me to be with someone in a moment of joy or
pain… each time I get to experience this life
through someone else’s eyes…I have to ask
myself, “Why am I so lucky?’
Of
course, I could go on all morning, asking the same
question over and over again.
Even about things that, on the surface,
don’t seem like good fortune at all. Yes, my
neighbor can sometimes drive me nuts, especially
when he does things like run a leaf blower before
sunrise and a backhoe just before midnight, but why
am I so lucky to have a neighbor with whom I can
argue and then work it out?
Yes, my bank account is on the small side,
but why am I so lucky to get a regular paycheck that
covers the basic necessities of my life…and then
some. Yes,
my mother died before my 22nd birthday,
but why was I so lucky to have a loving mother in
the first place? Yes, other people who are dear to
me will someday die and no longer be here to love,
but why am I so lucky to have dear people in my
life…friends and family who I love and who love
me?
Yes,
“Why am I so lucky?”
Why are any of us so lucky?
Of course, I have no mathematical equation
that will help me add it all up.
I don’t have a computer program that can
translate the data of my privilege into some
coherent explanation.
I don’t even have the assurance that there
is an adequate or reliable answer to be found in
religious texts.
Buddhists might tell me that my blessings
are, like the rest of my life and this world I
inhabit, just an illusion.
Hindus might tell me my good fortune is a
product of positive karma I built up in my previous
lives…lives I don’t remember.
And some Christians might say my luck is a
personal gift from God.
Maybe
they’re all right.
Maybe not.
The one thing of which I am certain is that I
just don’t know.
I know that many of the privileges that I
experience are the product of things entirely out of
my control. I
didn’t choose to be a straight, white, male born
to middle class, Protestant parents on an Ohio
February morning in 1967. I did not take the risks
that those somewhere on both my mother and
father’s sides must have taken to board ships that
brought them to a “new world” of possibility.
I didn’t do any of the hard work that kept
my ancestors in good financial standing during tough
times…and based upon my last name, I assume that
some branches of my family tree were financially
propped up by the blood and sweat of slaves, men and
women who themselves did not choose to be taken from
their homeland to give their lives in labor so that
others could benefit. And I didn’t choose the body
I inhabit, a body, which, following the design of a
genetic code I did not choose, has enabled me to do
most of the things I have wanted to do.
So,
in response to the question of this morning--Why
am I, or any of us, so lucky?--I must admit I
don’t have an answer.
Instead, I have to offer another question.
What does this luck, if we are lucky enough
to recognize it in our lives, ask of us?
If the privileges of our lives are mostly
coincidental, happenstance realities rooted in
things out of our control, what are we to do to
honor our good fortune?
The
kind person who suggested this sermon topic admitted
that she becomes acutely aware of her good fortune
when she engages in activities that seem to be (at
least on the surface) self-focused, when she is able
to take the time to do things that fill her with
joy. I
think this is probably how it must be.
For when we are the beneficiaries of
blessings and advantages, embedded in these gifts
are important questions:
Not only “Why am I so lucky?” or “Why
are others not so lucky?” but also “What am I
doing with what I have?”
After all, when we are receiving adequate
nourishment, shelter, and love…we are obliged, I
think, to give something back…to pass on our good
fortune to others.
There
was a man of great wisdom who used to teach this
principle by telling this story:
There
was a rich man who went away to another country.
Before he left, he gave some of his treasures
to his three servants.
In the days when this story was written down,
a particular unit of money was known as a talent,
and a talent was worth around a thousand dollars.
The
rich man gave five talents to the first servant, two
to the second, and one to the third.
He told them to look after what each had been
given: to trade with it and to give it back when he
returned.
After
the man had gone, the first servant went straight to
the marketplace. With his five talents he bought and sold
all kinds of goods.
He worked hard until the five talents his
master had given him had been multiplied to ten.
The
second servant also took his two talents to the
marketplace and with hard work turned his two into
four.
The
third servant was afraid to do anything with the one
talent his master had given him.
He dug a hole in the earth and buried it
where no one would find it.
After
a time, the rich man returned and wanted to know
what the three had done with his money.
The
first showed him that he had turned five talents
into ten. “Well
done,” he said.
“You have shown that you can be faithful
over a few things, so I will give you more to watch
over.”
The
second servant also came to him and showed his
profit. The
man said unto him as well, “You have shown that
you can be faithful over a few things, so I will
give you more to watch over.”
The
third servant came forward clutching his one bag of
talents and said, “Master, I was afraid to use
your treasures.
I thought that someone might steal them or
cheat me out of them, so I hid them safely in the
earth.”
The
rich man was angry.
“I gave you my treasures to use, not to
hide,” he said.
“Give that which I gave you to the man who
has ten, he will know what to do with it.”
Jesus
would then end the parable by saying, “To those
who have, more will be given, and they will have an
abundance.”
This
story has often seemed to me like a biblical version
of “trickle-down economics” or like an
advertisement for an investment banker: “The
servants made money the old
fashioned way, they earned
it.” But, as in all the parables Jesus told,
his metaphor is far more flexible than that. It’s
no coincidence, you know, that the word “talent”
has come to mean not money, but a natural or
acquired ability.
No I don’t think Jesus was giving a lesson
in the importance of making wise investments, and he
wasn’t preaching the maxim, “You’ve got to
spend money to make money” as though life is just
an excuse to accumulate wealth.
He was talking about using what we have been
given, whatever that might be. And I would add, it
doesn’t matter if we believe that our talents
(whether they be money or ability or privilege) are
gifts from God or not…products of hard work or
good luck or just pure chance.
We will still be more likely to increase our
blessings, the story says, if we choose to put them
to use.
I
think Jesus was saying that our lives are a lot like
the miraculous pitcher described in this morning’s
reading. We
may think that our privileges and good fortune must
be hoarded or at least rationed, kept to ourselves
so that they don’t get drained from us, because
the needs of the world are so great, and we are each
so small. But
I suggest that real luck of our lives…the luck
that begins the moment we can see how privileged we
truly are to be alive, to feel and love and question
and believe…is that as we give back to our world,
we will end up with more to give.
I know it doesn’t make sense.
But when did the fact that we are alive for a
finite time…able to exist, to feel pain and joy
and surprise and wonder…ever really make sense?
So,
in response to the question of the morning, “Why
am I so lucky?” I still say, I don’t know.
But I also humbly propose that when we find
ourselves overwhelmed by how fortunate we truly are,
we do have a choice…a choice to recognize this as
an invitation…an invitation not to be ashamed, or
paralyzed, or closed off from life…but an
invitation to celebrate our good fortune and to pour
it out for others.
Along
these lines, I like how Victor Frankl put it.
Frankl, as some of you know, was a
concentration camp survivor who, despite all that he
endured, still saw his life as a blessing.
He wrote:
“We
need…to stop asking about the meaning of life, and
instead to think of ourselves as those who [are]
being questioned by life—daily and hourly.”
Questioned
by life.
What
questions do you hear your life asking…and how are
you responding?
When you hear the voice of your heart asking
“Why am I so lucky?” do you celebrate, or hide,
or do you hear the deeper question: “What am I
doing to share what I have been given?”
My
hope for all of us is that when we reach our final
day, when we fall victim to the terminal condition
we call life and say goodbye to the enormous
possibility that is living itself, we will each be
able to embrace all that our lives brought to
us…all of hardships and the pleasures, all of the
laughter and the tears…and we each will have
reason to say: “I was so lucky.”
May it be so.
Closing Words
(Adapted
from the words of Jean Shindoa Bolen)
As
we leave this good place and these good people and
make our way into another Sunday afternoon, may we
move through our day-to-day lives with a sense of
appreciation and gratitude that comes from knowing
how fortunate we truly are and how unearned all we
are thankful for really is.
To have this perspective in our everyday
consciousness is in itself a gift which leads us to
feel blessed every time.
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