A Sentence That Could Change Your Life
Rev. Mark Stringer

First Unitarian Church of Des Moines

September 30 & October 1, 2006

 

“It is not your business to determine how good it is, nor how valuable it is, nor how it compares with other expressions.  It is your business to keep it yours clearly and directly, to keep the channel open.”  –Martha Graham, quoted by Agnes de Mille, Dance to the Piper and Promenade Home

 

Call to Gather
Together, we have come to this place this day,

To gather as individuals
making our way through the mystery, challenge, and possibility

That is this life we share.

In our time together,

This hour or so we have carved out of our everyday lives,

We open ourselves to receive whatever our spirits may need— challenge or affirmation,
faith in the future or forgiveness for the past

And we seek to remind ourselves once again

that life is good

Each time that we, as individuals,

Gather together.

 

Meditation

Today’s service is focused on the choices that we make as we face life’s challenges, the “waiting places,” seeming dead ends, and those sticky places where we can almost always seem to get stuck.   So we begin our time of meditation today with a poem by the polish poet, Wislawa Szymborska.  In it she reminds us of the luxury of long life afforded most of us compared to the accelerated existence of those who have come before us.  This poem is entitled“Our Ancestors Short Lives”

 

Few of them made it to thirty.

Old age was the privilege of rocks and trees.

Childhood ended as fast as wolf cubs grow.

One had to hurry, to get on with life
before the sun went down,
before the first snow.

 

Thirteen-year-olds bearing children,
four-year-olds stalking birds’ nests in the rushes,
leading the hunt at twenty--
they aren’t yet, then they are gone.

Infinity’s ends fused quickly.

Witches chewed charms
with all the teeth of youth intact.

A son grew to manhood beneath his father’s eye.

Beneath the grandfather’s blank sockets the grandson was born.

 

And anyway they didn’t count the years.

They counted nets, pods, sheds, and axes.

Time, so generous toward any petty star in the sky,
offered them a nearly empty hand
and quickly took it back, as if the effort were too much.

One step more, two steps more
along the glittering river
that sprang from darkness and vanished into darkness.

 

There wasn’t a moment to lose,
no deferred questions, no belated revelations,
just those experienced in time.

Wisdom couldn’t wait for gray hair.

 

It had to see clearly before it saw the light
and to hear every voice before it sounded.

Good and evil--
they knew little of them, but knew all:
when evil triumphs, good goes into hiding;
when good is manifest, then evil lies low.

Neither can be conquered
or cast off beyond return.

Hence, if joy, then with a touch of fear;

If despair, then not without some quiet hope.

Life, however long, will always be short.

Too short for anything to be added.[1]

 

 

Readings

 

Our first reading is by the Dutch Catholic writer and theologian Henri Nouwen.

 

Because life is very small, you can never see it happening.  Have you ever seen a tree actually grow?  Can you see a child grow?  Growth is too gentle, too tender.  Life is basically hidden.  It is small and begs for constant care and protection. If you are committed to always saying yes to life, you are going to have to become a person who chooses it when it is hidden.

 

I have a case in point from my own life.  I live in a community with handicapped adults.  Just after I moved in they asked me if I would be willing to take care of Adam.  Adam cannot speak.  Adam cannot walk.  Adam is what some people might call “a vegetable.”  “Would you be willing to wash Adam?” they asked.  “Would you be willing to dress him and give him breakfast?”

 

As I began to take care of Adam, I slowly discovered what life is about.  Adam began to teach me about the smallness of living.  As I bathed this twenty-five-year-old man, washed his face, combed his hair, fed him, and dressed him, I began to realize what an incredible gift life is.  Adam spoke to me in a language I didn’t know he could speak. He told me how hidden, vulnerable, and deep life is.  Being with him gave me a sense of being closely in touch with living. After a while I felt an enormous desire to leave my office and my books and to be with Adam, because he would tell me what life was about.

 

I began to realize that every time people say yes to life in whatever form—the unborn life, life on death row, the life of the severely handicapped, the life of the broken and the homeless—they start to give hope to each other.  I had never experienced hope so concretely until I began to wash Adam.  Adam strengthened my hope.  It wasn’t optimism.  Adam is never going to get better. But he offers hope.  This hope can form a very strong bond among people who are willing to go where life is fragile and hidden.[2]

 

Our second reading is a poem by member Greg Pelley.

 

Walking

Along this path

Well trodden

Cleared by an eagle scout

I pause

And gaze Into

The Cool Green Darkness

Of the wood

And sense a clearing

A spring-fed pond

Dragonflys

Just beyond sight

 

But I think

They are there

And I am here

Yearning to step off

This path

 

Others have said

Others have told me

That beautiful worlds

That adventure

That life

Lies off that trail

 

All it takes

All that is required

A will to break free

To ignore the signs

Holding my feet to the line

 

But what about the risks

Deer Ticks Lyme Disease

Poision Ivy Snakes

What about losing my way?

Beyond the reach of others

Who stick to the path

Where would I go?

 

Who shall lead me into

And out of

The wilderness?

 

But I think

They are there

And I am here
Yearning to step off
This path

 

Sermon

I had to laugh to myself when I first wrote down the title of this sermon for the newsletter:  “A Sentence that Could Change Your Life.”

How bold of me…and maybe silly, too. 

It’s the kind of title more likely to be spouted by Dr. Phil, or Tony Robbins, or Ed McMahon hawking some new dial-a-mattress or insurance plan.

 

“A Sentence That Could Change Your Life” is not the kind of thing I typically offer from this pulpit.  Life is far too complex to be changed by a single sentence, right?   And yet, with just a few minutes of thought, I came up with several sentences that could change one’s life:

 

--You’re under arrest.

--I’m calling from the IRS.

--Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?

--Here are today’s winning numbers

--We’d like you to come in for an interview

--Will you marry me?

--I’m pregnant.

--Want to come to church with me?

--I’ve been seeing somebody else

--Your father has ALS.

--We’re going to have to let you go.

--The scans don’t look good.

--I’m sorry.

--I believe in you.

 

Sentences can change our lives all the time…and often do…which in some ways is my point today. But I do have a particular sentence I want to share with you…a sentence I came across a while back…a sentence that did change my life…or at least reminded me of something I already knew, that I needed to keep in mind (which is sometimes the most important change of all.)  I’ll share that sentence with you soon.  But first, let me tell you how I found it.

 

Not that long ago, I was in the midst of a bout with writer’s block, the kind that happens to me…about…every…week.  I pulled a creative writing book off my shelf to give me a little boost. I stock up on these books, keeping them handy when I am feeling particularly down about my work. This one was written by Julia Cameron[3], author of The Artist’s Way which was popular with many of my actor friends years ago. As is the case with most books about writing, the focus was mostly on how to keep writing even when you feel like you can’t.  There is something very reassuring about knowing that published authors, particularly those who have written several books, have the same struggles the rest of us do.

 

The part of this book that really got my attention and that led to this sermon was when Cameron was writing about the “Inner Censor” that each of us has inside…that voice of doubt and negativity that picks us apart…or knocks us down…or leaves us feeling like we can’t possibly do the things we want to do…or know we could or even should do.

 

Cameron suggests that most of us focus far too much on this voice of the Inner Censor, leaving us to put our creative endeavors (if not our lives…) on hold until some imagined day of release when the voice will finally give us a green light, encouraging us to move forward at last.  And yet, she points out, the inner censor has only one light it can shine--a red light. The inner censor will never offer affirmations, only dire warnings…it is a worst-case- scenario voice that doles out negatives, feeds on our fear, and actually grows more vicious the more we give it attention.

 

I was intrigued by Cameron’s description of the inner censor not only because my writing has been stymied by its voice, but because I see the impact of the inner censor in other places in my life…and in the lives of the people I know.  For me, the inner censor is about much more than writer’s block.

 

I see life itself as a creative endeavor…an ongoing project with an uncertain end, but a deadline all the same.  That’s why these creative writing books are like religious texts for me.  They teach me to keep going…to live through negativity…to believe in the possible and to see life for the adventure it is: a chance to learn and share and make mistakes and love and to be alive for as long as I possibly can…alive with all the pain and joy and experience life brings.  As A. Powell Davies used to say, “Life is just a chance to grow a soul.”  This life then is my chance and I certainly don’t want to waste it by dwelling on my inner censor…the very voice with a mission of keeping me from full engagement in life rather than leading me to it.

 

And yet, the inner censor does have its way with me from time to time, effectively throwing up blocks to the life I hope to lead.  And I suspect it does for you, too.

 

Where does this voice come from?  And why can it be so powerful?

 

Sometimes the inner censor comes in the voice of a person from our past. 

 

I have a friend who was working on acknowledging her own inner censor, which in her case, often came in the voice of her father, with whom she had a troubled relationship.  She explained to me that to describe her father as “hyper-critical” would have been an understatement.  His voice of negativity was so engrained in her that she often found herself playing the same role with others that her father used to…throwing out critiques and negative observations at inappropriate times.  Her partner was often the recipient of these critiques and was growing tired of it.  They discussed this in therapy and both agreed that they wanted to change the dynamic.  So my friend’s partner had an idea…a loving, playful idea.  She went to the computer and created a couple of signs that she posted in key places around the house.  The signs looked like a advertisement for a radio station.  There was a graphic of an old-style radio microphone, around which she had put the call letters: WDAD, with a slogan on the bottom of the sign in bold letters saying

DAD Radio
All Comments…All the Time.

 

Each time my friend saw these signs, she received a small reminder that the voice of negativity tormenting her and those around her was not only a voice coming from somewhere else…but a voice that could be turned down…if not off.

 

As I have thought about my own inner censor, particularly in my work as a minister, I trace it back to something my brother said to me almost thirty years ago.  I was in the fifth grade and was discovering in myself an ability to be a storyteller.  My teacher--probably as a ploy to help me get rid of some of my excess energy and insatiable need to pursue creative interchange with my classmates--would have me get up in front of the class once or twice a week and act out stories that I would make up on the fly.  I created elaborate characters and scenarios and received lots of praise from my friends for my little shows.  My brother, three years my senior, heard about my performances and decided to help me out.  He pulled me aside one day and said, “Be careful, Mark.  I used to do stuff like that, too.  Then, one day, I ran out of things to say. And it was really bad.”

 

Now I haven’t thought about the particulars of that conversation much over the years, and I know my brother did not intend to shackle me with doubt and fear.  In fact, he is one of the more creative and supportive people I know.  And yet, when I sit in front of the blank screen of my computer, imagining myself up here in front of you, my inner censor wants me to be terrified that I have run out of things to say…and that any attempt I make will be “really bad.”

 

Now is all of this my brother’s fault?  I don’t think so.  No more than the inner censor that each of you may struggle with is the fault of someone from your past or present…even if it does appear that way.

 

So where does it come from?

 

Cameron suggests that the inner censor, which she also calls the inner perfectionist, is actually the product of our ego…our very human need to be good…if not perfect in what we do.

 

I appreciate how webcomic artist Tatsuya Ishida describes this ego-drive. Maybe you can relate, too.  He says:

 

“All I ever wanted in life was to make a difference,

be worshiped like a god,

conquer the universe,

travel the world, meet interesting people,

find the missing link, fight the good fight,

live for the moment, seize each day, make a fortune,

know what really matters, end world hunger, vanquish the dragon, be super popular but too cool to care, be master of my own fate, embrace my destiny, feel as much as I can feel, give too much,

and love everything.”[4]

 

Of course it’s ok…even natural to feel this way…but, as Cameron suggests, it can be very dangerous if we expect to achieve any of it or beat ourselves up when we don’t.

 

More often than we may want to admit, we can keep ourselves locked into the condemnation of our inner censor because we are afraid to have to face the truth that we aren’t going to be the best…or if not the best, than simply not good enough (whatever enough might be) or that we might disappoint someone we love.

 

So…what do we do?  Even if we acknowledge that our inner censor is tied to our ego and that we will never be able to fully please or placate it, what can we do?

 

And here, my friends, at long last, we have come to the sentence that could change your life (or maybe it already has).

 

When the inner censor is letting us have it, reminding us of how pathetic or unworthy or untalented or irredeemable we are, when our inner perfectionist is saying, “Don’t you bother trying.  You are just going to fail,” we can offer the following sentence in response:

 

“That’s OK.  I’m going to try it anyway.”

 

Now, I know what some of you are thinking. 
“Mark…that is two sentences.”

 

And you know what.  You are right.  But…
“That’s OK.  I’m going to try it anyway.”

 

This sentence (or pair of sentences) could change your life because it is based in humility…humility that leaves our inner perfectionist nowhere to go. 

 

“That’s OK.  I’m going to try it anyway.”

 

The inner perfectionist will fight back.  It will say, “I’ll show you. You miserable failure of a failure.”

 

And we can say, “That’s OK.  I’m going to try it anyway.”

 

This is not all that revolutionary of an idea.

 

Our lives have already proven its wisdom.

 

Think back to all the times your inner censor tried to convince you that you couldn’t do something and then you did anyway, for better or for worse. 

--asking someone for a date

--leaving home

--making it through a health crisis

--carrying on after the death of a loved one

--raising children

--teaching a class

--creating a piece of art

--standing up for what you believe in

--showing up at a social gathering

--maybe even coming to this church

Did your actions always pan out the way you hoped?  Of course not.  But even if you regret what you have done, “that’s OK.  At least you tried anyway.”  And you no doubt learned something in the process.  At the very least, you further enriched the humility that can lead your heart to be open enough to try again…or open to others who try.  How else do we grow our souls but by trying and failing and trying again?  How else do we learn to let go of the grasp of our inner perfectionist than by carrying on anyway?  How else can we fully embrace the adventure of our lives if not by learning to tell our inner censor “Hey, thanks for sharing!” and to keep on moving forward toward possibility rather than being held back by fear and uncertainty?

 

Cameron describes this humble response to our inner perfectionist as being “willing to work poorly.”

 

Or as GK Chesterton put it,
“If thing is worth doing, it is worth doing badly.”

 

What, after all, is the alternative?  Of course we will miss the mark at some of the things that are most important to us.  But moving ahead anyway is the only means by which we will ever approach the things that are most important.

 

Last week, I was at a minister’s gathering where one of my colleagues shared a meditation by Joyce Rupp.  Before reading it, she said that she had used it at nearly every meeting she had led for weeks, as it seemed to have some universal wisdom and appeal.  As she read its words, my accomplished, experienced, wise colleagues, all nodded.  Some chuckled.  Some exhaled in the kind of release that happens whenever some needed truth is shared.  I know I needed to hear it.  Maybe you do, too.

 

it is time for me

to see the flaws

of myself

and stop

being alarmed

 

it is time for me

to halt my drive

for perfection

and to accept

my blemishes

 

it is time for me

to receive

slowly evolving growth

the kind that comes

in…[its] own good time

and pays no heed

to my panicky pushing

 

it is time for me

to embrace

my humanness

to love

my incompleteness

 

it is time for me

to cherish

the unwanted

to welcome

the unknown

to treasure

the unfulfilled

 

if I wait to be

perfect

before I love myself

I will always be

unsatisfied

and ungrateful

 

if I wait until

all the flaws, chips,

and cracks disappear

I will be the cup

that stands on the shelf

and is never used[5]

 

 

Each of us has the precious opportunity each day to begin again…to give up on being perfect, and to learn to be satisfied with being human…messy, difficult, draining as it is.  No small task for sure. 
But that’s OK.  I’m going to try it anyway.

 

Maybe you will, too.