Association Sunday

October 12, 2008

Who would we be without each other?

Would we be lonely? Would we be sad? Would we be finally, totally at peace?

UU Singer/songwriter Peter Mayer, who wrote “Blue Boat Home”, also has a song about introverts. “People upset me when they interrupt me with calls and unannounced visits, and on top of that when they chat about nothing at all and I ask what is it? I do have a lot to do. Can you return at two? I will not be here by then. Just leave what you need me for on a note on the door so I can ignore it, my friend.”

“I’d like to hire my own secretary who’s mean, someone who says things like, “Mr. Mayer can’t be reached; he is not in, you see. He’s in a meeting ’till ten. I suppose I could take your name. Who are you anyway? Please never call here again.”” (“The Introvert Song”, from the album “Elements”)

Some of us are clearly more externally-oriented than others. But humans are made to be social. We are made to live among each other, to laugh and cry together, to love and fight and heal in unending circles of days and months and years. No matter how introverted we are, there is a basic human need for each other; without touch, without companions, infants die and adults go insane. We are made for contact: challenging contact, intimate contact, creative contact, religious contact.

Each of us has different priorities:

Some of us come for the intellectual stimulation; some for the emotional support; some come for conversation, or comfort, or spiritual enrichment. The one thing that everyone among us seems to agree on is community. Connection. People. We engage in ritual, in struggle, and in caring together. We know we are not isolated, not rejected, not unworthy, despite a nagging sense that every day we are given is an unexpected grace. We are witnessed and we witness others; and in seeing and being seen we are made somehow more truly who we are. We need this. We crave it. We wonder:

If a person’s life is transformed and no one sees it, is the transformation real? Yesterday was National Coming Out Day, a day set aside to honor and encourage people who are gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, or asexual to come out–to name their own identity and let it be visible, because there is something different about being known really, being known entirely. This visibility in community is crucial. This visibility transforms not just individuals but whole communities over and over again. Each coming out–each claiming of identity– reinforces and reestablishes the sanctity of self-definition and the obligation we each have to continue to discover and examine ourselves and to share what we have learned. If we are so ashamed of what we have learned, or so afraid of others’ shame that we are unwilling to bring it to light, then either the shame or the quality must change. Only our hearts can tell us which is wrong. Over time, shame that festers in a community, coupled with lack of safety and lack of visibility can be fatal. Ten years ago today Matthew Shepherd died from exposure and untreated injuries after having been robbed, beaten, tortured, tied to a fence and left for dead because he was gay. It was eighteen hours before someone found him, and five days from the attack to his death. At the time, there was no state or federal law under which Matthew Shepherd’s death could be prosecuted as a hate crime.

Invisibility kills. Isolation kills. Silence kills.

It also snowballs. If no one talks about something, then the lesson is that it is either shameful or nonexistent or both. And it’s not just about sexual orientation. Among liberals, there are those who wince if they hear the word church. They may have had a bad experience; they may believe that theologically and socially conservative churches are the only churches out here. And since none of their friends talk about church, except perha[...]