Unitarian Universalist Church of Delaware County - Sermons

An old Jewish man was walking along the beach one day with his grandson.  Now let me tell you about this old man.  All his life, nothing ever satisfied him.  He complained about everything.  He always focused on what he didn’t have instead of appreciating what he did have.  The only thing he never complained … Continue reading The Case Against Gratitude

An old Jewish man was walking along the beach one day with his grandson.  Now let me tell you about this old man.  All his life, nothing ever satisfied him.  He complained about everything.  He always focused on what he didn’t have instead of appreciating what he did have.  The only thing he never complained about was walking along the beach with his grandson which is what he was doing on this fine summer day.  Suddenly, a giant wave appeared on the horizon and headed toward the shore.  It engulfed the grandson, lifted him up and carried him out to sea.  The grandfather immediately got down on his knees and looked up at the sky.  “Lord”, he said, “please bring back my grandson.  I promise I will change my ways.  I won’t be dissatisfied any longer.  I will never complain about anything.  I will be grateful for whatever comes my way and not focus on what I am not given.  Just please return my grandson to me.”  Just then, the wave appeared again, this time carrying the grandson toward shore.  The wave rushed over the sand and gently deposited the grandson on the ground and receded out to sea.  The grandfather, with tears in his eyes, looked at his grandson for a good long time.  He then turned to the sky and said, “He had a hat.”

How ungrateful this man was.  His prayers had been answered.  His grandson was returned to him.  Yet, instead of being grateful, he complained about what was not returned. 

From childhood, we have been taught to be grateful for what we have.  To count our blessings; to roll with the punches; to grin and bear it; to have the patience of Job, to make the best of it; to take your medicine.  Complaining about anything was met with a sharp rebuke and charges of being an ingrate.  When I didn’t finish my vegetables and was told that there are people in China that go to bed hungry, my response was always, “Well, send these to them”.  I always thought it was a very witty retort, but it was never greeted with the kind of humorous reception I thought it deserved.  Quite the contrary.

Barbara Rainey, in her book, Growing Together in Gratitude, writes that, “Gratitude is not natural. It is an attitude that must be taught and nurtured. And it is a task more difficult for parents in the West because of our abundance and prosperity.”  And Neel Burton, in his article entitled The Psychology of Gratitude, tells us that…” Gratitude never came easily to us human beings, and is a diminishing virtue in modern times. In our consumerist society, we focus on what we lack, or what other people have that we don’t”. 

In thought and in literature, the ungrateful person was cast in the most negative light.  In Shakespeare’s King Lear, for example, Lear says, Ingratitude, thou marble-hearted fiend, How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child.   For philosopher David Hume, ingratitude is ‘the most horrible and unnatural crime that a person is capable of committing’.  And for Immanuel Kant, it was, quite simply, ‘the essence of vileness’.

And even science weighs in on this issue of gratitude.  There are studies that contend that some people are not hard wired to show gratitude; that, for some of us, gratitude just doesn’t come easily.  Research suggests that these differences may be rooted in our brains, our genes, and even our personalities.  Perhaps the strongest evidence supporting the genetic basis for gratitude comes from a study of twins. In this study by Michael Steger and colleagues, identical twins—who essentially have the same DNA—had more similar self-reported levels of gratitude than did fraternal twins—who share only 50 percent of their DNA—suggesting that there may be a genetic component to gratitude.  In addition, some people may have a deficiency in the genes respon

My son, Kaleb, went to Boy Scout camp this summer. The packing list included the option of bringing a “Bible, testament, or prayer book.”  Kaleb and I joked that as a UU, he would need an entire separate bag to carry his holy books. That’s one of the great things about Unitarian Universalism, right? We aren’t … Continue reading It is our choices, Harry…

My son, Kaleb, went to Boy Scout camp this summer. The packing list included the option of bringing a “Bible, testament, or prayer book.”  Kaleb and I joked that as a UU, he would need an entire separate bag to carry his holy books.

That’s one of the great things about Unitarian Universalism, right? We aren’t limited to a single “Bible, Testament, or Prayer Book.”  We can find the texts that give our lives meaning and claim them as our own sacred books. 

Of course, that’s also one of the challenging things about Unitarian Universalism.  With so many choices, how do we decide what texts are sacred or holy? With almost limitless options, how do we choose what to believe? 

I’ll come back to that question, but first another story: We have an Amazon Alexa device at home. I really like Alexa because when I’m cooking and use up the last of an ingredient, I can just yell into the air: “Alexa, add garlic to the shopping list.” And she will respond, “I’ve added garlic to your shopping list.” My kids like this too because they can instruct Alexa to add things like “chocolate cake” and “chickens for the backyard” to the shopping list. 

But one of the things that my kids like to do most with Alexa is to ask her for a Harry Potter quote. The thing is, Alexa’s artificial intelligence is not quite astute enough to judge one passage from another in a text.  So, while Alexa could say something like, “It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities,” which is something meaningful that wise Dumbledore says to Harry at an important moment in the 2nd book in the series.  Alexa is just as likely, or possibly more likely, to say any other random sentence from the book.  

When asked for a Harry Potter quote, Alexa has responded with the following gems of wisdom:

“Have another biscuit,” she said irritably, thrusting the tin at him.“Egypt huh, what’s it like?”“Snape nodded, but did not elaborate. They turned right,” Or, a single word like “Christmas” “Trevor” or “Look”

Clearly, Alexa is not so good at sorting through the many possibilities to find deeper meaning. But we are fortunate to have non-artificial intelligence, as well as some guidance in our search for truth and meaning. And my initial plan for this sermon was to talk through some of the ways that UUs can find truth and meaning and to give some guidance in that search. But, I quickly realized that because that search is so individual it is hard to talk about and definitely too deep for a summer sermon. Also, I started to wonder how much it matters.

In our story this morning, Sir Luckless and the witches didn’t need to analyze their beliefs about the Fountain of Fair Fortune. They didn’t spend time trying to explain or prove. They simply believed that the waters in the fountain would heal them…but that wasn’t their only belief. The witches, at least, also recognized that they could find meaning in other things–in work, in learning, and in experience.  So, the fountain was one option, but not the only one. In the end, it didn’t really matter that the fountain wasn’t enchanted because what mattered was what the travelers did with their beliefs.  What they did was form friendships, care, heal, and move on. 

So, instead of analyzing how we choose what inspires us, I’m going to focus on what we do with that inspiration. This brings us back to Kaleb’s hypothetical giant bag of holy books and Alexa’s strange series of Harry Potter quotes.  You see, if I were going to Boy Scout camp and given the option of bringing a “Bible, Testament, or Prayer Book,” I would really struggle with what to bring along. The teachings that most speak to me come from stories. If you’ve been coming to UUCDC for a while, you know that one of my jobs here is to tell a time for all ages story dur

I was sitting in my room thinking of how big liminality is and how I would bring it to you today. I had at least seven different half sermons circulating each with its own merit and open space to develop, yet none of them seemed right. I turned to my phone, in frustration. I was … Continue reading Beauty Betwixt and Between

I was sitting in my room thinking of how big liminality is and how I would bring it to you today. I had at least seven different half sermons circulating each with its own merit and open space to develop, yet none of them seemed right. I turned to my phone, in frustration. I was thinking, “Why is this sermon so freaking hard to write. Why didn’t you just give a sermon blurb for a sermon that you already wrote. I have sermons they haven’t heard. Who chooses to work so hard in the summer and learn to be a Chaplain”. I thumbed through the phone and boom; I was on FB. After all of the cute kids, puppies and kittens, food pictures, and funny quotes I could feel the anxiety melting away. I decided what was really wrong with the idea of liminality was that I was a UU and I generally only get 15-20 minutes to deliver a homily. Most UU churches don’t want to listen to me wax poetically about liminality for two hours.

Liminality. Liminality, as introduced in 1902 by Arnold van Gennep and ethnographer and folklorist, was focused around the three stages in Rites of Passage ceremonies. These stages are: Separation, Marginality or Liminality, and Union or Incorporation. His theories were based on his belief that human rites of passage were tied to the understanding of fixed or changeable forces such as, age or social structures. The first stage, separation is when the person separates from the perceived social structure, the initia is said to stand in a space of ambiguity, which is the entrance to the second stage, liminality. In Latin the root Limin means a threshold or boundary, therefore the travel from known to unknown, from social bound by a group of characteristics to the space unbound and not yet ready to move to the third stage, Union in which the person returns to a status that has been raised and they are restored to the institution. (Ratini n.d.)

The idea of Liminality has been built upon through the centuries and has been defined and redefined by people in other fields. Theologically speaking, Liminal Space is in between. It is the space where spirit speak. It is the womb  of transformation. Sufi Poet, Rumi speaks of liminal space in the poem:

This We Have Now This we have now is not imagination.  This is not  grief or joy.  Not a judging state,  or an elation,  or sadness.  Those come and go.  This is the presence  that doesn’t.

Do you remember when you experienced the presence that doesn’t. There are so many. Some are looming and represent vast joys and sorrows some are a blip and hardly noticed. They last seconds.

In liminal space I often feel anxious. I like things to be “just so”. I wouldn’t say that I am controlling but I could admit to being, “tidy in my thoughts and ideas of how things should be”. You can imagine the opportunities that I experience to encounter liminality.

Every time before I preach I enter liminal space. I sit in the pulpit praying before I walk up to the microphone. Sometimes it is deep and meaningful like help me to speak truth with love. Other times it is as simple and anxiety ridden like, don’t let me forget my reading, please let all of the pages of my sermon be here and in order, “May no F bombs cross my lips”

The first time that I preached my mother in law told me a story about an arrogant minister that would stroll to the pulpit in his very expensive suit looking stunningly manicured and pious. One Sunday he approached the pulpit as he always did and when he got there he realized that he had forgotten his papers. He had a hot mike moment in which he said, “Que Mierda! Se me olvidaron los paples” or in English, “Oh shit! I forgot my papers”.  This lesson has stuck with me. First don’t act so pious, secondly, double and triple check your paper, third make sure the mic is off until I am ready to speak. Fourthly, if none o

If I believed in such things, I would say that my father-in-law, Dan Fitzpatrick, is looking down and laughing at me right now. He would find it at least entertaining if not completely ridiculous that I, with all my fancy degrees, would be standing before you complaining about having to learn things “the hard way.” You see, Dan Fitzpatrick was a true graduate of the school of hard knocks, and compared to him, I’m a total fraud. Dan started working in a power generating plant when he was in high school, shoveling coal into the boilers. Then he enlisted in the army and worked as an airplane mechanic in the Pacific during World War II. Upon returning from the war, he married his high school sweetheart and went back to work at the power plant for another 45 years, eventually working his way up to maintenance director. I’m convinced that, had he had the opportunity, my father-in-law could have been a brain surgeon or a concert violinist, or pretty much anything he put his mind to. But he didn’t have those opportunities – the opportunities I’ve been blessed with. He learned with his hands and with his heart, which was one of the biggest hearts I’ve ever known. He never resented his missed opportunities, and, in fact, he was proud of his graduate-level degree from the school of hard knocks. So, compared to Dan Fitzpatrick, I’m a mere poser.

And yet, having lived for 62-plus years on this planet, there are things I’ve had to learn the hard way. All of us, I think, need to touch the metaphorical hot stove now and then. We can’t learn all our lessons in the classroom, nor can we live our lives fully without taking risks and suffering the consequences. That having been said, as a parent and, now, a grandparent, our impulse is to protect our children and grandchildren from having to learn things the hard way. Maybe it’s part of the evolutionary process, but I would much prefer my grandsons to be twice shy without having to be once burned. There is wisdom that I wish my parents or grandparents had imparted to me but didn’t, so I had to learn some things the hard way. Now, to be kind and to be fair and honest, they probably tried to teach me and I just didn’t listen, so I don’t fault them at all. But on this Father’s Day I’ve been thinking about some of those things that I wish I’d been told or taught by my father, or my grandfather. Things that I learned the hard way and that I intend to share with my  own grandsons when they’re old enough to listen, and, hopefully, not too old to ignore. I thought I’d share a few of them with you today.

The first “words of wisdom” I would impart are these: “Always check your blind spots.” You know what blinds spots are, right? When you’re sitting in the driver’s seat of a car, looking forward, you can glance in the mirrors and see behind you. You can look in the driver’s side mirror and see the lane to the left of you. You can look in the rearview mirror and see what’s directly behind you. You can look in the passenger side mirror and see what’s on that side of you. And it seems like you can see everything that’s going on around you. But the reality is that there are parts of the road that you can’t see. And many of us know from experience that an entire car and even a good-sized truck can hide in one of your blind spots. That’s why, whenever we’re driving and we want to change lanes, before we do we have to check our blind spots. If we don’t turn our head and look around us, we could veer into the next lane, right into a car we never knew was there.

Now, you might be wondering why I’m wasting all this time on a driving lesson. After all, most cars these days have blind spot detectors. But here’s the thing: When I say that we’ve always got to check our blind spots, I’m not talking about just when we’re driving a car. Blind spots are the things we can’t quite see, even when we’re sure we’ve got the full picture. Especially when we’re sure we’ve got the full pict

If I believed in such things, I would say that my father-in-law, Dan Fitzpatrick, is looking down and laughing at me right now. He would find it at least entertaining if not completely ridiculous that I, with all my fancy degrees, would be standing before you complaining about having to learn things “the hard way.” … Continue reading The School of Hard Knocks

I don’t know what it was about this past spring, but it struck me as incredibly, intensely beautiful. Maybe it’s because a lot of it was cold and wet and dreary, so when the daffodils, and the tulips, and the azaleas, and the lilacs, and all the other flowering trees burst into being, they stunned me like fireworks. “Riotous” was the only word I could come up with that really described the intensity of their color, how they struck my eye and left an imprint, a visual echo of sorts, on my retina. “Breath-taking” would be another word, I suppose. I doubt all those flowers were any more or any less beautiful than in all the springs past, so I’m thinking that what was different this year was not them. Maybe it was me.

As each week of spring flowed into the next, as the daffodils wilted and the tulips took their place, and as the tulips tiptoed off the stage to make room for the lilacs, and then as the lilacs bowed and browned to make room for the azaleas, I mourned each loss. I wanted them all to stay. I wanted the blooming to endure. I wanted to be bedazzled wherever I turned. But I know better. I know that that not even nature can sustain that intensity. And, so, I take comfort in the knowledge that the cycles of the seasons will pass, and that next year it will all happen again.

Now we’re into a softer season. We look around and all is lush and lovely and green. Have you noticed just how many shades of green there are out there? Not even the biggest box of Crayola crayons can cover it. Maybe if you’re an artist, like our very own Cheryl Schlenker, you know how to make that many greens, but I sure don’t. Summer’s beauty is more subtle, more subdued than the riot of colors we get in the spring. The leaves of the maples and oaks and ashes don’t slap us in the face, they don’t assault our senses the way, say, a viburnum – you know, the “snowball bush” – in full bloom does. So that means it’s up to us. It’s up to us to look for the beauty, to seek it out, to notice it and appreciate it ourselves. To not just walk by it. To not take it for granted.

It’s easy to miss out on the beauty in our lives. Even before every free moment was consumed by a screen, we were distracted. Distracted by the things we needed to get done. Distracted by the stresses and strains of our daily living. Distracted by traffic and by tasks. Now, when we have a few precious moments to breathe, instead of looking up and looking all around us, instead of seeking out and engaging with beauty, we’re looking down at these little weapons of mass distraction we carry with us wherever we go. And even if we do actually encounter beauty somewhere along the way, what do we do? We grab our phones and take pictures of it, instead of just allowing ourselves to be immersed in it and embraced by it.

Not only are we actively distracted from beauty these days, but we are also lured and tempted by the siren song of worry, of anxiety, of loss, of outrage, of maybe even a little bit of hatred. There’s certainly no small supply of reasons to grieve and mourn these days, from climate change to gun violence to a President who tweets a torrent of vile messages almost hourly. If we’re not careful, we can be consumed by such things, and blinded by grief and rage to the beauty that always surrounds us. It’s so easy to lose sight of that. To forget that. That beauty is everywhere. That we are always able to access it. That no matter where we are or what we’re doing, we can find something that’s, somehow, beautiful. We don’t need the riotous beauty of spring to be aroused and embraced by beauty.

If you don’t believe me, let’s try an experiment. Hold up your hand in front of you and look at it. Look at it closer, in more detail. At first you might be thinking, “It’s just my hand.” Or you might be thinking, “Look at how wrinkled it is” or “Why are these veins sticking out?” or “Wow, my knuckles are all knobby.” But look closer.

This Sunday as we honor “mothering” in all its manifestations and we celebrate our annual Flower Communion in a multigenerational service. Bring a flower or small potted plant to share for the Flower Communion ritual.