The Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Salem, Oregon

CREATING COMPASSIONATE COMMUNITY

The Reverend Richard R. Davis

May 2, 2010

            (Some of you have heard a version the following story applied to make a different point, but many here haven’t and it would be a sin not to share it with you.) 

            A number of years ago, Herb, an older gay man in our congregation invited me over to apartment to have lunch.  We’d met like this before, and I’d learned the story of his life:   His father was a harsh, militaristic man who never gave his small statured, artistically inclined son much love or support.  Herb survived his childhood – not unscathed – and made it to art school, where he flourished.   But then came World War II, and Herb served in combat.  His description of those frightening, freezing days during the Battle of the Bulge made me shudder.   After the war Herb found good work in department stores arranging window displays, putting his talents to good use.  During most of Herb’s life he could not be open about his sexual identity because the consequences were so harsh.  In short, Herb had been wounded by life.  He’d managed fairly well, all things considered, but still, it hadn’t been easy.

            And to be quite honest, it showed.  Having experienced abuse and rejection in a homophobic world, Herb had grown a hard protective shell.  Some mistook the shell for the man.  One of them was me.  After all, it’s tempting to judge a book by its cover.  Quite frankly, if I had not heeded a call to the ministry, with all that calling entails, I probably would not have delved beyond the cover of this particular book.   Shed of this spiritual identity I can well imagine thinking to myself “there are other more promising books in the library of life.  I’m going to pass on this on.”  Had I passed on the opportunity to open my heart to him all I would be able to tell you today was that there was once a prickly old guy who used to come here who was probably not the most cheerful Sunday greeter we’ve ever had.  

Yet my ministerial conscience compelled me to befriend Herb.  So we spent some time together.  After a time, I could see beyond the brittle exterior, and I liked what I discovered - a sensitive and creative soul, someone who wanted to be of service, and also someone who yearned to feel loved and accepted. 

And that was why Herb had invited me to lunch that day – to let me know of the deepest yearning of his heart - to be loved and accepted.  He was scheduled for surgery in the VA (Veteran’s) hospital up in Portland .  The doctors admitted that the prognosis was not so good.  He might not make it.  So he had a small favor to ask.

At the next Sunday service before his surgery Herb wanted the congregation to come forward and lay our hands upon him while I offered a healing prayer. 

Now I’m a better actor than you might suspect, and as I calmly and reassuringly told Herb that of course we would honor this request, inwardly my mind was shouting at me:  “HOW THE H… ARE YOU GONNA PULL THIS OFF?” 

Now in some religious communities where laying on of hands and prayers for healing are common practice, this would not have posed a problem.  But this isn’t part of our standard repertoire – it’s not something we’re accustomed to doing.  But what could I say?  “Sorry, Herb, but Unitarian Universalists don’t do this sort of thing –  faith healing smacks of quackery and we’re clear headed rationalists.  But keep a stiff upper lip and good luck, old boy”?   Not a chance.

After I left Herb’s that day I realized that what did give me qualms was putting the congregation in a position where you would be compelled to participate in such a ritual.  So, at the Sunday service before Herb’s surgery I announced during joys and concerns that after the service formally ended those who chose to do so were welcome to join us as we laid our hands on Herb and I would pray for his well being.   Many of us surrounded Herb and we laid our hands upon him.  I prayed that Herb might feel a healing spirit of love and know a peace that passes understanding.

Sometime later, to my great surprise, I learned that our prayers had been answered.  Not in the way you might have expected, but they were most certainly answered.  

Herb’s surgery did not go well and he was put on life support.  Having no family nearby, our former Director of Religious Education, Millie Rochester (now the UU minister in Winnipeg , Canada ) and I had been granted power to advocate for his end of life choices.  When the doctors advised us that Herb was not going to recover consciousness we honored his wishes.  He was taken off life support and soon died. 

So why do I claim that our prayer was answered?  Before his surgery Herb proudly told the doctors, the nurses, the chaplain and anyone else who would listen that his congregation in Salem had surrounded him and prayed for him.  It was one of the greatest moments of his life – a life too often characterized by rejection and abuse and disappointment.  In that glorious moment Herb finally felt loved, accepted, affirmed, worthy. 

Sometimes I’m so obtuse.  Even as I was praying and afterwards, I had no clue how blessedly significant this moment was for Herb.   How wonderful that he experienced that moment here – right back in the northeast corner of this sanctuary.

Do you have any clue how much good you can do with your compassion and caring?   Don’t underestimate yourself because then you’ll neglect incredible opportunities that could make a world of difference for others.

Surely, this is one of our central tasks – creating compassionate community.  To be there for one another, offering our love and support and encouragement.   It can be such a gratifying, fulfilling endeavor. 

Yet doing this work can be supremely challenging.  Why?  Because, when people in community are not conscious, sensitive, aware, spiritually mature and emotionally balanced things can get out of whack, and compassion is too often a casualty.  I don’t think things are out of whack here – we are not divided by bitterness and discord (thank goodness) and love and compassion fill these rooms – which is why I see this as a good time to share a few observations about how congregations and other communities of people can get knocked off kilter on the road to creating the beloved, compassionate community.   We don’t learn and absorb the deeper lessons of life during times of extreme stress. 

The American humorist Will Rogers once noted that he had “never met a (person) he didn’t like.”   Well I’m sorry to say that I have, and I’ll bet you have, too.  I’ll further wager that not everyone in this congregation really likes everyone else.  That’s normal for any considerable sized group of people.  And the usual human response to this is to steer clear of those you don’t like and associate with those you do like.   Up to a point you can hardly fault anyone for doing that.   Yet what happens if we simply walk down the path of “like” all the way down the line?    Where do you end up?

Here’s what would happen in a congregation – we would become cliques of smaller groups.  Now there’s absolutely nothing with having a small group of friends, but in religious community we must always ask “what about those who may be left out?”  - perhaps someone like Herb?   Exclusionary social dynamics might par for the course at a country club or some other exclusive settings, but I agree with the poet Carl Sandburg who said that “exclusive” was one of the ugliest words in the English language.   If you’ve ever felt really excluded, shut out –whether it was because of your sexual or theological orientation or your race or ethnicity or your economic status or your appearance - you’d probably agree.  To my mind, one of the ugliest accusations that can be leveled against any religious community is that they are “cliquish,” which is a synonym for “exclusive.”  Inasmuch as any congregation is cliquish it is spiritually clueless.  One of our deepest yearnings is to feel included, accepted, affirmed, loved by others.   Cliquishness does emotional violence to that legitimate yearning.

Before moving ahead with this line of thought, let me back up a bit to clarify something I said earlier which might have created the wrong impression.  I noted that had I not heeded a call to ministry I might have avoided associating with Herb.  You may have thought I meant heeding a call to my current role as an ordained congregational minister in official fellowship with the Unitarian Universalist Association.  That’s not what I meant.   I heard and heeded my call to the ministry many years before I officially entered the ranks of ministry.   I have early childhood memories of hearing and heeding my call to the ministry when I felt an urge to reach out to others, especially those who seemed neglected or maligned. I felt called to serve something unfathomably greater than my isolated self.   That’s what ministry is – service to something unfathomably greater than our own egocentric selves – call it what you will: God, Truth, The Tao, Goddess, Interbeing, the Beloved Community. 

So what’s my point here?  Well, it’s just another reminder that everyone here is also called to ministry, that is, to serve some great good beyond ourselves.  Thus, we often speak of our shared ministry.  And I see abundant evidence that you take that call to heart.  It takes many forms according to our unique gifts and abilities.

Yet there is a relational ministry, call it “creating the beloved community” to which we are all called.  We are called to counteract the cold hearted exclusionary practices that have harmed and continue to harm so many.   This is some of the most vital ministry we may do, although we often may not recognize how significant it is when we bless and affirm one another.  

Such ministry doesn’t happen automatically – it calls for certain spiritual skills.  There are destructive patterns of behavior that can work to counter it which can gain sway in religious community just as easily as in other communities – ill will, hurtful gossip, anger, impatience, irritability, irresponsibility – the list is long.  It takes a special expansiveness of heart and spirit, of forbearance, forgiveness, gentle forthrightness, a firm commitment to exploring beyond the covers of books to discover the hidden masterpiece inside another. 

This ministry calls for self awareness wherein we ask ourselves this question:  Are my words and actions helping to build or dismantle beloved community or am I having any impact whatsoever?  This ministry of bringing people within the circle of our caring and concern is more significant than you and I often realize.  It is holy work.  So I think of Herb from time to time, and I remember with gratitude the beautiful thing this congregation did for him.  Yet, I also think of the beautiful thing he did for us by acknowledging his yearning and his vulnerability.  The memory of Herb helps me to remember how blessedly significant it does feel for all of us to know that we truly are loved and appreciated and accepted.