Reverend Thomas Disrud

First Unitarian Church
Portland, Oregon

October 15, 1995

The great sea has set me in motion.

Set me adrift, and I move as a weed in the river.

The arch of sky and mightiness of storms encompasses me,

and I am left trembling with joy.

-- Eskimo song

There is an old Japanese folk story about a stonecutter. Each day he went out to cut building stone from the face of a mountain. The sun beat down upon him, and in his discomfort and weariness he said, "Would that I were the mighty sun." One of the gods happened to hear this and mistook it for a prayer, and exclaimed, "It should be so."

The former stonecutter was much more powerful and he rejoiced as he focused his heat upon the earth. Just then, a cloud passed over the earth, and, try as he would, the sun could not penetrate the cloud. He exclaimed, "Would that I were the cloud, for it can withstand the sun.

Again his prayers were answered and he became the cloud. Presently the winds came and blew the cloud about, and he was at the mercy of the winds. He exclaimed again, "Would that I were the wind, which controls the destiny of clouds." He was transformed into the wind and soon he was pushing clouds about. Becoming more ambitious, he decided to blow the mountain about, but for all of his blowing he made little impression on the great mountain. Again, he made his wish and became the mountain.

Now he was great indeed, piercing the clouds, withstanding the heat and wind. Then one day a small, humble stonecutter made his way up the side of the mountain and began drawing blocks of stone from the face of the mountain. Helpless, the mountain said, "Oh, that I were the stonecutter, for he is the mightiest of all. He can shape the mountain. "Thus, he became himself once again."

Ever look at somebody else and wish you were them? I certainly have. They may have a family that seems so happy. They may just be one of those people who really seem to have it together. They are grounded and centered. They don't have problems getting around. They have a nice car. They don't have a care in the world. They lead the ideal life. I'm aware of what they have and what I don't have. I would like to be like them.

We all wish we were something or somebody else some of the time. It is a very human thing to do. But of course we don't get to experience our wishes. They remain just that - wishes. And they're often fleeting. And who knows, the other person may be looking at us and wanting to be us as well.

The Japanese tale is a reminder that the world comes around, and in the process of actually being able to be someone or something else, we would end up being a whole lot happier with who we are.

But we don't get the chance to experience what it would be like to be someone else. We're not like the stonecutter. Being human, we still probably see our lives by comparing them to others. And sometimes in this process we can get lost. We lose sight of who we are, what we value and where we're going.

It is easy for the focus to become what we aren't, versus what we are. We see in others all the things we would like to be ourselves. We lose sight of what we have in the process of facing what we don't have. This is a process that can make us feel disempowered. We can get lost. We don't see our lives as having value as much as they are simply something we live, from day to day, without much meaning.

Last week I saw a movie called To Die For that was recently released. The central character in the film is a woman who wants to climb the entertainment industry ladder as quickly as possible. She starts out as the weather announcer on some small cable station and is guided by the credo "you're nobody if you're not on television." And, consequently, she is willing to do just about anything to be on television, including to plot her husband's murder.

She recruits some teenagers to do the job. They don't seem to have any sense of themselves. They are numb to who they are. They are willing to do just about anything for this glamorous person who pays attention to them. This is how the plot develops and proves to be a biting satire on our culture. "You're nobody if you're not on television."

Now many of us may not have much if any desire to be on television, but it is easy to get caught up in wanting to be something we're really not. We live in a world that reinforces this drive.

The movie touched a cord because it resonated with much of what it is to be a part of the culture we live in. The underlying message is: Don't be yourself, just be this image that we will create for you. We are bombarded with images of what we should look like, what we should wear. The kinds of cars we should drive. The kinds of cigarettes we should smoke. The kinds of food we should eat.

Since moving to Portland, I've rediscovered the great American tradition of the mall. Living in Berkeley, California, for the last four years, and not having a car meant that I rarely went to a mall. The closest one was a few miles away and I seldom had a reason to go. Anything I needed could be found in stores that weren't in malls.

Here in Portland I live a few blocks from the Lloyd Center and sometimes on my day off I'll find myself wandering the corridors of the mall. I think it has less to do with shopping than watching people and images interact. I love to observe. Overhearing conversations, I'll hear talk of this garment or that one, this shoe or that one. The underlying message is "You are what you wear."

And in this atmosphere, we are left to ask: Who are we? What is important to me? We scramble to find ourselves, to find our voices in this atmosphere. This isn't easy. The oft heard credo "I shop, therefore I am" comes to mind. And it doesn't seem so much as a snide critique as much as a statement of fact.

It is a stinging commentary on our culture.

It is much easier to look outward, at the external trappings, than to look inward. Finding time for self reflection amid the racket is no easy accomplishment. But it can also lead to deep feelings of emptiness and searching. We can lose ourselves.

Getting better acquainted with ourselves means looking inward. It means asking questions like "Who am I?" What do I value?" "What things do I really need in my life?"

And these questions aren't easy ones. Maybe I can just go buy something instead. Diversions abound. And they can seem like a whole lot more fun sometimes.

But this is a journey that can lead from emptiness to greater wholeness. And this is a scary journey. this self reflection stuff. As I get to know my ability to love others, to be with them, I also learn that I, simply being human, can hurt others.

And when we're lonely, when we have been hurt by someone, when we're suppressed things in our lives that cause pain, it is easy to want to fix it by going to the mall or watching a video.

Being with the pain is not easy. We want to run away. But the pain doesn't go away. It simply sits there. And I connect some of this to the relief we seek in all the diversions around us.

It is often in times of despair that we discover things about ourselves. When someone we love dies, when we have health problems, when we simply get down about our lives, these are the times that we are forced to look inward. These are the times that, at least in hindsight, can be turning points, times when we are able to be in the world in a fuller, more engaged way. Times when we are able to see life in a new way.

I like to call these voices in the dark. Those things we know when we look hard at our lives. When we are in pain. When we are in despair.

But too often it takes a crisis to get us to this point. Without them we seem to drift merrily along, if not entirely happy. We don't look inward, perhaps because we are afraid. It takes a shock to bring us to this place of reflection.

And this cuts us off from life. When we are not able to embrace the pain in our lives, we likewise are not able to embrace the joy as fully. Instead we are cut off from both.

It is easy to be afraid. Afraid of feeling pain. Afraid of being ourselves. We sit back and let our fears overtake us. We allow ourselves to be something we aren't. To not be our best selves.

We need to pay attention to those things we most fear.

There is a passage in the book of Matthew that has always been important to me: "What you hear in the dark, you must speak in the light."

This verse reminds me of a time when I started to develop my voice. I was in high school in the small town I grew up in and felt very disconnected from the world. I didn't know who I was or have any idea of where I was going. Generally I didn't feel at home anywhere. The church I grew up in gave me little inspiration and I really didn't feel like I had a spiritual home there.

One day I was talking with a friend of mine who was active in the catholic church in town - the only other church in town - and we decided it would be fun to get together with the priest, who was musical, and start singing in the two churches. This was pretty radical stuff in my little town. You didn't set foot in the other church unless there was a funeral. That seemed to be the socially acceptable exception to the rule. But we were young, so the barrier didn't seem like anything insurmountable.

And so we started singing. What I found in this little catholic church was a community that I could sing in. I realized that the barriers I was putting up were ones of fear and that they were much more permeable than I had imagined.

What it did for me was bring me into a community that nurtured me and allowed me to start to find my voice. It didn't give me a voice instantly, indeed I couldn't agree with much of what I saw there. But the energy of the place was very loving and positive. And it was a place where I knew I was welcomed and loved. That is what I needed at the time. It allowed me to look some of my fears in the face and to move through some of them. It gave my journey hope. It gave me footing.

That experience was several years ago, but I still see it as a pivotal part of finding my voice. The title of one of the songs we used to sing, using the scripture from Matthew, "what you hear in the dark, you must speak in the light," still comes to me when I feel discouraged. It brings me back to my center.

And I think it is no coincidence that this memory is so closely connected to community. It has been important in many of the times I've deepened my voice. That was a painful time in my life, but I was able to sit with that pain, and in the process grow from it in the context of that community. Being with caring, loving people, helped me stay with the pain I was feeling. That was a great gift, one I am thankful for to this day.

The process allowed me to take a step closer to wholeness. It allowed me to take a step toward being more fully human. It was an important step in finding me voice. I started to sing. It helped me know that I wasn't alone. That was good.

Last Sunday I had the pleasure of sitting down in the pews during the 11:30 service and was very moved by the Intergenerational Choir processing up the center aisle and down the side aisles. Many different voices, and each person moving in their own way as they made it down to the front of the church. I was reminded of what abundance there is in this community and that it is a place for all of us to find our voices.

In the process of embracing our wholeness, we are able to be in community, in more fully human ways. Sitting with ourselves, we are able to ask some difficult questions. This can open up the world for us. And this is how we find our voice. This is how we sing. This is how we, the stonecutters, see how we fit into the larger scheme of things, that we all have our parts and that all the parts are important and have power.

We are part of a collective enterprise. We aren't out there alone, but we're with others. We come together. This is a place where we find our grounding. It lets us reach deeper. We are able to experience both the joy and the pain of life on a more meaningful and deeper level.

In her poem "Now I become myself," May Sarton says:

As we know ourselves, as we face our fears, we are empowered. We stop the sun.

And we are able to move into the world to face the injustices that are all around us. Instead of being afraid and blocked by these injustices, we are able to challenge them, and, slowly, overcome them.

It is kind of like the stone cutter cutting stone by stone into the mighty mountain.

Amen.

This prayer was written by Gwendolyn Bass, age 13, to mark her Bat Mitzvah last spring. It is a beautiful example of a voice being born.

Let us pray:

Allow not just me, but the entire human race the strength to create a world free of hatred.

Let there be justice where injustice is predominant.

Grant those who suffer a good life.

Teach us to show those who are oppressed the way around their oppressor's hurtful actions.

Help us find a way to teach those who have never been encouraged to learn.

Teach us how to end discrimination against anyone.

House the homeless.

Show us a world where love and respect are more important than anything.

A world where your gender, your race, your religion, who you choose to love, Your past, your nationality, your size, your age, your class, make no difference to anyone.

A place where being who you are is emphasized.

Answer those unanswerable questions which we know only you can answer.

Copyright © 2000, Reverend Thomas Disrud. All rights reserved.