Rev. Dr. Marilyn Sewell

First Unitarian Church
Portland, Oregon

October 11, 1998

Then the well spoke to me.

It said: abundance is scooped from abundance

yet abundance remains.

--Anne Sexton

Stepping back in time—back to a day in March of 1983. It was a momentous day for me. I had traveled all the way from Kentucky to Berkeley, CA, to be interviewed for possible admission to our seminary there, Starr King School for the ministry. I had never been to California before, and Berkeley was like a foreign country. So many people speaking in foreign tongues, so much ethnic clothing in the shop windows, so much strange food. Stopping for coffee, I was asked, "What kind do you want? Latte? Cappuchino? Regular or decaf? Wet or dry?" Up until then, I thought coffee was just, well, coffee.

I went for my interview that afternoon with a professor named Ron Cook. As I was to learn, he was an amazingly direct man. "Well, what do you want?" he said. I looked puzzled. "For your life, I mean." The answer came from me, spontaneously, without so much as a thought: "I want to be all used up," I answered. He smiled. "Well, the parish will do that for you," he said.

And that day I was started on a journey that brought me at last to you, some nine years later. And what a trip it has been! I have been, all along the way, "all used up." Challenged. Changed. Invited by the Spirit to give myself in ways I never imagined. And blessed by so much joy in the giving. I count myself a lucky woman.

But it was not always so. I grew up, like so many of us, giving in the ways I was socialized to give. There were patterns—and rigid ones—that men and women were supposed to follow, and I adopted those patterns for my life. I tried hard. But I failed. My life fell into chaos, my marriage into shambles. Every structure fell down around me. So when I arrived in Berkeley, I was, shall we say, open. Reamed open by life and circumstance, swept clean by the Sacred. So I meant it when I said to Ron Cook, "I want to be all used up." Not used up by "shoulds" and "oughts." Not kneeling at altars of convention. Kneeling, yes, but at altars of my own choosing. Giving myself intentionally and consciously in ways that are deeply satisfying to my own soul. I'm not going to tell you that my life is perfect, because no one's life is—there are losses, there are disappointments. The occasional rotten day. That's a given. But I can tell you that there is a deep joy moving in me, which gives me a steadiness and a security, and the more I give myself away, the more that joy grows and fills my being. There is less and less room for fear, and more and more room for love.

You see, I believe our primary motivation for giving should not be duty or obligation. Nothing sucks the life out of me like a duty-ridden person—they are so boring and so joyless. Give out of pleasure, because your giving enlivens you. Barbara Ehrenreich, the brilliant writer and social critic, spoke at our church this past Thursday evening. At dinner before the event, we were talking, and I said, "You know, I was thinking about you today, Barbara. I was thinking that you haven't chosen an easy life. I mean, being a social critic is not easy. It is not exactly a big money-maker, either. What motivates you to give yourself this way?" And she answered, "Oh, I'm a total hedonist! I'm motivated entirely by self-interest. I love my life, and I wouldn't trade it for anything." Well, there you have it.

We all have so very much to give. And yet we all give in different ways. Again, what gives you life? Go with that. Listen to the words of an elderly man, as he tells how he has chosen to give: "I'm ninety-two years old, all right. I get up every morning at 7:00 A.M. Each day I remind myself, ‘Wake up. Get up.' I talk to my legs, ‘Legs, get moving. Legs, you're an antelope.' It's a matter of mind over matter. You have to have the right spirit. And I'm out on the streets, 7:30 A.M. sharp.

"I'm wearing my Honorable Sanitation Commissioner badge they gave me from City Hall. I'm alert, I'm ready, I'm out there. And I got my whistle. My job is I help get parked cars off the street so they can bring in the sanitation trucks. . . . So when they show up, I go around blowing my whistle to get people to move their cars. I have a great time.

"People are asleep. They're busy with businesses. They're busy taking time off from the businesses. They're busy having a good time. They're busy not having a good time. Whatever. I don't care. I blow my whistle. I'm all over the place.

"What can I tell you? I'm not a saint or a wise man. I'm not the Two-Thousand-Year-Old-Man, I'm only the 92-year-old man. Just a senior citizen. . . . . I just go out there in the morning and blow my whistle. That's what I do. You do what you do. Me, I'm having a great time. Wonderful fun. And when people see how much fun I'm having, they have to laugh. What else can they do? Then I hit them with it: ‘Move your car!'"

So we give, hopefully, out of a spirit of joy. But what are the roots of this joy?

Primarily, we give out of the most basic of religious impulses, and that is gratitude. Gratitude to what or to whom? Doesn't really matter. Doesn't matter whether you're singing in a Black gospel choir or kneeling in a mosque or you're a hard-core atheist hiking in the Gorge. Gratitude is that spontaneous feeling of thankfulness that rises up in us and connects with all other sentient beings and with the earth. We know we have been blessed, and through no virtue of our own. We pause and we marvel at the wonder of our lives. In that moment, we know no want. Everything is as it should be.

There are some concepts in our cultural history that work against this feeling, though, and the chief of those is the concept of "private property." Now really. Who can own the earth? Who can own water? Or trees? Or even a house. There are questions we must ponder when we begin to think we own things. Who planted the trees? What made them grow over long years in this fine NW climate and soil? Who designed the house? Who built it, with pride of workmanship? Who lived there and cared for the house before your family moved in? We do not own houses or anything else—we are simply stewards of these gifts for a time. Our sense of gratitude deepens as we begin to see all that comes to us comes as gifts from others and from the earth.

Those who have less than we find it easier to live with gratitude, I think. I remember seeing the picture of a man from Africa who was getting off a plane here in the States. In his hand he carried a bucket. Why, people wondered. In the arid plains of his country, the bucket was a treasured possession, because it carried life-giving water. Here we turn the tap, and water comes out. For us it is so ordinary. For him it is a daily miracle.

So we give out of a sense of primal thanksgiving. And we give because we need to be healed. Again, I refer to my dinner conversation with Barbara Ehrenreich. She asked me, "What do you as a minister say to people when something terrible happens, and they ask you why?" I answered, "Well, first I acknowledge their pain and say that I am sorry they are suffering. Then I say that I don't know, nor does anyone know why these things happen to particular people and not to others." It's not a very helpful question, this "why" question, I told Barbara. And then I told her that to my mind the only redemptive way out of this pain is to turn it into love and service. To try to help others at the very place of our own woundedness. We have many, many examples of those who have done just that, like the woman who started "Mothers Against Drunk Driving," after losing her child. I have seen people grow and deepen in the face of loss, even in the face of death. Yes, it takes courage—but the alternative is bitterness and resentment. The universe will not care. Go through the pain to the healing, and take the hand of someone else in need of healing, as you go. That is our salvation.

Yes, you see, ultimately we give to save our own souls. Not to save the world. It is very dangerous spiritually to count on the fruits of your labor. No, we give because we want to give, and it is inherently good for us to give. Saving the world is God's problem. Yes, of course we can do some good, but when changing others is primary, we become like the religious fundamentalists who we find so dreary and judgmental. While I was in Berkeley studying, a friend of mine from Kentucky visited and I was showing her around the Berkeley campus. We came across a big black dumpster there in the quadrangle, and on the side of it were painted the words "Recycle or die!" She looked at me and said, "People out here are pretty intense, aren't they?" People are not obstacles to be bullied or manipulated so that we can reach our goals.

I want our social justice program always to be grounded in our spiritual lives. How we go about our change efforts is just as important as our goals—in fact, it's ultimately more important. I've seen programs in church degenerate as zealots point the finger at everyone who doesn't jump on their particular bandwagon. I've seen anger rule and compassion be shunted aside. I've seen people who were in so much personal pain over their issue that they couldn't hear others' needs or identify with others' goals. When we try to assuage our personal pain through giving, or when anger is the ever-present fuel, or when we give to get power or influence, we will find that we are thrown off track. We will blow up and we will burn out. Let us give to let the Spirit work through us to heal a broken world. We're not responsible for the healing—just for offering ourselves as the conduit for grace.

Giving which is grounded in our spiritual lives requires trust. We never know the outcome of a particular act. We can only toss these seeds to the wind and hope that by grace they will land on fertile soil. A policeman tells the story of arresting a very angry man. "When I had to take him to a paddy wagon, he spit in my face—that was something—and he went after me with a chair. We handcuffed him and put him in the truck. Well, on the way, I just had to get past this picture of things, and again I affirmed to myself, "This guy and I are brothers in love." When I got to the station, I was moved spontaneously to say, ‘Look, if I've done anything to offend you, I apologize.' The paddy wagon driver looked at me as if I was totally nuts.

"The next day I had to take him from where he'd been housed overnight to criminal court. When I picked him up, I thought, ‘Well, if you trust this vision, you're not going to handcuff him.' And I didn't. We got to a spot in the middle of the corridor, which was the place where he'd have jumped me if he had that intention. And he stopped suddenly. So did I. Then he said, ‘You know, I thought about what you said yesterday, and I want to apologize.' Turned out on his rap sheet he'd done a lot of time in Michigan and had trouble with guards in jail. I symbolized something. And I saw that turn around, saw a kind of healing, I believe.

"So what really happens if you're going to explore whether or not this vision of our nature really has power? Maybe people will say you are taking chances. Maybe they'll say you're sentimentalizing people. But you're taking chances without any vision . . . . I see that my work is to hold to an image of who we all truly are, and to be guided by that."

The question is how do we move towards greater freedom and authenticity in our giving. Authentic because the giving comes from a healthy and not a needy place, and free because we can give with more trust and less and less fear. Giving with joy and abandon. I heard a story once that left me with an image I've never forgotten. There was a well-dressed woman on the underground train in Paris. As she got off the train to hurry on her way, she noticed that she had left one of her fine leather gloves on the seat in the train. But it was too late to go back—the door was already closing. Without a moment's hesitation she took the remaining glove and tossed it through the door to join the one inside. Some other woman—someone who perhaps had more need than she—would have a lovely pair of gloves. The gesture stays in my mind: the woman tossing the glove away—almost carelessly. Easy come, easy go. Not attached to things. Generosity that comes from the very core of her being.

I myself am not generous in this fashion. I'm too fearful to be that generous of spirit. Like some of the rest of you, I grew up with the feeling that there might not be enough. Not enough love and not enough money. I was raised by my grandparents who had lived through the Great Depression, and I remember that they were always worried about money. They saved everything they could. I recall one day cutting the top off an onion and throwing it in the garbage and coming back into the kitchen to see my grandmother fishing it out of the garbage to save the small bit that I had wasted.

In spite of my fear, though, I grew up with the fantasy of all young women in my day: that one day I would be taken care of by a man. Money was not something women really had to think about. I ended up getting a divorce, but my denials about money remained firmly in place. Only in the past few years have I moved to get a financial consultant and to plan for my retirement. And out of just this simple planning, I have found a new freedom in giving. I want to speak now about a particular form of giving that I have struggled with: giving away a portion of my money.

When I first came to this church, we were just beginning to ask for a 5 % tithe from folks. Most people were not yet on board with this yet, but I felt I should step out and make a lead gift, and so I did. I pledged my 5 % of my income, before taxes. Then as time went on, I decided that, hey, if I was asking my people to give 5 %, I should move my giving up, so I started giving 6 %. Then two years ago I decided I would try for the Biblical tithe—10 % of my income, 6 % to the church and 4 % to other causes. This was a big step for me. I was afraid. Maybe I wouldn't be able to retire before I was 83! But with the help of my consultant, I figured out that I could retire with a modest income at age 67. I would have to sell my house, but I definitely would not be a bag lady. Isn't that the fear? There won't be enough.

But there will be enough. I'm learning to trust. Those old messages from childhood are fading. And why are they fading? Because I feel so much joy and freedom when I give. I didn't understand that I would when I made the decision—especially the 10 %. I felt so blessed in my life that I had this need to express my gratitude in this tangible way. But I felt scared, too. So I just did it. It was, I confess, like jumping off the high diving board for the first time when I was a kid. You know how it is, you just hold your nose and step off the end. But when I write those checks at the end of the year, I feel so much release from fear and so much pleasure in the giving.

I would like to invite you to consider your pledge for next Sunday, our Celebration Sunday. Give not out of fear, but out of freedom. Give not out of duty, but out of authenticity. Now I really hate those New Age gurus that promise you can say affirmations that will make you rich—but I can promise you one thing: you'll be surprised at how much peace and joy will be yours when you get your head straight about giving—all kinds of giving, including your gift to the church.

Early on in my ministry, I was asked to be part of the canvass team. My job was to ask church leaders and wealthier members for their pledges. Indelibly impressed on my memory is my encounter with the wife of a church leader. They were not wealthy people, but prosperous. Their previous year's pledge was quite low. As I opened up the conversation about their pledge, she looked at me with fire in her eyes, and she said, "We have worked hard for our money, and we deserve to spend it on ourselves!" I was stunned, I must say, and sad. Not because the church was not going to get a large pledge from them, but because of what her remark revealed about her spiritual state. Her lack of thankfulness. Her lack of connectedness to others. Her grasping spirit. Her lack of any sense of abundance.

I must say, however, that this is not typical and that the people in this church have been giving more and more out of a sense of joy and abundance. We have many who are giving at the 5 % level now, and many others who are working towards that goal. A touchstone for us was last year's Kicker Sunday, when you folks gave back $65,000 of your tax refunds to social service agencies and to schools. What a thrill that was for me! But not chiefly because of the money raised, though that was wonderful. Chiefly because what your generosity says about your spiritual being. And then we in a single evening raised almost enough money to hire our Social Justice Director. I invite you to consider joining that 1866 Club of 5 per centers this year, or at least moving up towards it. Take the leap. You won't be sorry that you did. It is a leap of faith.

I have a vision of next Sunday. The church will be full of celebrating, joyful people. At the end of a wonderful service, we will come forward to witness to our commitment to our values and to this church by placing our pledges in the basket at the front. People will come streaming down the aisles. A couple will come, holding hands and smiling. An elderly man, wealthy, and a bit slower now in his walk, will come. A woman going through a painful divorce will come. A man will help his wife, who has not been well, but they both want to come forward. It's important. A homeless man will follow, pledging a percentage of his small government check. I know he will do this, for he does every year. Those who sing will come forward, and those who lead meetings. Those who pour coffee, and those who sell books. Those who visit the sick, and those who tuck flowers into vases. A great cloud of witnesses, moving forward, each giving his or her part, each making up the whole. I love you. I really do. See you in church next Sunday. So be it. Amen.

Copyright © 2000, Reverend Dr. Marilyn Sewell. All rights reserved.