by Rev. Thomas Disrud

A sermon given December 1, 2002

First Unitarian Church

Portland, Oregon

I have a memory from when I was young—I was probably five or six years old. It was Christmas Eve and my parents and I were preparing to go to church. Before we left, we carefully put out the glass of milk and some cookies for Santa. I remember how impatient I was when my mother had to go back up to the house to get something she forgot. I remember how long the time seemed as my father and I waited in the car. We made it to church, and when we got home later that night, Santa had been there. All kinds of presents were under the tree in the living room and Santa had consumed his milk and cookies.

The memory of that time is still magical. How Santa managed to make it into the house—we didn’t have a fireplace—and right on time was a mystery to me. But of course, Santa was a pretty mysterious figure, so the logistics of the event were really not that important to me. I was most concerned with what was left under the tree. All that anticipation was finally over and the presents could be opened.

This is a season of magic—especially for young children. I spent Thanksgiving with a 3 ½- year-old and her family and the wish list for Santa is posted on the refrigerator (at the height of a 3 ½-year-old). The anticipation is well underway.

For those of us who are older, there certainly is a magic that can happen in the rituals of this season. In the midst of the cold and dark we celebrate the birth of one child who would change the course of history. We celebrate the fact that there was enough oil for the lamp to burn for eight days and not just one. We celebrate that in this fallow time we make a space for things to happen that might not happen at any other time.

As adults, perhaps it is that sense of magic that comes from childhood that we so want to have again. When I read the stories of people getting up in the middle of the night on the day after Thanksgiving to be first in line at the store that offers the best price on the large screen televisions, I can’t help but wonder if somebody is not trying to find that magic that was so much there the way it once was. The wait for those televisions, I expect, was pretty cold—but also probably pretty fun, and maybe even a little magical.

But with the holiday season can come all kinds of stress. We have to find the right gift. We have to make just the right meal. We have to travel a long distance to see family even if we may not feel like making that long trip. Or maybe we’re very aware of our loneliness in this time of togetherness. This time of year can be anything but magical.

When hope is kindled in ancient stories we tell, we wonder where hope exists in the present day stories of our world. When I sit down in the morning and open up the newspaper these days, I do it with a certain amount of trepidation. With talk of war, talk of how many days will be cut from the school year, the latest act of terrorism, the latest changes in environmental policy, I feel anything but settled. I wonder where the world is going and what is going to be happening next. I wonder where things will be in one year or ten years or 50 years from now. And with this, some of the luster can quickly be worn off this season. I wonder where the magic will be. I want to be surprised.

We live in a complex world and that complexity seems to stand in contrast to the stories of hope and joy we tell this season. I know there is a part of me that wants the solutions to all of the problems in the world to be easy and simple. Somehow I want it to just take me away from so much of what is happening. Even if I know in my mind that some messiah is likely not going to come along and transform the way things are—it seems like a job for more than one person—there is that part of me that wouldn’t at all mind that. And I wouldn’t mind a miracle or two, either.

But even if most of us know that that is probably not going to happen, it doesn’t stop us from imagining it on some level. We may have given up hope for some messiah, but we do tend to pin our hopes on all that might happen if this thing or that thing were to change. You’ve probably said some of them yourself.

Sound familiar? Don’t we do that? Don’t we want to find the easiest way to solve something? I know that I do in my own life. If I can fix this one thing, then maybe, just maybe, all kinds of other things will be better. But, truth is, those kinds of expectations can also be forms of idolatry. It is easy to look outward, and not inward.

Did you ever notice that when one boss leaves, so often another one seems to come along who does something similar? When your partner seems to get it together in one area that something seems to pop up? That when you actually lose those 20 pounds, there is something else about yourself that you want to fix up? Do you notice how leaders hardly ever live up to our expectations? And people who win the lottery find out that more money isn’t necessarily the key to happiness.

Life, we come to know, is never perfect. Even when this or that seems to get fixed, something new will come along. And through it all we have the day-to-day challenges of getting the kids to their appoints on time, making dinner and balancing the checkbook. This season, too often, we get the message that it is supposed to be perfect. But life, we know, is not going to be perfect.

When we think about change, we want it to come on our terms. We want for it to be as smooth as possible and we really don’t want to have to do much ourselves in the process. But that is usually not how change happens. Yes, one person can make an incredible difference, but usually not one person that makes all the difference. As we are able to see and appreciate where we are, we can see things in a different way.

There’s the old rabbinical story of the poor man who goes to his rabbi. He tells the rabbi how hard it has been, as his family of eight must make do in a tiny one-room house. "The six children," cries the man. "Roll like the sea. They are in constant motion. My wife and I never have a moment alone. I can’t stand it anymore."
The rabbi says if the man will do exactly as he guides him, he guarantees the man and his wife, as well as his children, all will learn gratitude. The man agrees. So the rabbi asks him how many animals does he own? The man describes the livestock he has including chickens, rabbits, a goat, a cow and a horse. "Move all your livestock into the house," the rabbi says.

The man is aghast, but respects the rabbi and he agrees. So, he goes home and does as he’d been instructed. The next day he returns and says, "It is like living in Babel! I can’t imagine it worse. The chicken droppings alone are enough to make you want to throw up!" The rabbi says, "Fine. Why don’t you move the chickens back out of the house?" Gratefully the man goes home and does it.

The next day the man returns and says, "Well, the chickens are gone. But the goat! Oh, the goat is horrible. It’s eaten half the only table cloth we own, and it jumps up on top of the chairs and our bed, making havoc everywhere." "Well," the rabbi suggests. "Why don’t you go home and remove the goat?" Which the man does.

The next day he returns and tells the rabbi, "Have you ever lived in a room with a cow? It is too disgusting to describe." "Well," the rabbi says. "Why don’t you remove the cow?" And it goes on, next the rabbits, then the horse. And finally, only the family remains.

The man goes to his rabbi and says, "I don’t understand. But, we are filled with joy and gratitude. Our children are happy and calm. My wife and I are at peace. Thank you."

We get into patterns in our lives and seeing things in new ways is not easy. Would we even be able to recognize a messiah if one showed up in front of us? What do we need to clean out of our lives to make space?

In life we move through all kinds of phases. There are times when things are good, times when things are rough. The seasons remind us of how cyclical life can be. They also remind us of how important it is to know where we can find the light to help us illuminate our way during those times when things get rough. Where are those places we can go that will help us know where we are going? Who are those people who are touchstones for us, who we can count on no matter what might happen in our lives? What keeps us connected to our source?

Too often we approach things in a passive way. We don’t get rid of the things that might be cluttering up our minds and our spaces we live in. If we just sit and be still, something will happen and things will be fine. Someone will come from outside of us and in that process our problems will be taken care of. Just look at many of the advertisements we see. Wear this and you will look better… take this and you will not have that problem any more… be like this person and all your problems will be gone. In this, we won’t need to worry about a thing, because someone else is doing something about it. There are times when someone will walk up to me to say, "The church needs to do X." Of course, implicit in this message is that I need to do X. But that is not necessarily the case. I’ve learned quickly that there are limits to what I can do or should do. Most often it is best when someone sees something that needs to be done and moves toward doing just that. A group of people working together can do all kinds of things.

The time of preparation is anything but passive. It is a very active time. When a child is born, the months leading up to that birth are not easy or quiet. Adding weight is not easy. And of course labor is not easy. And there is risk involved. In the end, you don’t know what will happen. You don’t know what challenges will be part of the pregnancy or what will happen as the child grows up. You prepare yourself as best you can and then you wait, full of anticipation. It is a very active time. In the real events of our lives, it means people aren’t passive but come together to make changes. It means finding our way with the wisdom and courage within us. It means that out of our despair can come hope, that our efforts are not in vain but are making us different and ready for what will come next. It is in times of despair and darkness when we find those seeds of hope and help us find our way to the next place. It is where we give birth to something we may not have expected to happen. We may even be surprised at what comes.

What might be born in us this season? Is it hope? Is it courage? Is it knowing that we have learned things from the past year and we can bring that knowing into the new year? Is it the knowing that if we want to work for peace and for love and for hope this year that we need to create space for peace and love and hope in our own lives?

It is important to know the ground that we stand on. We need to remember that we are part of all that happens; knowing that we are connected with all of life makes a difference in how we see whatever possibility might present itself in our lives. We need to put ourselves forward. If we are standing on solid ground, we might find ourselves open to all kinds of surprises.

I once read about an experiment done in a nursing home where residents were given plants. Psychologists selected two groups of people with similar age, backgrounds, physical and emotional health. Members of the first group were told that the plant was theirs to take care of and that its fate would depend on their efforts. They were also told that they were competent men and women and that they should be making decisions for themselves. People in the second group were told that their plants would be looked after by the nursing home staff just as the staff took care of them because, after all, they were in the home to be cared for.

Within weeks, researchers found a noticeable difference between the two groups. Those who cared for their own plants showed an increase in emotional and physical well being and a visible increase in activity levels. Eighteen months later, the mortality rate of the first group was only half that of the second group.

In this season, the cycles of the earth, the holidays we celebrate remind us that in the midst of darkness, when at first we can’t see our way, the way is revealed. But slowly we begin to see our way in the dark. This is a time of making room for what will come. It is opening ourselves to how things might be different and what those differences mean for us. It is a time of opening up and seeing. We make room in our hearts—we make room in our lives. We prepare ourselves for how we might be changed and then we remain open to what will happen. And so often, this is when we are able to come to something new.

We can’t know what is in our future. We cannot always know what any given change is going to look like. There is always risk, there is the potential that it may not go the way that want it to go, or the timing may not be the timing that we would choose. What we try to do is to open ourselves to whatever will come our way and be open to what it is we have to learn. We open ourselves to surprise.

Words of Rilke:

You darkness, that I come from,
I love you more than all the fires
That fence in the world
for the fire makes a circle of light for everyone,
and then no one outside learns of you.
But the darkness pulls in everything:
shapes and fires, animals and myself,
how easily it gathers them—

powers and people—

and it is possible a great energy
is moving near me.
I have faith in nights.

We need to approach life with a faith in what will come. We don’t know what we will meet, but opening ourselves for whatever that might be. Things look different in the dark. At first we can’t see much of anything, but then you adjust. Then when there is just a little light things start to take shape. We can make out shapes and images and slowly we are able to see what is happening. Suddenly what once seemed to be nothing at all reveals itself to be all kinds of things. This time of year provides us with the time to go inward, to look into our hearts to see what might be emerging. It is a time of waiting, but also of preparing ourselves for what that might be.

In the flow of the seasons, we are reminded over and over again that the days do get longer, we are reminded that spring does follow winter and that after summer comes fall. We are reminded that our own lives are filled with all of these seasons and that we can’t always make sense of them but that they are none-the-less present in this evolving world. And yes, sometimes we are surprised.

Yesterday morning I was looking out my backyard window. I was noticing how brown everything seemed to have gotten in the last few weeks. And then I looked a little closer. Then I noticed a burst of white. There it was, in the back of the garden behind a tree—an Easter lily blooming. Two big, white flowers. I got the plant last Easter and when it was done blooming I didn’t just want to throw it away, so I stuck it into the ground in the back of the garden and I hadn’t given it much thought since. But there it was on the last day of November, blooming. I’m not sure if its clock is off or not. But to me, it was a delightful surprise. Sometimes those things happen this time of year. I just needed to look a little closer. Amen.

PRAYER

Great spirit, help us to open to all that might be born in us this season. In a world full of fear and despair, help us to find the seeds of hope. Help us to nurture them and grow them. Open us to surprise. Open us to courage. Open us to love. Amen.

BENEDICTION

May you know joy this season. May you know surprises. May you know love. Go now in hope and in peace. Amen.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Copyright 2002, Rev. Thomas Disrud.  All rights reserved.