by Rev. Thomas Disrud

Portland, Oregon

Let me tell you something up front as I begin this sermon on asking for help. I don’t like to ask others for help. And, I expect, I might not be alone on that. For me this reluctance happens in any number of ways.  I don’t like to stop and ask for directions when I am lost. Once when I was pretty new to Portland I was trying to find an address south of here in the area on the way to Macadam Avenue. To get to this area you follow the flow of traffic and you make your way around many curves and onto Macadam Avenue. I have since come to know that it is often called the Bermuda Triangle of Portland traffic, where the streets wind around and where it is never exactly clear to me where I am supposed to be going.

Well on this occasion I was not passing through but trying to find an address amid all the turns. On the map it looked easy but on this particular day I was there and the address was not. It seemed to be on the other side of the freeway but there was no way to get to the other side of the freeway. I remember the sheer frustration of the moment but I also remember the sheer determination to not stop and ask for help. I think that eventually I may have come back to the church to figure it out. I don’t remember how late I was, or how long it took. What I remember is just how frustrated I was and how I sat in that frustration alone. Looking back, with the perspective of time, it probably would have been a whole lot easier to stop. But I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to do it myself.

It may be something as simple as stopping to ask directions. But it might also be asking for support from others when we are diagnosed with an illness or reaching out in a time of despair. No matter what the circumstance, I expect that for many of us reaching out to others is not something that is easy. It is not only the reaching out, but the acknowledgment of need—that we are in a difficult place and we need the help of someone else. Striving to help others doesn’t necessarily mean we’ll reach out in our own times of need.

In the story of the Good Samaritan, we can see ourselves in all the characters. We know that at times in life we are the good Samaritan, we do what is right for others and make sacrifices. We see a need and we are able to reach out and help. But we are also the ones who pass by those in need for all kinds of reasons: we don’t have the time, we are afraid, we are overwhelmed—we just don’t want to deal with it. But what we may not think about as often, at times we are also the person along the side of the road needing help. There are those times in our lives when we are very much in need of others.

Now, we may not find ourselves by the side of the road in the ditch. But our car may break down, we may find ourselves without money, we may find ourselves in need of the kindness of strangers. With that awareness comes the realization that we are vulnerable in this world and that we are not in control. As much as we might like to think that we are, we know we aren’t. No matter where we live or what kind of vehicle we drive, no matter how much insurance we have, we are not in control.

As we grow and as we mature, we figure out who we are in the world. We come around to knowing that throughout our lives we are in need of others and others are in need of us. But we also come to know that this interdependence can be hard to navigate.

From an early age we figure out how we will get our needs met. And for each one of us, this is different. Some of us get points for being smart. Some for being good looking. Some of us get attention for helping others. Some of us act out to get attention. We figure out not only how we will get our needs met by others but also how they will get their needs met by us. We learn our needs and we also learn our limits. We learn that our independence and our interdependence live in a delicate balance. Sometimes we meet someone who will take all we can give. Sometimes we learn to take all that we can. But we are also faced with some questions. What are we doing for ourselves and what are we doing for someone else? Is that what they need or is it what we need? Where does somebody else’s life end and where does mine begin?

I think we want to be the good Samaritan, helping others and being able to do so selflessly. We want to work to be able to call others into being fully themselves. But so often we come to learn that it is more of a quid pro quo. You do for me and I do for you. For most of us, as we grow, I think it usually is something we see has hopefully balancing out in the long term. What we want is that as we are able to be there for others, others will also, when we need them, be there for us. But there is also something more appealing in being the person helping rather than the person who is getting the help. It is hard sometimes to not feel like the person giving is a step above the person receiving.

But hopefully, too, we come to see that it is all part of a whole. That none of us just gives and none of us just receives. Throughout our lives we are in need of others and they are in need of us. It is not to matter if we are giving or taking but finding a kind of balance. Hopefully we can see ourselves first and foremost as whole people with needs and things to give and therefore see others for the whole of who they are. If we can see someone for the whole of who they are, and not so much for what we are getting or what we are giving, we see not only them from a place of wholeness but also we can see ourselves from a place of wholeness. We learn to be open and we learn to take risks and in that process, also know life more fully.

Are we able to behold another person for who they are and not for what they need or what they are able to give? When we look at another and see their faults, chances are it is through the same lens that we are looking at ourselves and judging ourselves. And we come to see that we and others are worthy of this love and this gift. And that we have limits and that we can also honor that.

Ram Dass shares this story about a mother and daughter written in the voice of the daughter.

God bless my mother, and God bless me. We made it through.

She had a stroke and a long period of rehabilitation, and it was clear she was going to have to stay with us for a while. I had all these things in mind: it was a chance to pay her back for all those years. There were these things I was going to help her clear up, like the way she was thinking. I wanted to do the whole job very well. This was my big opportunity. We should all feel good about it at the end. Little things like that. Some “little things”!

Fights? Classics, like only a mother and daughter can have. And my mother is a great fighter, from the Old School of somehow loving it and being very good at it and getting a kind of ecstatic look in your eye when you’re really into it. I guess I’m exaggerating. It drives me a little crazy. I hate to argue. Oh, well!

But it got bad. Over a hard-boiled egg we had a bad fight. We’d both gotten worn out, irritable, and frustrated. Boom! I don’t remember what about—just about how it was all going, and why her stay had gotten difficult and all of us had become more and more irritable and short-tempered.

In the middle of it, she stopped short and said, “Why are you doing all this for me anyway?” It sort of hit me, and I started to list all the reasons. They just came out: I was afraid of her; I wanted to get her well; I felt maybe I’d ignored her when I was younger; I needed to show her I was strong; I needed to get her ready for going home alone; old age; and on and on. I was amazed myself. I could have gone on giving reasons all night. Even she was impressed.

“Junk,” she said when I was done.

“Junk?” I yelled. Like, boy, she’d made a real mistake with that remark. I could really get her.

“Yes, junk” she said again, but a little more quietly. And that little-more-quietly tone got me. And she went on: “You don’t have to have all those reasons. We love each other, that’s enough.”

I felt like a child again. Having your parents show you something that’s true, but you don’t feel put down—you feel better, because it is true, and you know it, even though you are a child. I said, “You’re right, you’re really right. I’m sorry.” She said, “Don’t be sorry. Junk is fine. It’s what you don’t need anymore. I love you.”

Getting past the junk, taking risks, being real. I think that is what most of us want in our lives. As we grow we also learn and hopefully we are able to see ourselves in the complex web of life that we inhabit. We do, we make mistakes, we learn and we see ourselves and we see others, hopefully, with a little more clarity.

And we learn, with time, how others depend on us and also how we depend on others. It is very much in a circle and it keeps going round and round. But wanting that and doing that are not easy things. We spend our lives knowing who we are, how we are connected but also how we are separate. We want protection and safety. We also want not to be burdened. We’re constantly figuring our where we fit into that wonderful and that challenging world.

And this is certainly true for us as Unitarian Universalists. We talk a lot about our first principle, the inherent worth and dignity of every person. And our last principle, the interdependence of all existence of which we are a part. But while we talk about our interdependence, it is also our independence that is dear to our hearts. We don’t want to show too much vulnerability and we don’t always want to let others help us. We’ll get by, thank you very much. Sometimes I’m surprised in the church to hear that someone has been struggling with an illness or some other life situation but they have not let anyone know. We just don’t want to bother somebody else.

We affirm in our relationships both our interdependence and our independence. When we give we give from the fullness of who we are and therefore without strings attached. And when we receive, hopefully, it is also without the sense that strings are attached. What we want for ourselves and for others is that we might all be ourselves fully and to live from that place of fullness.

A colleague once told the story of one of her parishioners who was recovering from surgery. The woman was pretty frail and the surgery had taken a lot out of her. But she was also still fiercely independent and any kind of sympathy would not be tolerated. A friend stopped by the hospital to see her. She walked into the room, was surprised at how fragile the woman looked and said, “You look like hell!”

Many people would have avoided the obvious. They would have said something nicer. But in this case, not saying anything may have been the equivalent of saying “Oh, you poor old thing.”

But in being honest, the friend had the courage to acknowledge her friend’s condition, her frustration with it and still be strong enough to hear the truth. And in the end, the honesty was probably worth more than more medication or physical therapy. It was a challenge to get better and to get out of there.

Being blunt is not always the right approach. But so often in life we have to get past the junk of expectations, of fears that keep us isolated from others. So often we have to be able to get past this and to see that we are in fact interdependent. A statement like that comes from knowing a person and also trusting in that knowing that we have. It comes from a willingness to take risks.

Truth is that it is hard to give without expectations. Truth is that it is hard to receive without expectations. But if we can get there we are also closer to seeing ourselves as interdependent. If we can be honest about what we expect but also what we don’t expect we might be able to give and to receive honestly and openly. In the giving and in the receiving we take risks and we get more out of it in the long run.

A story from the Sufi tradition:

One day the great Mulla Nasrudin passed by an old hermit sitting in front of a building. “Surely a devout philosopher like me must have something in common with this saintly individual,” he thought. “I am a Yogi,” said the hermit, “and I am dedicated to the service of all living things, especially birds and fish.”

“Pray allow me to join you,” said the Mulla, “for, as I had expected, we have something in common. I am strongly attracted to your sentiments, because a fish once saved my life.”

“How pleasantly remarkable!” Said the Yogi. “I shall be delighted to admit you to our company. For all my years of devotion to the cause of animals, I have never yet been privileged to attain such intimate communion with them as you. Saved your life! This amply substantiates our doctrine that all the animal kingdom is interconnected.”

So Nasrudin sat with the Yogi for some weeks, learning all the things he could teach him.

After some time the Yogi asked him: “If you feel able, now that we are better acquainted, to communicate to me your supreme experience with the life-saving fish, I would be more than honored.”

“I am not sure about that,” said the Mulla, “now that I have heard more of your ideas.” But the Yogi pressed him, with tears in his eyes, calling him master and rubbing his forehead in the dust before him.

“Very well, if you insist,” said the Mulla, “though I am not quite sure whether you are ready for the revelation I have to make. The fish certainly saved my life. I was on the verge of starvation when I caught it. It provided me with food for three days.”

In everything we do we are connected with all of life. In the air we breathe, in the food we eat, in the people we know and love, in the ways that we give and in the ways that we receive. In the story we are the fish and we are also the hermit. In the story we are the Samaritan, the people who walk past and the man on the side of the road who is hurt and afraid and alone.

Living mindful of our interdependence we are aware that we are not alone, but part of a creation that holds us and calls us out of our isolation. Giving receiving as love shows us how. In being interdependent, we are not alone. This is our promise and our challenge. In our lives, may we live fully and bring all we give and all we receive back into the world.

PRAYER

Spirit of life, hold us in all of our days. Help us, always, to know that we are not alone but part of your magnificent and fragile creation. Help us to open ourselves to love and in that opening might be better able to bring love into the world. Amen.

BENEDICTION

In all of your days may you be held in the arms of love and may you always bring that love back into the world. Go this day in hope and in peace. Amen.

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Copyright 2004, Rev. Thomas Disrud.  All rights reserved.