by Rob Keithan, Intern Minister

A sermon given September 28, 2008
First Unitarian Church
Portland, Oregon

If you’re ever looking for an opportunity to reflect on your life and the world, I suggest leaving your work of 10 years and the area where you’ve lived your whole life and moving across the country to a totally different job in a new city.  Just a suggestion.

Anyway, since arriving here in Portland on August 30th—as the odometer on my car rolled though mile 4,000—I’ve been reflecting on my new surroundings.  Fresh from the roadtrip, it’s not surprising that some of my first observations are related to driving.

Before I jump in, I want to say that I’ve heard a great deal about how life is more relaxed out here; how plans and schedules are flexible.  While I’ve been looking forward to this change of pace, I have to admit that it’s been challenging to my Washington, DC mindset.

For example, in the upper NE neighborhood where I lived for the first three weeks, there are countless 4-way intersections where two streets come together but there are no traffic control signs.  No stops signs, no yield signs, nothing.  Now, I expected Portland to be progressive, but that’s just anarchy.

The other thing about driving is that everyone I’ve asked has said that people don’t really honk here.  But I need to ask: how else will people find out that they’re too slow?

Perhaps my east coast self still needs to relax a bit…

One of the more contradictory things I’ve encountered is that, in addition to the strong emphasis on being relaxed, there’s also a strong emphasis on drinking coffee.  How does that work?  Is everyone supposed to be wide awake and hyper-focused on relaxing? 

I do appreciate the “Keep Portland Weird” message that I’ve seen on so many bumper stickers, and I’ve definitely seen some people who, one might say, are taking a leadership role in that movement.  I, on the other hand, feel like I might be bringing down the curve, with my love of advance scheduling, and structure, and productivity…

Joking aside, I must admit that I had been in town for only a few days before having a profound spiritual experience that was directly related to my new city. 

It was my first day on the job, and objectively everything seemed to be great.  I had just finished an amazing cross-country roadtrip; I had great temporary living space with a good friend; I had a fantastic new job; all my co-workers seemed fabulous; and the weather was amazing!

Nonetheless, I arrived home from work feeling blue.  I felt alone and ungrounded, which made no sense to me.  What was my problem?  I should be thrilled!  I recited my laundry list of reasons to be happy: the trip, friends, job, etc, but to no avail.  I was still in a funk. Doing my best to channel a Portland mindset, I borrowed a bicycle and went for a ride.  

Heading North on 33rd Avenue from upper northeast, I crossed Columbia Avenue and peddled until I realized that I was directly under one of the flights paths for the airport. After watching planes for a moment and appreciating my unobstructed view of the control tower, I actually cried aloud when I saw what was behind all that human activity: I believe my exact words were “Whoah! Mountain!”  Without thinking I got off my bike and just stared at Mt. Hood.  I was dumbstruck by its beauty and size.

I was so moved that I addressed a question to the universe: “What is more grounded than a mountain?” …And I knew that the silence which followed was my answer.  Standing there on the roadside, staring at the mountain, a sense of calm and connection flowed through me.

As I rode home, it occurred to me that I had some very good reasons to feel ungrounded. I had been apart from my wife for two weeks, I had yet to deeply connect with my friends here in town, and I had just been exposed to a huge amount of information related to my work here at the church and life in Portland generally.  Seen in that light, it made total sense that I was feeling overwhelmed.

So why had I tried to convince myself that everything was OK?  Why, rather than acknowledging the very good reasons I had to feel down, did I beat myself up for not being happy?

I know I’m not the only one to have experiences like this; experiences where we get caught up in what we think we should be feeling—and it actually makes our lives more difficult.

For example, I regularly hear people, and especially young adults, say something to the effect of: I should have my life all figured out, because everyone else does. 

Does this sound familiar?

I should stay at this job because…
I should be excited to see my parents/siblings/etc because…
I should be content with this relationship because...

Sometimes it seems like we’re just full of should.

But why?  Why do we do this?

As I considered these questions, I stumbled across an article that helped put things in perspective.  In the piece, which appeared in the May/June issue of Psychology Today, author Karen Wright discusses contemporary views on the quest for authenticity and our notions of “self.”

Wright says:

“Today’s psychologists no longer regard the self as a singular entity with a solid core. What they see instead is an array of often conflicting impressions, sensations, and behaviors.  Our headspace is messier than we pretend, they say, and the search for authenticity is doomed if it’s aimed at tidying up the sense of self, restricting our identities to what we want to be or who we think we should be.”  

At first this information was disappointing, because I’ve worked hard to become the person I want to be and think I should be.  And yet here’s this article saying that if my focus is that narrow my search for authenticity is doomed!  Well, that’s kind of a downer.

As I got deeper into the article, though, I began to appreciate its message in a different way; a way that I would even go so far as to call liberating.  Here’s why:

The article makes what I believe is a very compelling case for viewing the self as broad, complex, and dynamic.  Rather than a “true” essence, as historically conceived by classic Western philosophy, the self is a whole complicated mess of stuff.  Rather than a fixed destination that can be reached, “self” is a journey.  And it’s not just our own individual journey, either, because who we are is profoundly influenced by the people and world around us.

Our journey of self is inseparable from the journey of our parents and our families, our friends and co-workers, our church; our local, national, and global community.

What this means is that we don’t have to make the journey alone. In fact, we can’t.  It’s like the bumpersticker with a picture of the globe on it that reads “We’re all in this together.”  Like it or not, we’re all in this together.

And we’re all making mistakes along the way.  One of the biggest problems with having a restricted sense of self, according to the article, is what it encourages us to do with our mistakes.  Rather than viewing mishaps and failures as learning experiences, as integral and important parts of who we are, it leads us to view our mistakes as breeches of our “true” selves.

I suspect that most of us here today have made bad decisions in the past that we’d like to explain away with a phrase like: I wasn’t myself that day.  I wasn’t myself that night, or at that point in my life.  I wasn’t myself.

Have you ever heard someone say that?  Perhaps it’s been you.

I know I’ve said it, and at times really wished it was true.

But it’s not.  And there is great risk in that kind of thinking.  According to Thomas Moore, a psychotherapist and former monk, that kind of disowning—that labeling a part of the self as not self—creates a division in us, and that division becomes an obstacle to authenticity.

So rather than helping us to become our true selves, suppressing our mistakes and problems makes the work harder.  Indeed, the opposite may be true: examining what some call our “shadow side” is a central focus in many schools of therapy.  

Of course, this isn’t easy.  In fact, it’s probably some of the most difficult emotional and intellectual and spiritual work any of us will do in our lives. 

For one thing, it’s completely counter-cultural.  Our consumer society conditions us to expect and desire instant gratification.  While intense reflection and therapy can be gratifying, the results are rarely instantaneous. 

Also, there is a long-standing inclination in liberal religion and theology to focus on the positive; on our best selves, without much attention to the shadow side of human existence.  We like talking about the good, but we have a hard time talking about the bad—the evil.  There are many explanations for this, but at the root I think it boils down to the fact that we really want to be good; to be good people who do good things.

The incredible social justice work of this church is a clear testament to this desire.  We have 23 different social justice initiatives and a social justice minister because we truly care and want to make a difference.  And First Church has made a difference, and we will continue to.

But here’s the thing: trying to be good all the time is exhausting and ultimately impossible.  Just like it’s exhausting to pursue a tidy, narrow definition of self.  It’s a destination that is impossible to reach.

In contrast, having a broad, dynamic sense of self allows us to move and grow with the complex realities of life, with all of its beauty and brokenness.

Indeed, I find it incredibly liberating to admit that we all make mistakes; that we’re all just imperfect beings doing the best we can with what we’ve got.  Rather than beating ourselves up, we can forgive ourselves.  Rather than suppression, we can seek to learn. To paraphrase the words of the poet :

…find the old wounds
The old misdirections
And lift them
One by one
Close to your heart
And say    holy
    holy.
 
I also find it liberating to know that we’re all in this together.  That our journey of self is, just like everyone else’s, inseparable from the people and world around us.  No one has it all figured out.  In fact, if anyone claims to have it all figured out, they’re probably selling something, and it’s not something we need.

What we do need, though, is a safe space that allows us to step back from the daily grind and think about the journey: We need a space and a place to admit our mistakes; to forgive ourselves; to learn; to heal.  And we need a place that calls us to be our best selves; that recognizes our dependence on and responsibility to the larger community. 

These needs can be met in myriad ways.  For me, there’s no better place than Unitarian Universalism.  Nowhere else have I found the freedom, challenge, and support that exists within this religion community.

And I will say that it did not happen automatically; it took commitment and initiative.  It took getting involved in smaller groups where more intimate relationships are possible.

Let me close with a story from one such small group; a men’s covenant group that I was in at All Soul’s Church in Washington, DC, where I am a member.  One of the questions we used to kick off the first meeting was “Who taught you how to be a man?” and the conversation that followed was incredible.  At the end of that first night, pretty much to a T, each of us had acknowledged struggling with the complex and often contradictory expectations of what it means to be a man.  After creating a strong covenant of how we would be together, we spent the next two years sharing and learning and challenging each other, discussing topics like fatherhood, sex, relationships between gay men and straight men, feminism and vocation.  The group provided such intimacy and safety that we could share deeply with one another.   

At our last meeting, as we went around the circle sharing what we’d take away from the group, one member said something that was immediately seared into my consciousness. “What I’ve learned,” he said, “Is that whoever I am is man enough.”
 
Sometimes our journey of self will be like a superhighway, crossing through different states and conditions with ease as the miles tick off.  At other times it’ll probably be more like a four-way intersection with no traffic signs, where all we can do is watch out for others and hope for the best.

We are all beautiful, and we are all broken. That’s the reality of being human.  Our challenge is not to put all the pieces together in some precise, carefully-constructed pattern, but to carry our pieces with us, moving them about as we go.  It may not be perfect, but it’s enough.

Amen.
 

Copyright 2008, Rob Keithan. All rights reserved.