GIFT DISCOVERY

A Sermon by Anne Bancroft

9 December 2001

Readings

Promise of Spring, 1977
Clinton Lee Scott

The stars in their courses make no noise.
We do not hear the grinding of gears
with the turning of the earth.
The reliable forces of nature are quiet forces.
Dawn arrives with no blare of trumpets,
and night needs no bugle blast to announce its approach.
Silent forces work upon soil and seed.
The growing corn inaudibly unfolds.
Power is not in the loudness of the thunder,
but in the silence of the lightning.
Truth does not need a blatant voice,
or tender thought vehement speech;
one does not shout, "I love you."

From Good-bye Mr. Chips
by James Hilton
"You cannot judge the importance of things by the noise they make."

In the Simple Morning Light, 1994
By Barbara Rhode

I wasn’t flattered when one of my daughters confided that she had thought of me as "The Big There-There" when she was three years old. If I remember correctly, I was in the middle of a phase where I was hoping to reassure myself that I still had a fertile mind as well as a welcoming bosom.

Now, years later, I can admit that the role of Big There-There is a necessary part of parenthood not to be disparaged. At times even the most mature of us want someone to dry our eyes, encircle us with welcoming arms, and offer us a cup of hot cocoa. I shall be forever grateful to my friend Ruth, who interrupted her political campaign to ride to the hospital, make her way past the folks in intensive care with convincing stories that I was her little sister, and reach bravely through the thicket of I.V.s, heart monitors, and breathing tubes to embrace me.

Still, the origin of the word "comfort" means, "to make strong." As comforters, we often believe we have to take away the pain, only to discover that we are only able to help those in pain find the sources of their own strength. At times it is our mere presence. "I am here. I see your suffering. I care for you."

The Rock of Ages at the Taj Mahal, 1999
By Meg Barnhouse

Waitressing in the Sacred Kitchens
I love for a waitress to call me "Hon." It’s comforting. She doesn’t know me and I don’t know her, but we fit into well worn, ancient categories: I am the Hungry One and she is the One Who Brings Nourishment From the Unseen Source.
When I was younger, I worked as a waitress in Philadephia and New Jersey. I learned useful things while serving food to strangers. I know how to rush around with my hands full, thinking about six things at the same time, which has stood me in good stead as the working mother of two small sons. I know that people are not at their best when they’re hungry. That knowledge helps me to understand world events. If the citizens of the world were well fed, we’d have fewer wars and less mayhem.
The most helpful thing I grasped while waitressing was that some tables are my responsibility and some are not. A waitress gets overwhelmed if she has too many tables, and no one gets good service. In my life, I have certain things to take care of: my children, my relationships, my work, myself, and one or two causes. That’s it. Other things are not my table. I would go nuts if I tried to take care of everyone, if I tried to make everybody do the right thing. If I went through my life without ever learning to say, "Sorry, that’s not my table, Hon," I would burn out and be no good to anybody. I need to have a surly waitress inside myself that I can call on when it seems that everyone in the world is waving an empty coffee cup in my direction. My Inner Waitress looks over at them, keeping her six plates balanced and her feet moving, and says, "Sorry, Hon, not my table."

GIFT DISCOVERY
A Sermon by Anne Bancroft

A couple of months ago, at a staff meeting reviewing our various weekly activities, Noreen Kimball, our Coordinator of Member Support and Development, mentioned that she had been attending a series of meetings on Gift Discovery. Now, in Noreen’s capacity, that refers to identifying those abilities that any particular individual might have that they might be inclined to contribute to our Society: for example, piano playing, or knowledge of accounting, or a burning passion for social justice, or storytelling, or tree pruning - really, any skill or interest that would help her determine where that person might feel most comfortable and useful in being a part of our community. It is a great concept - and I’m quite sure, at some point, you will hear more about it.

At the time, however, I simply liked the phrase: gift discovery. James had already asked if I would speak this Sunday, since he was going to be away. It seemed a good topic, given the time of year, although I wasn’t quite sure what gifts or what discovery I was going to focus on.

But this is, after all, the season of giving. Hannukah begins tonight - which means eight days of "giving" opportunity. And Christmas is a mere 16 days off - plenty of gift discovery potential there. If you celebrate the Solstice, or Kwanzaa - a thoughtful something or other would undoubtedly be appreciated by whomever you are visiting.

Still, to be honest, this isn’t really the kind of "gift discovery" I thought would be appropriate, so you’ll have to make your own lists.

As it came to pass (or so the saying goes) the phrase "gift discovery" took two paths: one of a collective nature, and one individual. Let me begin with the collective.

We have had a really tough fall. Aside from the shock of the events of September 11th in and of themselves - the loss, the disbelief, the anger, the frustration - is the realization that the world, as we thought we knew it, is gone. If the bombing in Oklahoma City did not alert us sufficiently to new degrees of tension and anger, if Columbine did not convince us that our young people are struggling more than ever, then the destruction of the World Trade Center Towers stands out as absolutely life-altering in terms of our ability to find peace of mind. As we speak, our country is in a state of high alert - whatever that means - suspecting that something dire may well happen somewhere within our borders, imminently.

Add to that whatever personal struggles or losses we may be experiencing, and you’ve got a recipe for sad holidays - hardly the contents of gift discovery.

Or am I getting it backwards? I have been wondering about how we can deal with our sadness during the holiday season: perhaps the discovery is the gift of the holidays in the midst of our sadness. Maybe the gift of the holidays - to our collective selves - is the holiday. There’s a good reason that human beings hold on to these traditions and celebrations - that we create and maintain miracle stories to bring out at regular intervals. We gather remind ourselves and our children, to celebrate love and hope, and peace on earth. We distract ourselves, if only briefly, from the otherwise difficult tasks of daily concern. Although we may feel that the present state of the world is the first time the sky may truly be falling, we don’t have to look far to know that our prior sense of security was somewhat of an illusion. Much of the world has never had that comfort, and you only have to read a few good books (or, if you’re a visual learner - watch a few good movies) to be reminded that throughout time, life has more often been a struggle - a serious struggle - for survival, than it has been easy or safe. So, as cultures, we offer ourselves stories of hope: oil in the holy temple lasting against all odds for eight days; and the miracle birth of a child who brings the light of love to those who would believe in him. We take time to mark the passing of dark days into light - feeling tangibly the difference in the lengthening of the days following the Solstice. And we do it year after year. The Gift Discovery for us as a community of faith - in life - may be the opportunity to gather and acknowledge and celebrate these respites.

And what of our individual Gift Discovery? For those of you who flow seamlessly into the holiday season, delighting effortlessly in the charm and twinkle of it all, the bustle, the merriment - please, come talk to me. Your gift has already been discovered, and I would know what it was! For many of us, I suspect the holiday season is perhaps a bit less seamless. And particularly in our Unitarian Universalist tradition, it can feel awkward figuring out what to celebrate, and in what fashion. Have we thrown off our childhood faiths, only to be confused about what we feel is authentic? Are we challenged by the marriage of different faith backgrounds that require us to have the right answers for our children? Or are we simply weary, and wondering how to pass even somewhat happily through the next four weeks?

The readings from earlier in the service were intended to address just some of these questions. Perhaps for you it is the "surly waitress" - acknowledgement that you can’t do it all, and that it’s ok. Set limits on how much holiday you feel compelled to provide, and try to enjoy it. I love Martha Stewart. She is my role model for self sufficiency, but I must admit when I saw her doing a tv show recently on how to make your own oversized ironing board, specifically for the holiday linens you don’t want to have to send to the cleaners - I thought, "Martha. Get real, girl. You can’t do it all, and neither can I." Sorry, hon. Not my table.

And how charming is that sentence in Kate’s reading - and what a gift to hear - that sometimes, even though we so badly want to give relief to those in pain during the holidays, we "discover that we are only able to help those in pain find the sources of their own strength. . . . I am here. I see your suffering. I care for you." What a gift we can give ourselves and those we love, to simply be.

And, ah, the gift of quiet. The music, the bells, the cheerfullness, the mirth, can be wonderful. But to walk out into the quiet night, where "the stars in their courses make no noise. We do not hear the grinding of gears with the turning of the earth." Perhaps, for you, the spirit of the holidays is best heard in the silence.

Well, all and good, Anne - these gifts: setting limits, being here for each other, taking time to hear the quiet. Does knowing about them guarantee that our holidays will be more joyful, more peaceful, more complete? I hope so. But let me tell you, it was my great delight to find recently a true gift in a short piece by Clarke Wells, who many of you may know was minister here from 1975-1978. He considers just this question, and it is fun to bring his words back to this pulpit.

"Several years ago and shortly after twilight our 3 1/2 year old tried to gain his parents’ attention to a shining star.

"The parents were busy with time and schedules, the irritabilities of the day and other worthy preoccupations. ‘Yes, yes, we see the star - now I’m busy, don’t bother me.’ On hearing this the young one launched through the porch door, fixed us with a fiery gaze and said, ‘You be glad at that star!’

"I will not forget the incident or his perfect words. It was one of those rare moments when you get everything you need for the good of your soul - reprimand, disclosure and blessing. . . .

"There is a notion, with some truth in it, that we cannot command joy, happiness, appreciation, fulfillment. We do not engineer the seasons of the soul or enjoin the quality of mood in another, and yet, I do believe there is right and wisdom in that imperative declaration - you be glad at that star!

"If we cannot impel ourselves into a stellar gladness, we can at least clean the dust from the lens of our perception; if we cannot dictate our own fulfillment, we can at least steer in the right direction; if we cannot exact a guarantee for a more appreciative awareness of our world - for persons and stars and breathing and tastes and the incalculable gift of every day - we can at least prescribe some of the conditions through which an increased awareness is more likely to open up the skies, for us and for our children."

Now, more than ever, we are aware that we do not control the big picture of our lives. Whatever illusion we carried about our invincibility has been shattered. And yet the slightly time-worn, but truly time honored traditions of annual celebrations - of survival, of hope, goodwill and peace - are before us. We continue to offer them to ourselves as a pause. These holidays - these celebrations beckon us to gather and rejoice in life. And I would suggest that, as Clarke Wells put it, "we can at least prescribe some of the conditions through which an increased awareness is more likely to open up the skies . . . " Let us choose carefully how much we take on, so that we can offer it lovingly to each other. May we take the time to know the soul’s quiet peace. Let us dust our lenses, and steer in the right direction. Let us reach for stellar gladness.

Finding our way to the affirmation of life and love is our greatest Gift Discovery.

Amen.