OF FISH, GIFTS, AND HUMOR

A Holiday Service
Anne Bancroft and Suzanne Spaihts
8 December, 2002

Introduction to the Service
Anne Bancroft

Today, in the Christian Calendar, it is the second week of Advent - the Christmas season is upon us - the Chanukah season just past. It’s a time of gift giving, so Suzanne and I wondered what gift we might bring at this time of year to today’s service. Peace, joy, love - words of the season - seemed natural - but, you know, when the cat’s away, the mice will play. James is conducting a Meditation retreat in Duxbury, so we are taking this opportunity to sprinkle some levity into this morning’s message, in hopes that it will lighten your spirits and lift your souls. No less an attendant on soul survival than 20th century writer and psychotherapist Thomas Moore has written of the benefits of humor. "Humor lubricates and softens the spiritual life," he says, "and makes it bearable."

Let us attend to the gifts we bring ourselves and each other with a humorous perspective, recognizing their ability to help us transcend that which would hold us down. As we sit in this warm, old sanctuary, watched over by the pillar sculptures that Gerry Krick referred to as our flight crew, let us keep in mind the words of G.K. Chesterton: "Angels can fly because they take themselves lightly."

Fish Story
Anne Bancroft

I want to share with you something I learned about in North Carolina this past fall at the professional liberal religious educators conference. Now, normally I would only speak from here if I were telling a children’s story, but this experience is somewhat interactive and the lectern and pulpit are too far away. This is about ways of being engaged in our daily lives - our work, our play, our gift giving, and our spirituality. It’s about finding ways to integrate what’s really important to us as thoroughly and joyfully as possible.

How many of you out there are fisher-people? and of those, how many of you have ever actually caught a fish? and whether you’ve ever caught a fish or not, how many of you have ever held a fish, skin and all?

OK, then you may or my not know that handling fish is not necessarily very glamorous - in fact, if you were to go a step further, and consider working with fish - as a fish monger perhaps - you would know that fish markets can be quite smelly. And selling fish can be fairly tedious.

In Seattle, at a place called Pike Place, however, was a group of fishmongers who decided to think outside the box. They got together and decided to change their relationship not just to their work, but to the world around them. They were committed to the idea that it is possible for a person to impact the way other people experience life. They were committed to the idea that they could stand for the possibility of World Peace - because if you can project the spirit of joy and compassion and love into selling fish, you can project it anywhere. And they were committed to becoming World Famous in order to spread the word as far as possible.

They put into use four ECP’s - Essential Creative Principles - Play! Be there! Make their day! and Choose Your Attitude!

Before too long, instead of walking from behind the counter to pick out a fish order, walking back to wrap it and ring up the order, walking back to deliver it . . . one fishmonger threw a salmon over the counter to another guy. WHOA! Performance art! Before long, it caught on - fish ballet. It delighted customers, it got the job done, and it was fun. These fish guys fly fish all over the world now, and they are World Famous. They’ve taken their attitude show on the road. They are living their Principles: Play! Be there! Make your day! and Choose Your Attitude!

Now I know we’re not all fishmongers, and we won’t all be world famous . . . but we do impact the way the people around us experience life, and that’s a powerful spiritual thing. May we do it in the spirit of giving, with love, and care, and sometimes a little levity.

Love, Laughter, and the Donut
Suzanne Spaihts

I am the sort of person who often forgets to have a sense of humor. That may seem like an odd thing to say, but I think we all have moments like that – moments when we get so wrapped up in what we’re doing that it just doesn’t occur to us to laugh – or it occurs to us, in an abstract sort of way, but we can’t at that moment seem to get in the mood to laugh.

I’m very much like that. Fortunately, I live with a jester-ish fellow who doesn’t have this problem, and occasionally reminds me not to take myself to seriously.

Some time ago, Puck and I had breakfast in a small café near our home. After we had finished our bagels, I decided to treat myself to a chocolate glazed donut. (Well, Anne’s gone most of the service without mentioning a donut as she has for the past few weeks, so I thought I’d step in.) I ordered my donut; Puck declined to get one of his own. Halfway through eating my donut, I got up to use the restroom. As I was walking away from the table, I realized that the waitress might think I was done and clear the table, so I said over my shoulder to Puck, "Don’t let the waitress take my donut."

When I returned to the table, I was startled to see that where my donut had been there was only a small plate with some chocolate glazed crumbs. I stopped in my tracks and glanced at Puck, quietly sipping his coffee, then back at the empty plate. I remember quite clearly the sequence of thoughts that went through my head.

At first, I was just confused. Had the waitress taken the donut, but not the plate? No, Puck must have eaten the donut. But Puck said he didn’t want a donut. If he wanted a donut, why didn’t he just order his own?

This was followed by pure irritation. He took my donut, after I specifically told him not to! How rude! How inconsiderate! I was looking forward to that donut.

Then I tried to be reasonable. Perhaps it was a misunderstanding. Perhaps when I said, "Don’t let the waitress take my donut," he had only heard, "Take my donut." He must have thought I was done with the donut.

The vehemence of my reaction must have showed on my face, because just as I was composing a properly evenhanded response to the disappearance of my treasured baked good, Puck suddenly broke into a sheepish and slightly nervous smile, fished the half-eaten donut out from under his napkin, and dropped it gingerly on my plate. He looked contrite, and a touch perplexed.

And I realized that I was still standing there looking shocked. I sat down with a thump, and laughed until I had tears in my eyes, feeling very, very silly.

I had been on the verge of real anger over a goofy inconsequential prank that I might have played myself. More to the point, I’d almost started an argument with the man I love over a donut, a half-eaten ball of sugar and fat that I could have replaced for 65 cents, and probably would have been better of not eating in the first place. And even as I’d felt myself flashing mad and fought to keep myself calm and reasonable, it never once occurred to me that it was ridiculous to take the loss of a donut this seriously.

When you’re constantly caught up in managing minutiae, it’s easy to lose perspective. Like so many people in our culture, I tend to spend most of my time stressed. We all have more things to do, it seems, than we have hours in the day; we are confronted with a mountain of tasks that seems always a bit more than we can handle.
Plenty has been written, of course, about the fast pace of modern life. But even as we become increasingly conscious of the health penalties we pay for chronic stress, I think we often lose sight of the more human wounds we sustain and inflict when we give in to constant anxiety.

In stress and worry and anger and frustration we wall ourselves away from others around us. In our anxiety we struggle to control the world that we feel is constantly in danger of spinning awry, and in the process, without even realizing it, we try to control those around us whose actions may not fit into our precariously balanced plans. Even little upsets – like the unexpected playful theft of a donut – can unbalance us and cause us to lash out in frustration. In our concentrated haste we do violence to ourselves and to everything and everyone we encounter.

But playfulness can bring us back to ourselves, and reconnect us. Puck’s simple act of hiding my donut helped me to see, all at once, how tense I had become – and at the same time, it helped to diffuse that tension. Taking things lightly helps us to put things in perspective, and gives us the freedom to unwind a bit. It is when we let go of our anxiety and need for control that we can relax enough to love the world as it is.

By learning to play even in the midst of the daily grind, we can begin to remember what is and is not worth getting worked up about, and roll with the unexpected moments life throws our way. As we learn not to take ourselves so seriously, we can more easily forgive ourselves and others for everyday mistakes and misunderstandings. In doing so, we learn to love ourselves and others.

The hardest part is remembering, at crucial moments, to be playful. It’s easy enough to encourage playfulness here and now, but at the stressful moments when we really need it, it’s hard to remember.

Personally, I’ve taken to carrying reminders. I’ve usually got a little something silly in my pocket – a little bottle of bubbles, a piece of colored string to play cat’s cradle, or a pair of googly-eyes to make impromptu hand puppets. That way, at odd moments when I slip my hand into my pocket, I’ll find something that makes me laugh, and encourages me to play with the people around me.

Cultivating habits can help too. I have a friend who, like many of us, is prone to frustration when she’s driving. She drives an old Volkswagen, so whenever she felt the urge to curse at another driver, she taught herself to say, "Peace, dude," instead. At first she didn’t exactly mean it – but after a while, as it became habit, she often did. That simple habit is a reminder, an invitation to herself to play.

And each time we choose to be playful, we bring a joy light into our own lives, and into the lives of everyone we touch. Our humor is a gift to everyone around us, even if we never mean it that way. Levity lightens our burdens. Levity brings energy and perspective to our work. Levity offers us a profound connection to our underlying humanness.

Laughter can teach us to love.

Closing Reflection
Anne Bancroft

You’ve been very patient with us. And we hope it’s been fun. But we also hope you know that we know this is serious stuff. Working at living a life that keeps you in touch with your spirit - not to mention with other people’s - all takes effort. Learning to love, learning to live compassionately, learning to give with open, joyous heart can take a long time and is not easy. Some days you can do it, and some days you can’t.

And because the very act of giving, whether it’s sympathy, or support, or humor - implies a reciprocal arrangement, there’s always the possibility that our efforts - true, sincere, thoughtful efforts at giving, sharing, loving in whatever fashion we devise - may not be recognized as the gifts we intend them to be by the givee. Sometimes we work really hard at those four Essential Creative Principles - play! be there! make their day! and choose your attitude! - and nobody notices - worse yet, they misunderstand!

In that case, it may be that the gift is the receiver’s to give. To listen more carefully, to look beyond the face value of a statement or gesture, at what is motivating it. In her Sermon on the Living Tradition from last June’s General Assembly, the Reverend Barbara Pescan cautions religious leaders - and by extension I would include all of us who engage in relationship with each other - about missed opportunities for connection. She says, "We fail when we mistake . . . the word, for the living presence within it." If the giver is having trouble with the delivery, maybe the receiver needs to pick up the slack to make it work. We must all look for moments of knowing, for deep recognition - moments of succeeding by companioning a soul.

James speaks often of spiritual practice - work for the soul - and perhaps gift giving - and receiving - provides a good opportunity - to practice listening for the living presence that inhabits a word or gesture. To look carefully for the gift that’s being offered by another human being.

Thomas Moore - who I quoted earlier in the service, provides many such venues for spiritual practice and reflection in his book, "Meditations: on the monk who dwells in daily life." He describes the practice of "walking for the soul (for example) - no calculating of heartbeats, no effort to get anywhere, no concern for speed - simply getting away from linear life. . ." It sounds peaceful, and would probably provide ample opportunity for the reflection on giving we spoke of earlier.

In contrast, Ellen Degeneris reflects on her mother’s practice, begun at age 60, of walking 5 miles a day. "She’s 97 today and we still don’t know where the hell she is!"

Clearly, humor does have spiritual value. We have made it our gift for today. We wish you all the patience to survive the season with "the vision that can see the whole," and have fun with it.

Peace and joy to you all in this season of giving.
Amen.