a sermon by Rev. Alan Taylor delivered on September 17, 2000
at the Woodinville Unitarian Universalist Church
Reading: poem by William Stafford,
quoted by Robert Bly in Sibling Society
If you don't know the kind of
person I am
And I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made
may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god
home we may miss our star.
For there is many a small
betrayal in the mind,
a shrug that lets the fragile
sequence break
sending with shouts the
horrible errors of childhood
storming out to play through
the broken dyke.
And as elephants parade
holding each elephant's tail,
but if one wanders the circus
won't find the park,
I call it cruel and maybe the
root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not
recognize the fact.
And so I appeal to a voice,
something shadowy,
a remote important region in
all who talk:
though we could fool each
other, we should consider--
lest the parade of our mutual
life get lost in the dark.
For it is important that
awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may
discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give--yes or
no, or maybe--
should be clear: the darkness
around us is deep.
Sermon:
Before October 29th, 1997, John Lambert and Andy Boschma knew each other only through their local bowling league at the Ypsi-Arbor Lanes in Ypsilanti, Michigan. Lambert was a sixty-four-year-old retired employee of the University of Michigan hospital. He had been on a kidney transplant waiting list for three years when Boschma, a thirty-three-year-old accountant, learned casually of Lambert’s need and unexpectedly approached him to offer to donate one of his own kidneys.
“Andy saw something in me that others didn’t,” said Lambert. “When we were in the hospital Andy said to me, ‘John, I really like you and have a lot of respect for you. I wouldn’t hesitate to do this all over again.’ I got choked up.” Boschma returned the feeling: “I obviously feel a kinship [with Lambert.]. I cared about him before, but now I’m really rooting for him.” This story speaks for itself, but the photograph that accompanied this report in the Ann Arbor News reveals that in addition to their differences in profession and generation, Andy Boschma is white and the elder Lambert is African American. That they bowled together made all the difference. In small ways like this—and in larger ways, too—we Americans need to reconnect with one another.
I took this story from Robert Putnam’s new book, Bowling Alone. He argues that even though people have more leisure time than a generation ago, people are by and large spending much less time with other people. He also argues that communal activities and community sharing have sharply declined, thus impoverishing our lives and communities.
For example, bowling leagues were very common a generation ago,
but no longer, even though Americans are bowling now more than ever.
This trend of bowling alone can be extended to several areas of society.
Today I want to explore how this trend impacts us as a suburban religious community and how we as a church can create authentic human connections. First I will define some terms, then share a couple stories, reflect on suburban life as I experience it, and finally offer a suggestion which can lead us to ever richer community.
Sociologists often talk about the value of community life in terms of “social capital.” I am more familiar with the notion of physical capital, such as tools and machinery, or human capital, referring to education and experience. Social capital has to do with the connections among people—social networks and the mutual benefit and trust that arises from them.
When a group of neighbors informally keep an eye on one another’s homes, that’s social capital in action. When a tightly knit community of Hassidic Jews trade diamonds without having to test each gem for purity, that’s social capital in action. Barn-raising on the frontier was, and so too are e-mail exhanges among members of a cancer support group. Yogi Berra came up with a tongue in cheek way of capturing this idea when he said, “If you don’t go to somebody’s funeral, they won’t come to yours.”
There are two kinds of social capital. One is called bonding social capital because it brings people closer together. For example fraternities, church groups that form around a special interest, and country clubs. By choice or necessity, they are inward looking and exclusive—they all have something particular in common. Bridging social capital, on the other hand, creates bridges between different kinds of people. Bridging social capital is by definition inclusive of differences. Examples include the civil rights movement, many youth service groups, and ecumenical religious organizations.
At my seminary, one adjunct faculty member teaches group dream-work. It always seemed kind of intellectually naive to me, a bunch of people discussing what they dreamed the night before. The teacher, Jeremy Taylor—no, no relation—had come upon his life’s work in a rather unusual fashion. He was working as a community organizer to overcome racism in Emeryville, a tough community wedged between Oakland and Berkeley. His project was getting nowhere because the black staff were incensed by the unconscious racism of the white staff, and the white staff couldn’t get the black staff to move forward with the programs sponsored by the whites to self-empower the black community. Most of the staff believed that racism was simply too inherent in human nature to overcome. Just before Jeremy gave up, he suggested that at one particular meeting the staff stop talking about all the obstacles to their work and instead focus on their dreams. I know it sounds nuts, but these people who had yelled and argued and walked out on each other, found themselves learning to identify with one another when talking about their dreams. It worked partly because what people share in dreams isn’t literal reality and therefore not threatening, and partly because people could respond with statements such as, “If it were my dream, …” Dream-work became a way where people could identify with each other’s humanity.
Developing bridges between people who are considerably different is difficult. It is much easier to bring together people who are similar. As human beings, we need both. I believe one of the best places for people to make both types of connections is at churches. There is plenty of bonding social networks, and churches worth their salt encourage bridging between people with different lifestyles and worldviews.
Considerable research has been conducted on what kinds of people go to churches of various denominations. I wonder if you can guess which religion in America can boast the most similarities among its members--Unitarian Universalism. This is fascinating, given our teachings emphasize inclusivity, tolerance, and respect for differences. Why are our members more similar to one another than the membership of any other faith tradition in America? Clearly there is a screen that either we erect or others erect for themselves. It may have to do with education, the expectation to be involved, liberal underpinnings, or perhaps just below the surface there exists fear and arrogance among us that sets us apart from people we don’t understand.
One thing I really value about this congregation is the commitment here to authentic community. The warmth and friendliness is strong here. We really consider how we can foster connections in small groups. When we do that well, the result is deeper and more meaningful relationships. We are like a big family where people can count on one another. To use the words of the sociologist, we increase our social capital, especially our bonding social capital. And to use theological language as in our responsive reading, we create a web of life. This is our strength. The area which I challenge our congregation to grow is in the area of bridging social capital. The more networks we have with the community outside our walls, with people unlike us, the more influence we will have on our surrounding suburban community. And the wider range of people here, the more truly authentic our community will be.
When I was in seminary, I attended a conference where the late Unitarian Universalist scholar and theologian, John Godbey, spoke. A tank of oxygen went with him everywhere he did, with a plastic tube hooked up to his face. It wouldn’t be more than a year before he would die. But I remember incredible vigor when he spoke. And I remember with clarity his response to one of the questions about people preferring a spiritual life of their own without community. He retorted, “A purely spiritual religion is a purely spurious religion.” It took a lot of people by surprise, but I think he meant that when a religious or spiritual tradition promotes only feel good ideas, there is no depth of social commitment. When a religion is focused solely on the individual’s journey, there is no transcendent connection with something larger than ourselves. When a religion is purely spiritual, there is no link with community and therefore has no basis in reality.
I fear that some of our New Age church cousins are encouraging people to be happy in a vacuum, pushing fluffy ideas without bringing people into the challenges and fulfillment of true community. But the more I become familiar with New Age spiritual groups, the more I realize they are simply helping people deal with the isolation and loneliness that our American lifestyle offers today.
And I don’t know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.
Whether we like it or not, there are other people watching us and making decisions for their lives in part by what we do. We are relational beings. We learn by watching and emulating others until we find what works for us. Once we develop the habits within our own lives, the recognition of how destructive or isolating they are is sobering. For we are then obliged to either change and grow or to inflict cruelty on ourselves, and thereby on others.
For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;
the signals we give--yes or no, or maybe--
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.
In my apartment complex, there is virtually no sense of community. After 13 months, I have had brief conversations with three other households and been in only one other apartment. Besides inviting my next door neighbors over for my Open House almost a year ago, I haven’t broken bread or had a drink with anyone in the entire complex. I have kept to myself. Others have kept to themselves.
Sometimes I think there must be something wrong with me. I periodically find myself lonely, disconnected, and unhappy. I don’t know what to do when I get in such a funk. A morning, or even an entire day may pass under the cloud of isolation.
People don’t interact much in my apartment complex because everyone is transient. Most people stay only a year, three years maximum. If you go from apartment complex to the housing developments, I understand that the same isolation usually persists. Indeed, Woodinville is a young suburb, made up primarily of families that have moved here in the last fifteen years.
I am haunted by a vision, a vision of millions of families cut off from one another; yet each of them going through the same motions as what they see on television. Every household, teeming with creative human beings, frittering away their lives without opportunities to uncover their latent creativity because they are alone and isolated, never knowing there is another way.
I know this is more grim than reality; however, the research done by Robert Putnam suggests that more and more people are isolating themselves, and that those who do enter longstanding social networks, they live longer, their incomes increase, and they are much more likely to be happy.
As a community with more money and more leisure time than anywhere in the western world, we have the choice to develop bridges with people who are different from us. However, it is extremely difficult because our culture encourages us to retreat from the world, and to retreat entirely if we can afford it. If we have the money to go traveling on a regular basis, to spend our time shopping, to upgrade our home electronic center, we can live in isolation with the illusion that we are capitalizing on the American dream.
A friend of mine worked in Seattle for a matchmaking firm. This particular firm required each person to write at least twenty pages in response to questions about their lifestyle and values. My friend tells me these are highly accomplished people who are plenty wealthy; and yet they are desperately lonely, finally waking up to the isolation in which they lived.
As I challenge myself with certain questions, I will also challenge you. How many times this past year did you invite neighbors in for dinner? How many times did you have conversations that brought you or them into each other’s abode? Do you feel lonely, isolated, or sad about your situation, enough so to change your pattern of behavior as I am resolved to do?
According to Putnam, “American history carefully examined is a story of ups and downs in civic engagement, not just downs—it is a story of collapse and of renewal. Within living memory the bonds of community in America were becoming stronger, not weaker, and it is within our power to reverse the decline of the last several decades.”
It is within our power to reverse the decline of the last several decades.
In Dorchester Massachusetts, a Catholic Priest found his parish both struggling with a lack of connections and with disagreements over which community justice issues to tackle. He decided the best way to proceed was getting people to talk with one another, not in groups, not in committees, but simply one-on-one, and not even about issues, simply about their lives, their hopes, their struggles, whatever they wanted to share. He challenged the members of the parish over two years to have eight one-on-one conversations with people they didn’t know very well. The result was a network of relationships that was capable of developing solutions to community concerns. No longer did the congregation determine its social action agenda along the lines of issues but instead along the lines of what was on the hearts and minds of the parishioners. People of different socio-economic backgrounds learned to be in relationship, real bridges had been forged and so the entire community benefited.
If we as Unitarian Universalists want to become more diverse, we as individuals need to move out of our comfort zones and get to know people who are different than us. I urge you to make time before Christmas to have two one-on-conversations with people you don’t know very well, at least a half hour apiece. Maybe after work, going for coffee or a beer, or meeting at one of your homes. One-on-one conversations might not sound like a very big deal, but notice how difficult it is to make such time, and when you sit down with someone you don’t know very well and someone who remains an acquaintance, you never know what can happen. When you are in need of a kidney or a hug or a ride to the hospital, this someone who is different from you may be the person that can help you. So sit down with two people you don’t know very well, either in or out of the church, and simply talk about your life, your interests, your dreams?
Here at the Woodinville Unitarian Universalist Church, I celebrate the
John Donne, 400 years ago, reflected on similar themes.
Who knows what he said?
No man is an island, entire of itself;
every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;
if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less…;
any man’s death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind;
and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.
We are relational beings.
We are connected to one another.
We cannot be in right relation with one another and ignore these connections.
May our church continue to bond people together as well as make the bridges to people who are different than us.
Blessed be. Amen.