In Love and In Tears

Size: px

Start display at page:

Download "In Love and In Tears"

Alice Logan
6 years ago
Views:

1 In Love and In Tears Sunday, February 17, 2013 Rev. Bruce Southworth, Senior Minister The Community Church of New York Unitarian Universalist Readings Marge Piercy is part of my spirit and life with her provocative and healing poetry, bold and tender depending upon her topic, and often both at once. She does not say that she is promiscuous, but in an ultimate sense, she is, in this poem Many, many loves : So many things we can love: a man, a woman, a friend, a cat. We can love a sugar maple turning orange from the bottom up; we can love a weeping beech with its twisting arms, the lush tent branches make sweeping the ground. We can love a pond, a shore, a boat. We can love a painting, a flag, abstractions like honor and country. We can love icons and temples. A house, a yard, a woods, a path that leads us wandering toward the place we d most like to be. Some can love a car I never could a book, a doll, a necklace or ring. Some can love family and some can t. Some the luckiest can love themselves without narcissism just saying, Well I am this, I could do better now and probably I will. [The Crooked Inheritance, p. 112] My colleague Rev. Kate Braestrup in Marriage and Other Acts of Charity writes, If you give your committed love to a person, an idea, or a cause, even should that person, idea, or cause be taken from you, or proven false, you will be a better lover of anyone, of anything for the experience. Because I am a religious person, I see this in characteristically grandiose, religious terms: The point of being human is to get better (and better) at caritas, at agape, at love. (pp. 8-9) 1

2 In Love and In Tears Rev. Bruce Southworth I was reminded recently of a love story a family: a husband, wife and daughter. Having retired and moved, the husband no longer is one of those neighborhood presences personas who blessed all who took time for a sidewalk visit with him. Often, our conversations were casual sports teams, the Rangers, a game he had seen with his daughter, when given tickets. But as a street philosopher, he sometimes shared what he saw and thought. One day, he was staring into the distance as I approached. Without turning his head, he began to tell me about the little dog that he had, and how that dog seemed to run the household, how his daughter just loved that dog, his wife too, and well, he also was fond of the dog. He continued, staring straight ahead, and added, I saw a lady come out of there (meaning a veterinary office), I saw a lady come out of there with just a leash and tears. Just a leash and tears, and I quickly understood that the woman s dog must have been ill and had been put to death. He went on in something of a monologue about how the woman was a doctor, and no doubt used to death, but her dog s death brought her tears. He continued. He had called home to see if he needed to bring anything. Just a couple of pickles and a pound of sliced cheese for his wife was the response. His wife had not taken the dog out in the cold; his daughter had, and then she had done the shopping. No, all they needed were the two pickles and the pound of sliced cheese. It was hard for his wife to get out, he said. She was cancer-free for five years now, but the colon cancer had left her without control you know of her bowels. It was hard on her, but she managed. They managed. With a turn of his head in my direction, eye to eye, now, he said with a smile (and he has this great smile!) that she was still there, alive and cancer-free for five years. Not all are so blessed. He knew. He continued about how some people worry about their jobs all the time, making all the money in the world, but constantly worrying, with no time for anything else, but he couldn t live that way. With a wave of the hand, too much nonsense at work to let his work define him, or at least all his life. 2

3 I said I had never heard him speak about his wife s cancer, and how that must have been hard, but how glad I was for him and for her, for them. And, of course, privacy is personal. Oh, it was wonderful, he said, now. And it was also hard, and then he looked me in the eye and then again into the distance, adding, I guess we have more strength than we know. And he laughed a wistful but happy laugh. (He has this great laugh!) At that moment, a hat went blowing by, and I saw a man trying to catch up to it. I caught up with it first, grabbed it, and he with a smile said he needed his hat to keep his brains warm. I went back to my friend, who started talking about ice hockey. I interrupted him and thanked him for the reminder. He wasn t quite sure what I meant We have more strength than we know, I agreed softly. Love has many stories, and I was thinking about him on Valentine s Day, and I wondered how he celebrated. But having retired, and no longer at hand, I could not ask had never thought to ask. For us, each of us, so many, many things to love to express our love, affection, and appreciation. For example, getting down to another basic: Do you love Life? Life with a capital L? The whole challenge? Not just yourself? Most of us do at least when we give it some thought. It s a healthy spiritual discipline to nurture love of Life. I think of wonderful lines from a former member of our congregation who moved to Amsterdam in the 1960s. Lee Bridges is a poet who died eight years ago, and oh so long ago, had sent me one of his volumes. Lee Bridges writes, Sometimes you wake up In the mornings and it s Raining and you say Aw, no. And sometimes you wake Up and say Oh, yeah!! And sometimes you wake up And read newspapers and Newspapers and newspapers And then After all of that 3

4 Even after all of That Worlds abounding in fears Always you say Come on, yeah Come on We ll go on In love and In tears. We ll go in love and in tears. Such a poet gives me encouragement puts courage into me and from its root meaning, puts heart into me Heart and soul for his deep Love of Life. On this Sunday with Valentine s Day just past, I turn again to some of the variations on a theme Love s Stories bittersweet: we go on in love and tears. And from our reading from Rev. Kate Braestrup: The point of being human is to get better (and better) at caritas, at agape, at love. A week ago Saturday night, about a dozen of us attended the Pizza and Poetry evening some of us long-time; some of us first-time visitors; some poets themselves; some reading that of others; one singing lyrics; others quietly enjoying the Spirit in our midst. At some point, words of the poet and novelist James Dickey came to mind words that are a mantra a sacred reminder. I first came across them 35 or so years ago; it was one of the Wayside Pulpit signs like the one we have on the front of our building in front of the Roanoke Valley UU church where I was serving as Minister. James Dickey observes, declares, reveals: The great themes of poetry [are] the inevitability of death and the possibility of love. So true in so much of the poetry that graced us as we met in the Gallery. Just so and identically, the great themes of religion, of the spiritual quest are the inevitability of death and the possibility of love. From the reading, Marge Piercy reminds us that there are so many things to love: From people, to abstractions, to principles, to ourselves. I celebrate her themes of self-acceptance, affirmation, aspiration, and a bit of humbition humility and ambition in healthy balance. We can say, Well I am this, I could do better now and probably I will. 4

5 So many things we can love and we can love ourselves and then out of loneliness, losses and loving yet again, we then may touch others in ways we can barely imagine. Another colleague offers an image I treasure. About thirty years ago, Robert Schaibly, then Minister of the First Unitarian Church in Houston, Texas was our Gay Pride Sunday speaker; Bob was among the first openly gay ministers among us. In one of his church newsletter columns, he wrote about the sacred felt-quality of connection, of freedom, and of transcendence that invades our lives when we are in healthy relationships. Bob writes: I got to the airport in New Orleans early which always makes me feel comfortable. I checked in (for my flight back to Houston), bought The Times and went to the coffee shop, one of my favorite things to do in the morning. I got settled in, creating my own island in the cheap and worn shop. A... couple sat down at the table in front of me, clearly not business travelers. The vibes were heavy. They, too, had only coffee, as though food were too much to think about. They sat silently, staring into space, as though wrapped in the same thoughts. Something serious had happened. A quarrel? [I don t know.] Her father has died, perhaps, and they are en route to the funeral? She cries slightly, sort of a tear at a time. It is as if they do not know what to do. Then he reached out, and with his index finger he gently touched the back of her hand. And she cried a little harder, and then she smiled a bit. That moment seemed infused with meaning, made sacred. In fact, the image that flashes is from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in Rome; Michelangelo painted God (and Adam) reaching to (one another ;) the space between their hands is Creativity and Divinity; maybe you can understand this, the small gap between the stretching figures is what God really may be. [And then the connection, the touching, the transformation] And the message is ancient. I am in pain and I am not alone. love you and you are not alone. I My colleague continues, I wanted to tell you this in yesterday s sermon about faith, hope and love because such grand concepts are comprehensible only in the specific, only in a pat on the back, a friendly smile, (or the reaching out to one another, in the courageous deed amidst despair). But yesterday I couldn t find the transitional sentences and yet today the story was still in my mind, and it increases in value only if I pass it along. (3/11/91) 5

6 Once again, such needs for intimacy, sharing, and connection are not always resolved once and for all. Relationships of deep friendship or between lovers generally take a certain amount of work, a degree of forgiveness, a measure of understanding. When we look in the mirror perhaps, just perhaps, we ourselves see that we are not without imperfection, so why should we expect perfection from friends and lovers and partners? I pass this story along too. It speaks to me of faith, hope and love in concrete ways. It speaks to me of Creativity and Divinity here with us in this world, occasionally touching us, as we are able to touch, to connect, to transcend our small, private, lonely lives. know. How to put it? We go in love and in tears and with greater strength than we Toni Morrison offers a kindred vision of the possibilities and blessings of love in her novel Beloved. Two of the main characters who had been slaves on the same plantation are finally together again at the end of the novel, [Paul D. and Sethe]. It is now the 1870s, and they have come through first steps, false steps, much love and much pain. She is crying over the death of a child, ready to give up, and in despair. Before speaking, Paul D.'s thoughts travel through the past, to the days in slavery and after. He remembers how she had seen him humiliated, and yet by never mentioning it or even looking at him when he had been, as he says, "collared like a beast," she had "left him his" dignity. And to himself he thinks, "She is a friend of my mind. She gather me. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order. It's good you know, when you got... [someone] who is a friend of your mind..." And he says to her as best he can fumble, "Aw girl, don't cry." "She was my best thing..." referring to the lost child. And Paul D. thinks to himself, "He wants to put his story next to hers." He says, Me and you, we got more yesterday than anybody. We need some kind of tomorrow." He leans over and takes her hand. With the other, he touches her face. "You your best thing. You are." His holding fingers are holding hers. "Me?" she asks. "Me?" Life's meaning surely is not in doubt when by Life's grace and effort we ever find a person in our lives who sees our strength and our beauty our light, even when we cannot see it, and then gives it back to us. 6

7 That same life-saving, miraculous, everyday thing is for me so deeply what we can find together here seeing each other's strengths and beauty, affirming them, even when the pain is great and aches are deep from the ordinary struggles of each day. Strength, courage, hope come from soul-mates, but also can emerge in community, as we make that possible by our tenderness, forgiveness, openness and caring. At Valentine s Day, friendship is celebrated by some, but the dominant theme is romance. Toni Morrison says it well for some of us when she notes in her novel The Bluest Eye that Valentine s Day is one of the most destructive ideas in the history of human thought. Some of our members have told me how they hate it; others like its good intentions. For Kay and me, we have a quiet, simple observance nothing elaborate. Every now and then I have reported the average cost of Valentine s gift-giving, and this year it was $ per person average 151 million Valentine s cards exchanged; 224 million roses grown; $4.52 average spent on pets by their owners; over $18 billion altogether spent. And the larger picture is Marge Piercy s Many, many things to love, including ourselves and putting love into action in society in our justice making. Some the luckiest [and the wisest] can love themselves [and others] without narcissism just saying, Well I am this, I could do better now and probably I will. The inevitability of death and the possibility of love. We go on with more strength than we know. We go on in love and in tears. The point of being human is to get better and better at love. Finally, one last thing: Where is God? I would be remiss not to note that for many traditions God is Love, or the other way around: Love is God. Certainly, that is in the roots of our Universalist heritage although we now each embrace for oneself language of faith metaphors, symbols of faith, in our own ways. So in that spirit, I offer a Valentine s story in closing. Love that is joyful, playful, long enduring that affirms, completes and empowers. It comes from Martin Marty, renowned, retired church historian from the University of Chicago Divinity School. One winter following a snowstorm, a neighbor, in his late seventies, went out to shovel the walkway. It was a quiet, cold winter Saturday, clear and blue above. 7

8 Marty could hear the regular scrape of the shovel against concrete and a barely perceptible plop of the snow as it was piled along the walk. A scrape and a whoosh and a plop. A scrape and a whoosh and a plop. It crossed Marty's mind that his neighbor was nearly eighty and that too often one reads of sudden heart attacks among those out shoveling fresh snow with too much energy and too little caution. But, the shoveling was steady and rhythmic. Then it stopped in mid-scrape. It was a few moments before Marty realized that what made him look up from his reading was the silence, the shovel no longer making its melody. All was silent. He was unsure what to think and felt a mixture of anxiety, but also some certainty that his neighbor was in good health. He then heard a shout. The man was calling for his wife, "Come out! Come out!" It was an excited voice but it was not alarmed. Martin Marty got up and went to his own window to see for himself what was going on, and there he saw the man's wife of fifty-odd years standing on the porch. She was looking at her husband. He was in the yard, ankle-deep in snow with a grin as wide as the whole world. Next to him was a huge heart a Valentine carved into soft snow with the man's and his wife's names clearly shaped. They laughed and waved and smiled at each other, followed by the scrape and whoosh and plop of snow as he continued his work. If then, you ask where I find God, or how do I think about God, or Spirit, or what is best in us I shall point to such radiance of Love as just one small example of how something sacred bursts into and suffuses throughout this world when we humans respond with heart and soul to the giftedness of life. We are just this bearers of grace and Love, if we will. Love May you give it frequently. 8

On Becoming an American Writer

On Becoming an American Writer By Alexander Chee April 19, 2018 My generation of writers and yours, if you are reading this lives in the shadow of Auden s famous attack on the relevance of writing to life,