Dare to Hope
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- Created on Sunday, 28 November 2010 00:00
- Written by Craig Nowak
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Well now with Thanksgiving behind us…dare I say it…the holiday season…the Christmas season, is officially under way. For many of us this time of year is a peculiar mixture of magic and madness… the ratio of which seems…and I’m speaking from experience here… linked to how long one waits to complete…or start one’s holiday shopping.
Today I want to talk a little bit about magic… and madness, although I won’t be using those terms. You’re mission… should you chose to accept it, is to discern between the two as I go along.
When I was a child one of my favorite programs was Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood. And my favorite part of the program was the regular visits to the Neighborhood of Make-Believe, courtesy of the Trolley. On the surface the Neighborhood of Make-Believe was perfect… pristine with tasteful and well kempt homes and buildings… populated with interesting people…and a pretty good…or at least entertaining, public transit system.
Behind this beautiful, controlled façade, existed a different world….a world marked by what Jane Rzepka describes in today’s reading as, “the idiocy of flight,” the ups and downs of life. The Neighborhood of Make-Believe had its fair share of up and downs, even though it appeared to be perfect, but that’s just part of the illusion…that’s what made it make-believe. Real life isn’t like this at all, right?
Jesus, that splendidly, profoundly human, rabble rouser you may have heard of…and who is, as some say, “the reason for the season”, that officially begins, in the Christian tradition, today, the first day of Advent… Jesus told his followers, “The kingdom of God is among you” and while I hold this to be true… that’s a sermon for another day…equally true however, to my heart and mind is this: The Neighborhood of Make-Believe is among you.
“What was it like?” my husband asked when I returned from my first interview here in Concord. Knowing my husband as I do, I knew he was referring to the town, not the interview. “It’s like a postcard.” I told him… “It’s really beautiful…it almost doesn’t seem real.”
Yes, dear friends, the Neighborhood of Make-Believe is among us right here in Concord. And behind the pristine white picket fences and the stately edifices they defend… under the weight of history and pride of place that keeps each blade of grass in line on well manicured lawns…exists another world… a world where people are lonely; worried about money, worried about their health, their children, or aging parents; there are people heartsick or embittered by broken promises; people shaken by a first experience of abuse or fearful of another; people grieving losses...of loved ones, of jobs, of relationships; people struggling with addiction …people struggling to hold on. This is as much a part of Concord as the picture perfect homes, charming town center, and proud history. It is a part of every human community.
“Publicly,” writes Jane Rzepka, “we speak the civilized language of human beings who have things under control…[and]…the world sees that we function well and happily. Privately, though, we experience long stretches of turbulence and the occasional sudden downdraft.”
Now, stretches of turbulence and even the occasional sudden downdraft are a part of life, and, by and large, we seem ready to acknowledge this uncomfortable fact publically in the abstract. More disturbing however, than the actual events and situations we might call turbulence and downdrafts, is Rzepka’s all too accurate insight… that, “Awful life situations seem to set us apart from one another.”
They set us apart because these difficult, yet common, life experiences remind us that we are really not in control, they remind us that our lives resemble the flight patterns of butterflies more than we’d care to admit…fluttering up and down, sometimes erratically, on the changing winds of time. The neighborhood of make-believe among us…is built and maintained to communicate to the world that everything’s under control…separating us from one another and adding to our sense of isolation, that feeling that we’re the only one going through some difficult struggle. Indeed, the neighborhood of make-believe among us, intended to communicate everything’s under control, is in fact, an admission of our fear of flying.
Some years ago while getting a haircut the conversation between the hairstylist and me turned to religion and I was asked what religion I was…what religion I belonged to. When I told the young woman, “Unitarian Universalist,” she asked me, “Is that like Scientology?” “No…no,” I said, “It’s not like Scientology at all.” Now, I don’t know very much about Scientology, but from what I’ve heard, it doesn’t sound much like Unitarian Universalism.
Naturally, the next question was, “So what is Unitarian Universalism about?” Even before she finished the question I found myself nervously scanning my mind to come up with the oft attempted, yet rarely adequate, elevator speech we Unitarian Universalists spend far too much time fretting over. Being a tried and true UU I fell into the self-set trap of trying to explain this faith by drawing way too much on its rather complex history, diverse theologies, and the difference between creeds and covenants. Despite my response, she told me it sounded interesting to her and so I gave her one of these cards with the seven principles printed on it; my meager attempt at Unitarian Universalist evangelism.
I mention this story because the encounter caused me to reflect on this faith I claim as my own, and to really consider what it is that I find most compelling about it… to ponder what it promises at its core. What I found is hope. Not hope for a better world beyond this one, but hope for a better world, this world, here and now. Hope…I wished this had been response to my hairstylist’s question, “What is Unitarian Universalism about?”
Hope. Ours is a religion of hope. For some of us it is a religion that helps us find or regain hope when it seems all is lost; for others it is a religion that nurtures our hope…hope for a more just world…hope for a deeper, more authentic life. More importantly, ours is not only a religion that uncovers and nurtures hope, but a religion that empowers us to transform that hope into action. Indeed, the late peace activist and minister, William Sloane Coffin said “Hope arouses, as nothing else can arouse, a passion for the possible.” - Even the possibility of letting go of our need to be, or appear to be, in control…the possibility of letting go of our fear of flying. What else in our lives affords us the same opportunity?
I dare say not much, for the neighborhood of make-believe is among us and it is ever expanding. Most of us live in it, work in it, and even play in it in one way or another. As it expands so too does the distance between what we are told is real and our own experience of reality. Our walls, those proud, fearful facades we erect to protect us end up instead imprisoning us in a fortress of hopelessness. These walls of separation… walls that isolate and alienate us when we most need to be with one another, only begin to come down when we dare express hope.
To hope is to risk imagining that life is more than the sum total of our years, that we are so much more than our job titles or social standing, more than our cancers or our addictions, and that our worth is not dependent upon the balance remaining after we subtract our failures from our accomplishments or measured by the cash value of our investment or retirement plans. To hope is to risk working for the better world we may not live to see knowing it is the right thing to do. To hope is to risk countering a culture where greed trumps need and the system ensures that neither the greedy nor those made needy get what they deserve. To hope is to risk appearing the fool. To hope is to dare question the conventional wisdom of the world.
If we are to let go of our fear of flying and accept, "the idiocy of flight," as Jane Rzepka suggests, “and know we're all up here flying every which way, together” then we need places where hope can be freely expressed, nurtured, and transformed into action, places where we can be honest about those things that keep us up at night and know we are not alone…places where our individual vulnerabilities become a source of common strength. One of the few remaining places I know of where this is still possible in our society is in our churches.
Here, in this meetinghouse, this church…in this community of hope…we come…we come to release ourselves from the hard labor and stress of maintaining the illusion of solid ground that characterizes the Neighborhood of Make-Believe. We come to encourage and teach one another to fly, to help each other navigate the turbulence, and ride the downdrafts of life together. It is here that we dare dream a different dream and live a deeper life. Here… where we dare to hope. And so let this place be a house of hope. Let us come together… and dare to hope.
Amen and Blessed Be
Sources:
The Bible, Luke 17:21, NRSV
Rzepka, Jane R. A Small Heaven: A Meditation Manual, Boston: Skinner House Books, 1989
Coffin, William Sloane. A Passion for the Possible: A Message to US Churches, Louisville; London: Westminster John Knox Press, 2003
© Craig M. Nowak 2010