Disrupt Church

I am angry this week. So angry! Last week, too. And, maybe the week before. It’s sort of been going on for months. I mean, if I’m honest, it started last October. Someone did me wrong last October. Me and my whole family and I’m still mad. For months, when I passed their home, I’d give them the finger. They didn’t see it, but it felt pretty good. I remember a long time ago when we were still protesting Apartheid, a nun I knew used to drive into Shell stations to give people the finger. I’m taking my cue from Sr. O’Neil. It means nothing outside of registering my dissatisfaction, but sometimes that’s all we have.

When I say I’m angry, I mean it, too. And that anger has been distracting for almost a year. It sneaks into my head when I’m not thinking about anything in particular. It fills empty space. It shows up in my dreams. It slips out during casual conversation. In these last two weeks, I even think it’s blocking joy, preventing me from living my life fully.

Early in the summer, I realized I was still so angry because there’s been no accountability. These are people who treated my family badly – my son in particular – for which they’ve experienced no consequences. This is a trigger for me. I have a hard time when people behave badly and are not accountable. And, as I’ve confessed here before, I behave badly when I’m right. They haven’t been held to account and I’m right. This is a bad combination.

I actually do pretty well when I’m wrong. I don’t mind apologizing for things. I even appreciate the opportunity to grow. I find being wrong sort of liberating. If nothing else, I’m in control. I can apologize and make things better. I welcome learning I was wrong. I’m not so gracious when I’m right. In fact, I’m downright self-righteous. I need people to know I’m right. I have yet to learn the grace of being right and being quiet about it.

And this family- they’re not only wrong but they hurt my kid. I’ve been plotting revenge ever since.

I’m obviously not good at the revenge game, though, because outside of giving them the finger from time to time, an act they know nothing about, I haven’t taken any action at all.

So, a few weeks ago, this family acted-out again. My son was hurt. My husband was annoyed. So, they called a friend and went out for ice cream. They returned laughing having forgotten all about what sent them seeking fun to start with. I, on the other hand, stayed home and stewed.

It was then that I realized that I am, in fact, in the wrong.

Not about the situation. I’m wrong – or more accurately – I’m misaligned with a greater Truth. There isn’t anything I can do about what happened or continues to happen. Br. Zachary and I sometimes say to each other, “It’s people being people.” This family- they’re Peopling. Nothing I can do about it. And I’m not wrong that they’re doing the people thing badly. But, when all is said and done, I’m the one suffering from it. And that’s where I’m wrong.

So much of our suffering is forced on us. Death. Financial insecurity. Illness. The loss of human and civil rights. But this – this silly social stuff that most of us spend our time worrying about – that’s optional. Suffering is inevitable. Misery is optional. In fact, if I’m honest with myself, this year of anger is entirely on me. I’m not at fault in the precipitating event, and the feelings and intense response I had last October were appropriate. But, in the months since, my misery has been on me. If I want accountability, I may never get that for these people, but I can get it for myself. I’m creating my own pain.

It’s not the first time in my life I’ve done this and I know I’m not alone. I won’t ask you to raise your hands, but I’ve been in this business long enough to know that we humans, we do this to ourselves. We get angry and we hold on to it, and we create our own misery.

Rosh Hashanah started a week ago on Friday evening, the 15th. Yom Kippur begins this evening. If we hadn’t gone to the climate march last week, I’d have preached this sermon and invited us all into a week of reflection. Instead, I’m limiting our time to today, into tomorrow.

Self-reflection is an important spiritual practice. It’s how we bring ourselves back into alignment. It’s how we connect with our deepest selves, with the god or gods of our understanding, with the great rhythms of Earth, with the source of Love and Truth, with the Ground of Being. We stop. We look. We sit with what we see. We breathe into the reality of who we are.

It is good. We are good. We are also misguided. Unforgiving. Resentful. Reactive. Judgmental. Sometimes we’re joyless. Humorless. Inflexible. Demanding. Entitled. Self-Centered. Arrogant. Thoughtless. Stingy. Sharp. Critical. Any of this sound familiar?

And, if we’re sitting and looking and breathing, we can also see that we are helpful. Kind. Generous. Forgiving. Unassuming. Grateful. Playful. Creative. We can look at ourselves and see that we are open. Curious. Engaged. Gentle. Thoughtful. Relational.

Once we see our full and true selves, our potential for harm and grace, it’s time to repent. There is no repair, no reparations, no way to move forward in healing unless we repent. This is our moment for accountability. We stop. We look. We see. We breath into what’s real. And we begin the work of repentance. Again, there is no repair, there is no healing, if there is no repentance.

I think about this in anti-racism work too. I know sometimes white people feel like we’re being asked to apologize all the time, and often the people who feel that way point out that their families were very poor or they came from another country where they were persecuted or that they were an underclass even here for generations, all making the point that most white people alive today, especially here in New York, weren’t part of the inhumane history of slavery or segregation, so why should we apologize. The presupposition is that it has nothing to do with us. Often, at least in the circles I run in, the people speaking are liberals who understand the impact of American racial history, and they might even be open to institutional reparations.

It isn’t enough. While I might not personally be perpetuating systemic racism, repair only happens after repentance, and the repentance all white people have to consider is the inherent privilege of whiteness and the generations of opportunity on which our lives are based. If there’s going to be repair, we have to reflect honestly, even fearlessly. Acknowledge where we stand in the system. And repent. Healing comes after we say we’re sorry, even if we aren’t personally to blame. We are, nonetheless, the beneficiaries.

I wonder if it might be helpful for you all to think about something for which you might need to repent. It might be, like me, something I’m doing to myself, largely, although those who live with me aren’t protected. Or, it might be your place in our larger systems. It might be something very specific that you did or said that hurt someone you know. Think for a moment. Get that clearly in your mind.

I can ask you to do that because there’s always something. No one can say, “Nope. Nothing. I’m good.” If we’re honest, we know there’s a place that needs mending.

Think clearly about what it is you did. What part of this did you have? Was it your actions? Was it an inaction? Did you cause someone harm? See if you can name it for yourself.

Holding that in mind, how can you repent? There will be people down at the East River throwing bread into the water. Maybe that’s your way too. Or, you can go directly to the source, the person you’ve hurt and say you’re sorry and ask for forgiveness. Or, you can pray, telling the god or gods of your understanding what you’ve done. Seek accountability for yourself.

Forgiveness may or may not come next, specifically when we’re dealing with other people. Nothing we can do about that. That part is out of our hands. All we can do is acknowledge and repent. Acknowledge and repent. That’s the practice. Others will do or feel however they will. This remains true even if the one who was hurt was ourselves.

The practice is necessary either way. The only chance we can bring ourselves back to ourselves, back into alignment, is to see all we’ve done to knock ourselves off course.

Here’s the one assurance I can offer you. Regardless of what you’ve done or who you think you are, you are loved. You are held, right now, even in your brokenness, in a vast matrix of love and welcome.

I’ve been thinking about the spiritual practices of this church. It might be that I need to deepen my own spiritual life and it might be because I’ve heard similar things from some of you, but I’d love for us to think about how we lean into opportunities like the one offered by Yom Kippur. There is a natural rhythm in the human condition and part of that is a time for spiritual reflection. Because of the timing, we’ve missed much of the opportunity of this holiday, so I’m preparing you now for Lent. I am going to invite us all into a deeper, more intentional and longer time toward the end of winter so we can lean in to this kind of healing for ourselves, for those around us, and for the world.

But that shouldn’t take away from today. If you are able and willing, I’m inviting you – as I’m inviting myself – into a day of reflection. Yom Kippur begins this evening and runs through tomorrow. I’m lucky that tomorrow is my day off, so I’ll have some time. I’m going to begin my day writing my reflection. I’ll spend real

time tomorrow putting language to all the things that are blocking me, that I’ve messed up, that I’m guilty of. I’ll then sit with all of that, breathing deeply what it means to be human, what it means to be me right now. And then I’m going to bring some bread to some water and I’m going to name each of these transgressions as I throw bread into water and with each naming, I’m going to ask the god of my understanding for forgiveness.

This is my cleansing ritual, and it might be for you too. Maybe this is a good time for you to take a similar spiritual and moral inventory. Maybe tonight or tomorrow, you can sit with and breath into some of the less comfortable truths about yourself. And, maybe the ritual of bread and water will work for you. Fire is another option. Write it all down and burn it. Kitchen sinks work if you can turn off the smoke detector for a few minutes.

Whatever the actual practice, this invitation is open.

And whatever you find, whatever you see in yourself, we are Universalists. We know that Love is the ground on which we stand, that we were welcomed into the embrace of Love with our first breath, that we are surrounded by that very love in every moment of every day since then, and that we will be welcomed into Love with our last gasp of air.

With that Truth, with Love always at the Center, we will begin our litany.