Widening Our Circle of Compassion
a sermon given by Cricket Potter
on Sunday, November 5, 2006
at The First Parish in Lincoln
“Story gives us the power to change.”
-Christina Baldwin
READINGS:
1. Our first reading is from a book called Storycatcher by Christina Baldwin. Baldwin is a strong believer in the power of story to heal, connect, and transform us. She believes that it is through story that we learn best and are most inspired. Here is an excerpt from her first chapter:
Story — the abundance of it, and the lack of it — shapes us. Story — the abundance of it, and the lack of it — gives us place, lineage, history, a sense of self. Story — the abundance of it, and the lack of it — breaks us into pieces, shatters our understanding and gives it back over and over again, the story different every time. Story — the abundance of it, and the lack of it — connects us with the world and outlines our relationship with everything. When the power of story comes into the room, an alchemical reaction occurs that is unique to our kind: love or hate, identification or isolation, war or peace, good or evil intent can be stirred in us by words alone.
2. Our second reading is from the Gospel According to Luke. It’s a short reading, just the first four verses of the gospel. Luke addresses an individual named Theophilus, who is perhaps a Roman official or possibly a fictitious stand-in for the larger Gentile population to whom Luke is ultimately writing. Here are those verses:
Inasmuch as many have undertaken to compile a narrative of the things which have been accomplished among us, just as they were delivered to us by those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and ministers of the word, it seemed good to me also, having followed all things closely for some time past, to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, that you may know the truth concerning the things of which you have been informed.
Story.
It has the power, Christina Baldwin writes,
to shape us, give us place, connect us with the world,
and outline our relationship with everything.
“Story,” she adds, “gives us the power to change.”
This last statement takes me back to my first year at seminary.
We students were assigned to groups of ten.
We would meet weekly throughout the year with a faculty member
to talk about the various aspects of ministry,
explore our theology,
and get to know one another in a very intentional way.
As part of this getting to know one another,
we would each share our life journey that brought us to seminary.
One of the students in my group, Kevin, was gay although I didn’t know that initially.
I remember a conversation we had early on in our group about ordination,
a conversation prompted by recent news of an outspoken minister
who was challenging the Presbyterian church’s stance
against the ordination of gays and lesbians.
I’m embarrassed to say this now, but in that conversation some eighteen years ago
I took a firm stance against the ordination of gays and lesbians.
In my somewhat sheltered New England upbringing, I had never known a gay or lesbian -
I had never heard their stories.
And my church, using a few selected verses from the Bible,
had taught me that homosexuality was against the normal order of things.
Then weeks after this regrettable conversation, Kevin told us his story.
He spoke of his pain and searching,
of his self-doubt and at times self-loathing.
He described the rejection he faced from his stern father
and the grave disappointment he felt from his mother whom he loved so dearly.
He spoke about his deep, deep longing simply to be loved
and accepted for who he was.
And as I heard his story, I was, in the words of Christina Baldwin, broken into pieces.
I was broken into pieces and my old understanding was shattered –
thankfully I will now add.
Everything I had ever thought or assumed about homosexuality
had suddenly been turned on its head.
After Kevin shared his story and the group meeting was over,
I waited until the others had left.
I had so much I wanted to say to Kevin, so many pieces.
But as he reached out to hug me, all I could mutter was, “Thank you.”
“Thank you for sharing your story. I never knew. I’m so sorry.”
One of my favorite writers, Frederick Buechner,
who just happens to be a Presbyterian minister, reminds us:
“It is absolutely critical. . . to keep in constant touch with what is going on in your own life story and to pay close attention to what is going on in the stories of others’ lives. If God is present anywhere, it is in (our) stories.”
I certainly felt that presence in my seminary group as we shared of ourselves.
And, I know that we feel that sense of the sacred here at First Parish
whenever we have the opportunity to share our stories.
All of us together --
new members and long-time members,
families and single people, young and old --
we have so much to share and learn from each other.
And we do --
in our many small groups that meet monthly,
in our children’s church school classes,
in the prayers we offer here in worship,
and even in our committee meetings.
We share who we are, what we are struggling with, what we long for.
And something happens.
We feel a sense of kinship.
We feel less alone.
We can even feel the power to change.
Christina Baldwin calls it “an alchemical reaction.”
I call it sacred. I also call it connection.
Something deep within us is touched.
Through story, we see past our own assumptions and judgments,
into a person’s heart and soul.
My experience shows me that once I know a person’s story,
I can never view them the same way again.
For, their story is my story and our story.
The place and time and circumstances may be different,
but the human struggle is the same.
It is the story of hope and faith and trying to live life
sometimes against the greatest of odds.
In my case, hearing Kevin’s story meant a complete rethinking
as to what it meant to be gay or lesbian
and what I was called to do as a heterosexual.
I opened myself up to more stories.
And I eventually joined my voice with others in their struggle to be heard.
And over time, I realized sadly but assuredly that I could not continue on
in my own path toward ministry in the Presbyterian church.
I could not, in any kind of good conscience, profess a vow of obedience to a church
that said I could be ordained but not Kevin,
that I was worthy but not him.
And so I left the church not knowing where that would take me
but at least knowing what I needed to uphold.
In a letter to a friend, Albert Einstein once wrote
about how we humans tend to isolate ourselves from one another.
We each focus, he explained, on our own thoughts and feelings
at the exclusion of most of the world around us.
We let a few select people into our circle, but the rest we exclude.
He called this way of being a delusion, a prison even.
“Our task,” he wrote, “must be to free ourselves from this prison
by widening our circle of compassion. . .”
Widening our circle of compassion…
I love that image.
I think of circles expanding outward like the ripples on a pond.
I think of a circle of people holding hands,
and how that circle just keeps getting bigger and bigger as more people join in.
I also think of stretching and growing,
broadening and embracing.
Who of us doesn’t yearn to be part of something so inclusive and transforming?
I know that such a yearning is what brought me to church years ago.
And not to say that this widening of our circle of compassion is always easy.
It can open us up to truths we hadn’t considered before.
It can nudge us to change in ways we hadn’t ever imagined.
In our neighboring town of Wayland,
two groups of people experienced this kind of change several years ago.
A mosque and a synagogue, unlikely allies, had been cordial neighbors to one another before 9/11.
But amidst the hysteria of post-9/11,
these two communities decided to reach out to one another in an intentional way
to learn about each other and hopefully not fall prey to the fear
that was seizing so many Americans.
They gathered regularly to share meals and tell stories about one another’s lives.
They talked about their families and children and jobs.
They quickly moved past any myths and fears about their differences
to discover the shared truth in their lives.
And soon, they were supporting each other
in community efforts and business ventures
and in reaching out to others beyond their immediate community
to share in the dialogue.
Perhaps this change of heart, this new understanding, is what the apostle Luke was thinking of
when he wrote in the first lines of his gospel:
“It seemed good to me also to write an orderly account for you…
that you may know the truth concerning the things of which you have been informed.”
In other words, “Let me tell you the story of this amazing person named Jesus
so that you will know his truth,
and be changed.”
Or in Einstein’s words,
“So that you will seek to widen your own circle of compassion.”
Here at First Parish we are doing just that.
I immediately think of Lobby Day for Homelessness.
We have heard the stories of people struggling to keep a roof over their family’s head.
So every February, we go by the busload to the State House
to learn more, make our presence known to our representatives,
and speak up for more funding to prevent homelessness
and support those who are struggling.
We also have listened to the stories
from Haiti to Darfur, New Orleans to Nickel Mines, Pennsylvania
and we have responded.
And I know that as individuals and as a congregation,
we will continue to respond and try to make a difference.
Still, I wonder.
Are there stories that I, that we, could and should open ourselves up to?
Could I, could we, widen our circle of compassion more than we’ve dared to before?
What about right here among us?
Could we do more to hear each other stories and connect – really connect?
What about our neighbors just twenty miles away in Roxbury and Dorchester
where violence has plagued these communities
and where many innocent victims are being struck down
sitting on their front steps or playing even in their own homes?
Could we do more to listen and respond?
And thinking of Claire’s sermon a few weeks ago, about aliens and who we alienate:
Could we widen our circle of compassion
to include those desperately asking for help from the edges of our society?
These are all questions on which Roger, Claire, and I welcome your thoughts.
We have so much to give here at First Parish --
with Claire bringing all her wonderful energy and talents,
with our celebrating ten great years with Roger and Kay here
and looking forward to much more,
with all of you bringing your passions and skills,
and with all of us on staff feeling energized to find ways
that we can be a better church to one another
and to the world beyond our doors.
“Story gives us the power to change,” Baldwin writes.
It inspires us, activates us, connects us.
It breaks down walls of our own making
and reminds us of the larger story of life we all share as humans --
the story of our joys and fears,
hopes and struggles,
failures and triumphs.
May we be open to the stories we need to hear --
among ourselves and in the world around us.
May we feel the power of these stories and be changed.
Amen.