Unfailing Champions
a sermon given by Cricket Potter
on Sunday, February 18, 2007
at The First Parish in Lincoln
“It is a strange gift, this birthright gift of self. Accepting it turns out to be even more demanding than attempting to become someone else!”
-Parker Palmer
READINGS:
1. Our first reading is just two verses from Psalm 139. Throughout the larger psalm, the author rejoices in how God knows us through and through and is with us always. In the particular verses I have chosen for today, the psalmist expresses the wonderful way God created us. Here is Psalm 139, verses 13-14:
You formed my inmost being. You knit me together in my mother’s womb…. I am fearfully and wonderfully made…. My soul knows that well.
2. Our second reading is from the Quaker writer and educator Parker Palmer. In his book Let Your Life Speak, Palmer asks the central question, “Is the life you are living the same as the life that wants to live in you?” His book explores how we can go about reclaiming the gift of true self, a gift that we unfortunately can lose sight of. Here is Parker Palmer:
It is a strange gift, this birthright gift of self. Accepting it turns out to be even more demanding than attempting to become someone else! I have sometimes responded to that demand by ignoring the gift, or hiding it, or fleeing from it, or squandering it – and I think I am not alone. There is a Hasidic tale that reveals, with amazing brevity, both the universal tendency to want to be someone else and the ultimate importance of becoming one’s self: Rabbi Zusya, when he was an old man, said, “In the coming world, they will not ask me: ‘Why were you not Moses?’ They will ask me: ‘Why were you not Zusya?’”
Parker then goes on to talk about his new granddaughter. In watching this newborn baby grow and interact with the world, he was able to see for the first time just how unique every person is right from birth. He writes:
She did not show up as raw material to be shaped into whatever image the world might want her to take. She arrived with her own gifted form, with the shape of her own sacred soul. Biblical faith calls it the image of God in which we are created. Thomas Merton calls it true self. Quakers call it the inner light, or “that of God” in every person. The humanist tradition calls it identity and integrity….
I am gathering my observations in a letter. When my granddaughter reaches her late teens or early twenties, I will make sure that my letter finds its way to her, with a preface something like this: “Here is a sketch of who you were from your earliest days in this world…. It was sketched by someone who loves you very much. Perhaps these notes will help you do sooner something your grandfather did only later: remember who you were when you first arrived and reclaim the gift of true self.”
Don’t we all wish that we had a letter like the one Parker Palmer writes for his granddaughter –
one that portrays so lovingly what someone else saw in us from our earliest days
and describes the shape of our own unique and sacred soul?
What a gift, particularly as I think about
how many times I have gone off track -- way off track
searching for who or what I am.
I have either tried doggedly to be something I am not,
or I have ignored the still small voice that has tried to speak from within.
And I know I am not alone in that
because it is hard to first figure out and then live out who we are.
So much of life seems to conspire against it.
We can run roughshod over the space needed for our true self to take shape and flourish.
And quite frankly, it takes courage – lots of it – to be ourselves.
Following in someone else’s footsteps,
even if those footsteps don’t really suit us,
is a much less scary alternative sometimes.
So, we need what Marian Wright Edelman refers to as “lanterns.”
We need people in our lives who can companion us on some part of the journey and –
often in quiet, unobtrusive ways --
shine a light in the darkness
thus helping us to see ourselves or the way forward
with greater clarity.
One such person for me was Father Robert Drinan.
Memories of him are fresh in my mind as I mourn his death three weeks ago today.
You see, I had the privilege and joy
of interning in Father Drinan’s congressional office for a year.
Jesuit priest, Massachusetts congressman, scholar, law school dean,
determined activist for human rights, and dear friend to so many.
He was a man whose presence you couldn’t be in and not gain some better sense of yourself.
He just knew how to shine a light on the unique gifts you brought to this world.
Spending time with Father Drinan was transformative.
I remember my first day as an intern.
I felt lucky just to be there on Capitol Hill at the ripe old age of 18
even though I had been warned by interns in other offices
that I would get all the menial tasks
and I would probably have little interaction with the congressman.
That was okay.
The excitement of being on Capitol Hill,
getting to walk the hallowed halls of our congressional buildings,
and even getting to each lunch in the same cafeteria with our elected representatives
was enough to make up for whatever menial tasks awaited me.
On that first day, not long after Father Drinan came in wearing the same outfit he wore every day --
black suit and black shirt with the white clerical collar –
he invited me into his large, messy office piled with books and folders and newspapers.
He leaned forward in his office chair, looked me intently in the eye, and said,
“Tell me about yourself Cricket.”
Well, I stammered through some unmemorable response
as I tried to get over the shock of having this important man’s time and attention.
And, as if that wasn’t enough to do me in,
He then proceeded to ask more questions:
What interests you?
What goals do you have for your time here in my office?
How can I help?
I have absolutely no memory of what I said.
What I do remember vividly is his attentiveness and his caring.
From then on I, like everyone else in his office, felt swept up by his energy and his encouragement.
He asked me to accompany him occasionally at committee meetings and functions.
I even attended other meetings in his stead and took notes for him and his staff.
Above all, he always encouraged me to think, be well prepared,
and have my own well informed position on things.
“So, what is your opinion?” was a frequent question of his.
Or, “Tell me something I don’t know.”
I must admit that it was daunting at first to be asked such questions by a man
who was a well-known scholar in his own right,
with a long list of degrees and a dozen books to his name.
But what got me over the hump was his unmistakable confidence in what I had to contribute.
What I said and thought mattered.
In fact, I mattered.
The heading for one of the many tributes from the Boston papers read:
“Father Drinan: Our Unfailing Champion.”
How true.
And that is the memory I hold dearest.
I hold that memory, too, as I look ahead to the season of Lent which begins this week.
In the spirit of Jesus who, before he began his ministry,
spent forty days in the wilderness,
contemplating the meaning and purpose of life,
we are called to spend the season of Lent
reflecting upon ways we can do better for each other.
And what better way to do better for each other
than to be one another’s unfailing champions.
To encourage and affirm one another as we each go about figuring out
who and what we are called to be.
That is easier said than done, though.
I know that as a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend and a colleague,
I can sometimes let my own ego and issues jump right in there.
My own agenda can really hold sway if I’m not careful.
And I don’t think I’m alone in this.
So, how can we get past ourselves to be more affirming of others?
I am reminded of a quote that sets me straight every time I think of it.
It is attributed to the early Jewish philosopher Philo of Alexandria:
“Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle.”
Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle.
How simple and how profound.
That person sitting next to you in the pew this morning is fighting a great battle just as you are.
We are all searching for meaning, purpose, and wholeness.
And it isn’t easy.
As I have sat with many of you and heard your stories, I know how hard you are trying.
And here is a story one parishioner shared with me1….
Due to his father’s alcoholism, his father’s workload in managing his own business,
some not so healthy attitudes about parenting,
and the large size of their family,
his father was not particularly present or supportive.
But fortunately, this parishioner found a friend and mentor in his neighbor, a Mr. Martin.
As a teenager, he would go down to Mr. Martin’s house, sit in his garage,
and watch Mr. Martin work on any number of projects
from restoring an old car to crafting a special fishing knife.
And they would talk – a lot – about topics ranging from current events and hunting and fishing
to Mr. Martin’s life as a young man in Arkansas or as a soldier in the military.
Years later, this parishioner came to realize how invaluable those times were.
As he shared with me:
“The feeling I got from that relationship was one of comfort and acceptance. I was valued and appreciated for who I was without criticism. As I (think about it now), I remember more clearly the peace and calm that I associate with those times. It was a kind of grace.”
A kind of grace.
And yet, we so often practice a lack of grace.
It’s as if, writes Parker Palmer,
we “go crashing through the woods together, scaring the soul away.”
The soul, the self, that sacred essence or God-given nature --
when we are in touch with that and living out its truth,
we live moments of utter grace.
When we or others aren’t honoring it, we suffer, sometimes terribly so.
And as a result, we lead a divided life,
wavering between the thing we are pushed to be and the thing that our soul wants us to be.
So, let’s help each other live undivided lives.
Let’s help each other to live lives where –
and I’m borrowing from Socrates here –
the inward and the outward may be one.
Let’s use this time of winter stillness and Lenten reflection to ask each other:
How can I better help you to be you and not be someone else?
We all need people who can validate us that way.
And we all need to be that person for others.
I think back to Father Drinan and the space he gave us all to grow and express ourselves.
“Tell me about yourself,” he offered with kindness.
“What’s your opinion?” he asked with great interest.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” he invited with even more interest.
In Parker Palmer words,
he “(created) space…(for) the soul to make itself known.”
In the words of another writer, Marsha Sinetar,
he was being none other than an “artist of encouragement.”
However you word it, I believe that it is all part of our companioning each other
in the best way we can:
as friends, colleagues, family members,
committee members, town members,
and members of the human race.
Perhaps you have helped a friend find their way back or find their way forward.
Perhaps you have helped to shine a light on a loved one’s talent,
a talent they were timid in claiming themselves.
Or, perhaps there is a colleague whose vision needs validating,
and you can offer that validation.
As the psalmist tells us so poetically,
we are all fearfully and wonderfully made.
We were all knit together out of love and with the profound hope of fullness of life.
We all have our own unique gifts to offer the world
I hope that each one of us can take time to give thanks
for the people who have been our guides and companions on the journey.
And, I hope that we can also take the time to consider
ways we can be more encouraging to others, in ways both big and small.
Remember: “Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a great battle.”
Amen.
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1. This story was first shared in a class here at First Parish, and I am sharing it with permission from the parishioner.