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Sermon Index

GIVING OUR HEARTS, SHARING OUR LIVES

by the Reverend John Parker Manwell
and the Reverend Phyllis L. Hubbell
at the First Unitarian Church of Baltimore
on the 9th of April 2000

John: Do you read Luann in the comic papers? Her family has two dogs. One, named Royce, is being trained as a Canine companion for independence. As Royce sits obediently, wearing his official jacket, the other dog lies on the bed, and thinks:

Look at Royce. A mere pup, and already hes being groomed to be a Canine Companion for Independence dog. Hes smart, unselfish, well-mannered and his life has a noble purpose.

My life is totally empty, self-centered and pointless ...

Funny, that used to seem like such a good thing ...

Could this be us? Of course, a skeptic might say, noble purpose? Not much of what we give to this church goes to those in need. It goes to run the church. Its for ourselves. Its self-centered and pointless, isnt it?

Its the skeptic who would miss the point: In giving to this congregationto ourselves if you insist were investing in change, in changing ourselves. We're moving from self-centered lives to living for others. Like Royce, we're finding a new sense of purpose.

We leave here with fresh courage, energy, and sensitivity. We leave here changed, and that affects everything we do during the week. The way we greet the stranger or co-worker, the way we listen to others, for starters. The priorities we set for our time and our money. The causes we support and the way we vote.

As we become more caring people, we change the world. So in giving to ourselves, we are giving to the world. This is where change begins: with ourselves.

This doesn't happen just by being talked at from the pulpit. It happens as we hear the stories of the diverse kinds of people we meet here. It happens as we work, study, pray, and sing side by side. In all this, we are stretched. We become more than we were before.

For years, I sat in a law office, oiling the wheels of commerce, so to speak. I was focused on the "haves" of this world and on myself. The people I worked with were "just like me" in class, education, and income; they lived in the same kinds of neighborhoods. What I did was useful, no doubt, and it was certainly rewarding to mebut far from being stretched, I was reinforced in my ways of seeing the world.

But my nights and weekends I spent at church. There, I met lots of people not at all like me. Old people, young people, and children. People of color. Gays and lesbians. People with mental illness, people with physical challenges, people with less education, lower incomes, and often more courage in standing up for their convictions. I didn't march. I didn't go to Selma. But I was challenged to square their stories with my more privileged experience. I was drawn out of myself. I was stretched.

It's that way here. It happens almost without our realizing it, as we come to know each other, in all our differences. Whoever we are, we come to know people "not like us." As we worship, sing and celebrate together, share our sorrows and our passions, find solace, support and friendship, it happens. We are changed. We are stretched. Continuously.

Every now and then (not here, of course), I meet a person who scoffs at religion, insists it's for the old and the weak. And I think, I'm glad you feel so self-sufficient. How much your strength could mean to others, how much you could give of yourself, as a member of the church. I have thought, what a difference you could make in the world, with that strength and ability to cope, if through a church you began to live for others. And I have wanted to ask, Have you thought of the certainty that you won't always feel so self-sufficient, of how nice it would be to build up a store of friendships, as a member of a church, before that time comes; of what you could learn from others, in the meantime, about coping with illness, loss and age?

Church isn't just about receiving, in our time of need. It's about giving, as well, in our time of abundance and strength. It's about living for others. Royce hasn't joined a church yet, but he'd be welcome here, wouldn't he?

PHYLLIS: For the last few months, I've been listening to some of you tell us why this church means so much to you. You have made me laugh. You have made me cry. Today, I want to tell you why I chose this church rather than some other; and why I support it with my money as well as with my time and my energy.

Like many of you, the first thing I learned about Unitarian Universalists was that they cared about justice, especially civil rights, and that they welcomed a variety of religious perspectives. I hoped that the church would inspire me to greater action.

What I found was a community that jump-started my religious journey. I had thought I knew all the answers. Now I know I will never know all the answers. Still, the quest for answers is not the most important part of my religious life. Our faith has awakened me to the possibility of connecting with something transcendent. My spirituality includes myself, but is about the highest and best I can be, united with the highest and best in the universe. It is not that here at church I find perfect people, and certainly not that I am perfect. But here I am reminded of who I want to be. Here, too, I am reminded of beauty, of life, of love. Here, I often feel the transcendent.

But why this particular congregation? When we started our search we looked all across the continent. Your packet was unique. It offered a vision of the kind of church you wanted to be. You wanted to grow into a congregation that reflected the face of this community. You wanted worship that would feed you spiritually. You wanted to be accessible. You wanted to make a difference in the city. And so much more.

Just two days ago, I got a call to do a wedding of a biracial couple. They were having a hard time finding a minister. They were getting subtle messages that made them feel unwelcome. Another biracial couple we had married told them to call us.

I am so proud of this church. I dont ever have to worry that I need to hesitate in marrying people of different races, or gays, lesbians, bisexuals, and transgendered people. My only concern is, do they love each other? Are they ready to make a life-long covenant with one another? I know you will support me.

It hasnt always been easy, but we have come a long way in these last six years. We're not entirely accessible, but we have installed an elevator and a lift. We have large-print hymnals and orders of service. We have a sign language interpreter every Sunday and for all church meetings, as needed. We have a finicky hearing assistance system that we hope will be back in service by next Sunday.

We have tripled our gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgendered membership. We lobby and raise funds to combat discrimination and to cure AIDS. We are partnered with the Black Hebrew congregation, First Tabernacle, and have worked on some small joint projects. We have increased, more modestly, the numbers of our members of color. We rejoice in having members who are blind and members who are deaf. Andit should come as no surprisemany of our members fit in several categories. Mostly, we have attracted our new members just by letting the world know every Sunday that we welcome everyone to join us. Everyone.

We are developing a relationship with Paca Elementary School and are working with a pre-release program for women in prison. We continue to cook several times a year for Our Daily Bread. Many of us work on multiple projects in our private lives.

I feel that I am a part of a religious community that keeps a vision of justice and equality at its core. No matter how involved we get in our capital campaign, raising money will never be more important to us than living our beliefs.

But I also love this church because it is a deeply spiritual place. Sometimes, when I am here alone, I feel the spirits of all of you and all who have gone before. Sometimes, the music brings goose bumps or tears. Sometimes, the silence brings a memory that comforts. Sometimes, in a meeting I hear words that make me proud. This year, I have enjoyed exploring the worlds religions with a group of you.

And I love this church because you have become my extended family. These last few weeks since my mother died, you have surrounded me with love, with flowers, with cards and notes, with hugs, and with caring words.

How could anyone not want to belong to a community like this? I want to tell newcomers and even some oldtimers that they are cheating themselves if they only come on Sundays. This is a wonderful group of people, people who make devoted friends and spiritual companions. We get back so much.

A few weeks ago, it was time to decide what John and I would pledge to the support of the church. A few months ago I read a book called The Poisonwood Bible. It's a story about a white missionary family sent to the Belgian Congo in 1959. The villagers ask them for gifts, but they reply that they have nothing to give. During the course of the book, one of the daughters comes to see what much they really have. They have something different at each meal and wear different clothes each day. They are wealthy and do not know it. Wealthy at least in things.

You and I, for the most part, are even wealthier. To own a television is wealth. To have a dentist is wealth. To eat as we do, to dress as we do, is wealth. To read the newspaper every day is wealth.

John and I give five per cent of our income to the church, and another five percent to other causes. We have worked toward this goal since we married.

I give because I have so much. I give because I want to be a giving person. I give because I want this church to be here for me. I give because I want it to be here for you and for all the people who have not yet found their way through our doors. I give because I want beautiful music and healthy children. I give because I want someone to care about our old people after they can no longer make it to church. I give because I believe this church can make a difference in our lives and to this city.

So often we think that we can hardly make it on what we earn. John and I make a good but middle class salary. We no longer have much savings. We spent much of them when we went back to seminary and to put children through college. The stock market went down while we were going it. Now, its hard to save. But in my heart I know that we have enough. We spend too much on things that dont matter. When I spend money on the church, I know I am buying my dreams. I know that I am spending on what matters. You. Me. Life. Love. Justice. Mercy. Beauty.

Maybe some day we will decide to give more. We know a colleague who gives forty per cent of his income. Some people give their lives for justice. We are only asked for money.

I heard Charles Blackburn ask his canvassers to consider giving two percent. Charles this year will give much more. But it's not the amount that matters, not even the percent. It's being intentional. Not giving from what's left over, but putting our giving at the top of our priorities.

We have so much. Let us become a generous people. Let giving be who we are, what we do, what we cherish in one another. Let this church be our memorial. May it always be there.