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Sermon Index

Coming Round Right

by the Reverend John Parker Manwell
and the Reverend Phyllis L. Hubbell
at the First Unitarian Church of Baltimore
on the 11th of June 2000
Reconciliation Sunday

John:

When I was eight or ten, I was good friends with Karl, who lived across the street. Karl felt that his father was much too strict. After hearing some of Karls stories, he and I cooked up an anonymous letter to Karls father, telling him off. Very soon, my parents heard about it. I dont remember the punishmentbut I do remember, painfully, what I had to do to put things right. I had to go across the street and tell Karls father that I was wrong and that I was sorry.

Oh, how I resisted! And oh, how far that flight of steps up to Karls front door seemed to stretch. Of course, the fear was worse than the actual eventKarls father, Im sure, was quite gracious, for I dont remember that part at all. Was it the fear of what he might say, or was it just the embarrassment of getting caught and the pain of having to say "Im sorry?"

I wish I could say that Ive done nothing since that incident of which Im ashamed. But of course, Ive done many things that I remember with equal shame, although I didnt get caught for any of them, and there are things I havent done that Ill always wish I had. Id like to think Ive changed, but these things still happen, and it is painful.

Shame is painful. So is confession, but shame is forever, no matter how deeply we bury it. Confession can be the first step on the road to healing and reconciliation and wholeness.

Like that long climb up the steps to Karls house, confession can be painful. After struggling in the privacy of our hearts to admit that we were wrong, or that we bear at least a share of the wrong, we must leave that privacy to confess to the person we have hurt. "I was wrong Im sorry." Now, were at the bottom. With confession comes not just shame but vulnerability. Will this person lash out at me? What will he or she say or demand?

Sometimes its just those words, the words, "I was wrong," and "Im sorry" that the person has longed to hear. If the words are genuine, the person feels understood. Yes, it was a wrong, and it shouldnt have happened. Sometimes these words are all it takes. Theres a handshake, even a hug. The estrangement is ended. The healing can begin.

But other times, it takes more. If I have publicly shown disrespect to another, embarrassed someone, put them down, then I owe them an equally public apology.

Phyllis:

Some things go too deep to heal with words.

A. Powell Davies, the famous minister of Washingtons All Souls Church in the 1940s and 1950s, told this story of a woman who came to him about her only daughters impending marriage. She disapproved. The boy was not from their social circle. Davies rejoined that the young man was bright and full of promise. The young couple loved each other very much. Still the mother was adamant. Neither she nor her husband would attend the wedding.

Davies asked how would she feel in years to come? When her daughter and son-in-law had children and she longed to hold her first grandchild in her arms? Even if she later reconciled, Davies stressed, she would always remember that she was not at their wedding.

She refused. The wedding was small. Only two witnesses and the couple. Hardly any flowers. Afterwards, Davies wrote the mother a note, hoping that at least she would want to hear about the wedding. The day after the mother received his note, she came to his office. "She could hardly speak for sobbing. I dont know why I did it, she said. I wanted to come. Inside of me, I wanted to come. I knew it was right. I nearly did come. But, oh God! Oh God! I didnt." (A. Powell Davies, The Temptation to Be Good, Boston: Beacon Press, 1952: 75)

We may want cheap grace, easy reconciliation. But some things hurt too much for Hollywood endings. Broken hearts and shattered trust cannot be instantly restored. There may be no otherworldly hell, but we know all too well that we create our own hell here on earth. Hope lies in knowing that the power of salvation lies within us. But no one said it would be easy.

In childhood, Johns parents could tell him what was necessary to atone for the letter he wrote to his friends father. As adults, were on our own in discerning what we must do to make the individual whom we have harmed whole once moreand in finding the humility and the discipline to do it, even if it takes years.

It may be too late to restore the relationship. Twelve-step programs recognize that sometimes atonement may mean making the other person whole again even if our relationship may never be the same. We may have deserted our family and children, left them without support. Atonement may now mean sending them money but not disrupting their new family. We may always mourn the loss our actions have caused. But we regain our self- respect.

John:

I dont meet many people like that disapproving mother in A. Powell Davies story. Religion in this country does not divide us as much now as it did then. Now, its more often when I marry gays or lesbians that I see that vacant place of honor. And I think, how sad it is that these families cannot join in this celebration of love and joy. How lonely it will be at Thanksgiving or Christmas, when this family feels estranged. How painful it will be when this couple have or adopt a child, and the parents will not allow themselves to take part in the grandchilds dedication, come to birthday parties. Always, there will be that empty chair. It will be as if the gay or lesbian child had died.

The parents will never have another chance to go to the wedding. But they will have a chance, at least, to make amends. A long and difficult chance that begins with saying "I was wrong. Im sorry." It continues, after that, with going out of their way to nourish the ties that bind a family togetherwelcoming the new spouse into the family, remembering birthdays and holidays, inviting the couple into the parents home, welcoming their friends, and affirming the new relationship. All this and more, as the estranged parents overcome their fear and disapproval and begin to reestablish a relationship of trust. It may be impossible to do this alone. When a same-sex relationship is involved, it may take the parents of other gay or lesbian couples"PFLAG parents"to offer support along the way. A good place to begin can be with their new "in-laws."

Phyllis:

What its all about is relationship. When it has been broken, our lives are painful. We as humans are relational creatures. We know, deep down, that we are brothers and sisters. We were meant to form a single human family, made up of all the diverse families of humankind. As the mother in Powell Davies story would later say, "Inside of me, I wanted to come. I knew it was right But, oh God! Oh God! I didnt."

Restoring broken relationships is painful. But the reconciliation that follows can be an experience of life-changing dimensions, a pearl of great price, an unspeakable joy.

In these few minutes, we have spoken of hurtful things we have said and done, and things we have not done, which we know we should have. We have spoken of the pain that we have causedto others, of course, but also to ourselves.

I want to leave you with a story of what can happen when we get close to the edge, very close, even take that first step out over it, but then are saved from the abyss by fate, or luck, or grace.

Bob Fulghum, of All-I-Needed-to-Know-I-Learned-in-Kindergarten fame, tells this story. A young woman from a strong and proud family of Brooklyn Jews fell in love with a young man from a strong and proud family of Detroit Catholics. Their families disapproved vehemently, and demanded that they call off their plan to marry. But the couple was deeply in love. They came to Bob Fulghum, the Unitarian minister. Could he do a very private, interfaith wedding, just the two of them with a couple of friends? Soon, Plan A involved into Plan B: It would be in Bobs Unitarian church, with a larger group of friends Then, it evolved into Plan C: still more friends, and an invitation to their two angry families. Quickly, the telephone wires began to burn. NO! NO! How could you do this to us? We will not come! NEVER!

But a funny thing happened on the way to the church. A grandmother of the groom decided that she, at least, was going to be there. Her only grandson was being married. She didnt approve, but she had to be there. She hadnt approved of her own daughter-in-law either, but, well, it hadnt turned out so badly.

Well, the dominoes began to fall. Someone would have to escort the grandmother; others decided they would have to come, after all. And so a very large wedding took shape.

The families took their seats on opposite sides of the aisle. You could cut the tension in the air with a knife. But now another funny thing began to happen. You could see, this was a stunningly beautiful bride and a handsome hunk of a husband. And they were in love. When Fulghum asked the bride if she took this man to be her lawful, wedded husband, there was no whispered "I do." In a full voice, heard all through the church, there came a fervent "Yes! Oh, yes! YES!"

If they were really going to do this, the brides grandfather (a rabbi) had decided, he would have to offer a Hebrew blessing. If there was to be a Hebrew blessing, the grooms grandmother (a singer) would have to sing Schuberts "Ave Maria." She sang her heart out, to a standing ovation from both families. And after the vows, the rabbi prayed his heart out"laid a blessing on the couple that ought to last them the rest of their lives," says Fulghum. All eyes were moist. The handkerchiefs came out. Afterwards, the two families danced the night away.

Oh, and one more thing: On the first anniversary of the wedding, Fulghum received a postcard from a cruise ship in the Caribbean. From the wedding couple, he assumed. But noIt was from the two sets of parents, now close friends (Robert Fulghum, It Was on Fire When I Laid Down on It, New York: Villard Books, 1989: 135-44).

John:

We cant promise you such a dramatic outcome as you walk the path of reconciliation through your life. But we can promise burdens lifted, hearts filled, tears of joy, and most important, a sense of wholeness, as we discover, together, the way our lives were meant to be.

As we close this service, let us remember the wrongs we have each committed (or our failures to speak or act) as well as those wrongs committed against us. We do not ask you to forget them. To forgive is not to forget, nor to say it never happened. And if we are the victims, we cannot truly forgive others until they have acknowledged their responsibility, expressed real sorrow, and offered whatever atonement and restoration may be needed.

What we ask today is rather that we begin by forgiving ourselves. Before we can begin to make amends, and certainly before we can expect forgiveness, we must forgive ourselves. It is human to set our standards higher than we can attain and human, also, to fall short, to learn from our failures, and to try again. That is to say, we must accept ourselves, the good and bad alike. Only then can we accept others. Only when we forgive ourselves can we forgive othersand begin again on the journey of life that we share.

The Shakers knew something about this. In song and dance, they celebrated the "simple gifts" of life, especially the gift of coming down "where we ought to be." "When true simplicity is gained, to bow and to bend we shant be ashamed." To bow. To bend. To say, "Im sorry." Simplicity, yesand courage. But then, as we turn, turn towards others in our lives, welike the Shakers, like those Brooklyn Jews and Detroit Catholicswill know the valley of love and delight.

Let us begin our turning and returning by forming a circle around this magnificent sanctuary. Here is how we will do it. After I have finished explaining, as the choir sings, please take your order of service with you and come to the front and take a candle, then form a circle around the perimeter. Board members and officers will form the part of the circle here in front. Then, Phyllis and I will light their candles, and they will go to the four corners of the sanctuary and begin to light your candles.

As they light your candles, they will say to you, "We forgive ourselves and each other." We invite you to respond, "We begin again in love." The choir will continue its haunting chant, inviting us to "return again" to the home of our souls, that place of relationship, of love and delight, where we know we ought to be.

Let us begin now that first step toward atonement and reconciliation and wholeness.