| Navigating in the Dark
October 8, 2006
Rev. Millie Rochester
I never met Larry Walters, but I think
about him occasionally. A 33-year-old truck driver, Larry was
sitting in his lawn chair one day wishing he could fly. He had
always wanted to pilot a plane, but he had never had the money, or the
opportunity, to take lessons. So he spent a good many summer afternoons
sitting in his backyard in his ordinary old aluminum chair; the kind
you might have in your own backyard.
One day, Larry hooked 45 helium-filled
surplus weather balloons to his chair. He put a CB radio in his
lap, tied a paper bag full of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to
his leg, and slung a BB-gun over his shoulder to pop the balloons when
he wanted to come down. He lifted off in his lawn chair, expecting
to climb a couple of hundred feet over his neighborhood.
But instead, he shot up 11,000 feet,
right through the approach corridor to the Los Angeles International
Airport.
When the press asked why he did it, Larry
answered: “Well, you can’t just sit there.” When
asked if he was scared, he answered, “Yes…wonderfully scared.”
I have to confess to you that being a
minister was not something I always wanted to do. When I
was growing up, I thought about medicine, but my interest in the sciences
did not extend to understanding them. I thought about teaching,
and as a young adult, I did some graduate research on the subject of
intentional communities.
Years later, teaching, study, and intentional
community were integrated in my work as a director of religious education.
Along with my family, that work fully engaged my life. It was
a form of ministry, so much so that I became frustrated with and rebuffed
suggestions that I become A Minister.
Ministry means serving or “waiting.”
Ministry is helping and serving others, so it includes everything one
might do to serve another: waiting tables, counseling, social work,
a life in politics, teaching, and so forth. All of these jobs
provide a service and meet needs. Examples of ministry abound
among us: music, compassion for migrant laborers, devotion to church
property and patience with its occupants; steady hands guiding committees
through transitions; radical hospitality that makes every occasion a
special occasion; and you can name more. I knew without
a doubt those years ago that I was doing ministry. Why would I
want to tackle years of seminary?
And yet, with the passage of time and
accumulation of experience, there came for me an inexplicable void.
I hungered for something, but what it was eluded me. The
minister of my home congregation had an inkling. He consulted
with my spouse, Roger; and with the RE Assistant. And then, secretly,
the congregation took up a collection to send me to Chicago for two
weeks of auditing classes at Meadville Lombard Theological School.
Incredibly, the entire congregation kept this secret from me for weeks.
They meant to surprise me, and they succeeded! I don’t know
if this says more about how discreet they were or how oblivious I was.
It was a profound experience. On
the last day, as I sat in Helen Bishop’s class on Leadership, I suddenly
felt as if I’d been hit upside the head with the absolute certainty
that I was called to ordained ministry. I was caught completely
off guard. I worried and wondered about the implications of my
epiphany all the way from Chicago to Portland.
Back on the ground, Roger’s first question
to me was, “So, do you want to do this?” Our children said,
“Go for it, Mom!” The parish minister asked, “Why do you
think I sent you?” The congregation was delighted. Turns
out, my call to ministry was a surprise only to me. With that
gift, the congregation strapped helium balloons to my chair. Was I
scared? Yes ….wonderfully scared.
There is a story about a great sea captain
who sailed out of old New England in the days of the great sailing vessels.
Eleazer Hull made his voyages in record time with the largest cargoes.
No one could match his knowledge of the sea’s currents, the winds,
and the vagaries of sailing.
He had no formal navigation training,
and yet he was the wisest of ancient New England mariners. Asked
how he guided his ships so infallibly over the high and hazardous seas,
he said, “I go up on deck, listen to the wind in the rigging, catch
the drift of the sea, take a long look at the stars, and then set my
course.”
Finally, the advance of business caught
up with the captain. His insurance agents demanded that he use
the latest navigation equipment, and that he meet certain standards
of formal education, in order to continue his craft and trade. With
trepidation, they told Eleazer Hull what would be required if he wished
to continue to sail. Much to their surprise and relief, he agreed,
and he was enthusiastic about learning.
And so the arrangements were made.
Eleazer Hull studied hard, and graduated at the top of his class.
Then he re-boarded his ship and set out for a two-year voyage.
When he returned, his friends gathered around him. Curious, they
asked how he had enjoyed navigating by the book, after so many years
of sailing the other way. “It was wonderful,” Captain Hull
responded. “Whenever I wanted to know my course, I would go
down to my cabin, pull out my charts, work through the proper equations,
and then set a course with mathematical and nautical precision.”
Then,” he said, “I would go up on deck, listen to the wind in the
rigging, catch the drift of the sea, take a long look at the stars…and
correct my computations for errors.”
The point of reference for me is relationship
in community. That was the spark that ignited an interest in medicine
and education: the reciprocity of serving, and its reverberation into
the wider world. My work began with children’s religious education,
broadened to life span RE, and then broadened further, to include pastoral
care and all aspects of personal and congregational growth. My skills
have been sharpened through formal education, and as I go about my work,
I frequently refer to that learning. But in my ministry, the greatest
satisfaction comes from listening to people, being present to people,
understanding the flow of the human heart.
Over the thirteen years I served my home
congregation, I bore witness to the power of commitment to truth and
justice, compassion, and above all, relationships: young people who
know that their parents are not the only adults who care about them;
parents who know that their children and youth are safe in seeking someone
else’s counsel – all part of the beloved community that provides
the firm base needed for spiritual growth. As someone said,
And
we step into the darkness, the unknown,
We don’t offer a creed as solid ground,
as many churches do. Sacred texts are references within the framework
of religious education, like the charts Captain Hull was taught to use.
But these writings are not our creed or dogma. We set our course by
the dictates of our heart, which oftentimes leads to sacrifice, even
pain. If religious education is what provides the charts, religious
community is what gives us the courage to listen to our hearts and
take those steps into the darkness.
My family witnessed the power of a loving
religious community directly. When our daughter Danica was in her early
teens, and son Nathan was five years old, a state-wide ballot initiative
was proposed that would deny many civil rights to gays and lesbians.
As our family returned home from a demonstration on the steps of the
state capitol, we were shocked when Nathan’s best friend, also five,
declared that Nate was going to hell for his support of gay rights.
Both boys had formed their values at home and church.
Our neighbors’ reaction was only the
beginning. Danica attended a conservative high school.
For her very public opposition to the initiative, she was shoved and
elbowed in the hallways; even had food thrown at her. One of her
teachers erased the insults from the blackboard when he got to class,
but said nothing as he straightened the bible on his desk and took his
seat. The principal told us, “High school is a microcosm of
the larger world.” He made no effort for change. The clear
implication was that Danica should drop her stance. Her attitude
was “if you don’t stand up for something, you’ll fall for anything.”
She stood her ground.
But at the end of the school year, she
said she wasn’t going back. People at church helped us design
a home study program. When she was old enough to qualify, she took
the GED, and a few years later graduated from the University of Oregon.
These days, those choices sound pretty tame; but at the time they weren’t.
High school students went to high school. Our church family supported
us every step of the way. The ballot measure failed, by the way,
but the struggle continues.
Danica’s religious education had not
just taught her that the first of the UU principles is “to affirm
and respect the inherent worth and dignity of all people.” Anyone
can memorize that. She knew how to live it. I still admire
her courage, and I am proud of her commitment. I’m reminded
of the late Reverend Harry Scholefield’s words:
Sail as far as you will in search
of truth. You will encounter storms; you may be wrecked.
But in the long run, the universe is on the side of those who trust
their own minds, value supremely their own experiences, and dare to
sail under their own, true colors.
Here, I have witnessed that same
commitment in parents and young people wrestling with the dichotomy
that is inherent in the Boy Scouts creed and their own convictions.
In the Pensa family, this led to thoughtful discussion. In the
end, fifth grader Kyle concluded that he would conscientiously stand
up for his beliefs within the Scout troupe. His decision
has been met with understanding and respect from others in his congregation.
The e-mail and personal correspondence I witnessed, as parents related
their views and experiences, were awe-inspiring. This is what
I see myself serving.
I have witnessed here spiritual growth
spurred by encouraging children’s natural curiosity and exploration,
as an experience Elizabeth Cobin related: her son Sam engaging in a
conversation about theology, to the astonishment of Sam’s grandmother
– “You’re having this conversation with a three-year old?!
– she said to Elizabeth. Yes she was, because Sam is not too
young to have theological perceptions, or for them to be heard.
This is what I see myself serving.
Here I have witnessed (and been the recipient
of) the spirit of generosity that relationship in community fosters
– in material ways, and in unhesitating kindness, reaching out to
others, compassion in times of sorrow or need. I’ve been present
as members of a covenant group shared their grief at the death of a
fellow member of their circle; listened, as church members have shared
with me their struggles, inner conflicts and uncertainty. This
is what I see myself serving.
As I reflect on what I earlier referred
to as the flow of the human heart, I realize that I am not immune from
inner conflicts, myself. Honoring the wishes of a grieving family
recently conflicted with wishes others and I
had for a different sort of memorial. The family recognized that
although the service did perfectly meet their needs, others were no-doubt
disappointed; and they gave me permission to acknowledge that to you.
The ritual of sharing memories would have been an instrument of healing
your grief, and so I’m sorry that circumstances cheated you of that
opportunity at the time. Sharing memories among yourselves less
formally has occurred, as has, perhaps, sharing feelings of disappointment
in me. Some of you have spoken with me about this, and I am glad
of that. Not that I intend to make a habit of disappointing you
– no! – but I do celebrate the relationship that allows those feelings
to be addressed openly. Through our relationships, you have nurtured
my continuing ministerial formation. I receive final fellowship
this year, but I pray that my ministerial formation will never cease.
As I have gotten to know you individually
and as a congregation, I have watched you embark on living your vision
and mission, forging ever-broader connections, to share this wonderful
faith. Imagining this congregation’s future, I see an even more inclusive
religious community happily enabling and encouraging curiosity in people
of all ages, adding to already growing numbers of children, youth and
adults. A faith community that provides the tools young people
need, growing up as spiritual and compassionate human beings. A supportive
faith community whose members minister to one another on their own journeys
of spiritual and personal growth. A congregation that lives its
vision with integrity and purpose. A congregation whose vision
coincides with my vision.
Ministry calls me to nurture spiritual
and intellectual growth in relationship, primarily through religious
education and pastoral care. Our relationships remove barriers, open
doors, bring religion into everyday life and everyday life into religion.
Our relationships teach not Sunday values, but every day values, born
of an affectionate heart, and nurtured by a loving congregation.
My call to ministry is as compelling
now as it was eight years ago. It urges me to navigate my course
guided by what is unseen as well as seen; to trust what I know to be
true – feeling the wind and plotting the stars. May we
all be called by love and hope, perspective and humor, that our spirits
may be aligned with the promise of the Spirit of Life. May our
hearts be awakened, and may we, when we come to the edge of all the
light we have, hold hands, take the next step, and fly.
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