Standing on the Roof

November 5, 2006

Rev. Arthur Lavoie

CALL TO WORSHIP

A vision without a task is but a dream

A task without a vision is drudgery

A vision and a task is the hope of the world.

proverb quoted in “Religion as Relationship,”

Patricia Hoertdoerfer, Essex Conversations, p 131

READING

You know, we do it every day.

Every morning we go out blinking into the glare of our freedom,

into the wilderness of work and the world,

making maps as we go, looking for signs that we’re on the right path.

And, on some good days we walk right out of our oppressions,

those things that press us down from the outside

or (as often) from the inside;

we shake off the shackles of fear, prejudice, timidity, closed-mindedness,

selfishness, self-righteousness, and claim our freedom outright,

terrifying as it is—our freedom to be human, and humane.

Every morning, every day, we leave our houses,

not knowing if it will be for the last time,

and we decide what we’ll take with us, what we’ll carry;

how much integrity, how much truth-telling,

how much compassion (in case somebody along the way may need some),

how much arrogance, how much anger, how much humor,

how much willingness to change and to be changed

to grow and to be grown.

How much faith and hope, how much love and gratitude—

you pack these with your lunch and medications,

your date book and your papers.

Every day we gather what we think we’ll need,

pick up what we love and all that we so far believe,

put on our history, shoulder our experience and memory,

take inventory of our blessings,

and we start walking toward morning.

                        Victoria Safford, “Walking Toward Morning,” Walking Toward Morning, pg 1

SERMON

It was sometime in the mid 1980’s.  I was working as a case manager for a mental health agency in Holyoke, Massachusetts and was on my way to an appointment with a client.  I was stopped at a red light behind a tractor trailer truck. 

The light turned green and we (the truck and I) proceeded forward.  The ground started to shake, the pavement under my car broke open, and I sat there clutching the steering wheel as I sank into the ground thinking that I was about to die.

My car and I landed in a 15 foot deep sinkhole.  The car ended up in a diagonal position with the front right bumper just below the line of the pavement and the left back corner furthest down in the hole.

I looked out the window and there staring at me was a broken pipe and I could smell gas.  Apparently the car had broken through a gas pipe on the way down.  At that moment, I realized the car was still running and very quickly turned off the ignition.  Not only did I survive falling into the hole, I apparently survived what might have been quite an explosion.

By this time there were people gathering around the perimeter of the hole.  I couldn’t open the door because of the way the car had landed but I was able to crawl out the window and climb up the hood of the car and then be lifted out of the hole by some of the people who were there.

Before you knew it there were police officers, paramedics, reporters and TV cameras and a crowd of people everywhere.  I had my few seconds of fame on the evening news that night and people sent me newspaper clippings from all over the country. 

It turned out that a sewer pipe at the bottom of the hole had broken, and over months or years had eroded and washed away soil, stone and dirt until there was nothing holding up the pavement. 

The weight of the truck in front of me had cracked through the pavement on its way by and I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The city of Holyoke repaired my car for free and after a few weeks life pretty much went on as it had before, or so I thought, until my next visit to the local mall.   

I was standing on the top floor of the mall and looked over the railing to the two floors below and nearly had a panic attack.  That view had never bothered me before.  I had become afraid of heights.

Now, here we are, more than twenty years later, and I find myself called to serve a church with a very tall steeple, (not to mention a fairly high pulpit) and there are a couple of long and steep ladders to get from one section of the steeple to another. 

For those of you who have been up there, you know how terrifying it can be.  For those of you who haven’t been up there, the incredible view is worth all of the fear and anxiety.  In fact, I’ve been up and down those ladders so many times in the last year that it barely bothers me at all.  I think the steeple has healed me of a twenty year old fear that developed with that accident.

I must admit that it’s still pretty scary to go up into the lantern, the top of the steeple that is leaning and rocked by the wind.  But I can now handle the trip into the clock tower and belfry with relative ease.

And, as I mentioned, there is a magnificent view of most of the city of Boston as well as Dorchester Bay.  There have been a couple of times when I wished that I could just stay up there for hours.  There is something about that expansive view that lifts my spirits and gives me a new perspective on whatever it is that I am dealing with.  It is truly a sacred space and I can’t wait for the repairs to be finished so that I can go all the way to the top again.  Maybe I’ll bring a chair and sit and write a sermon up there.

Who would have known that these two things which span more than twenty years would be so closely linked to each other?  And, if I hadn’t taken the chance to climb into the steeple not just once, but on several occasions, I would never have been able to conquer my fear.

“Every morning, every day, we leave our houses,” writes Victoria Safford, “not knowing if it will be for the last time, and we decide what we’ll take with us, what we’ll carry.”

Will we carry fear, guilt, remorse for things not done, chances not taken, or will we carry a hopeful vision for our lives, and take the risks we need to accomplish that vision.

Will we be holding on so tightly to what is familiar, no matter how oppressive or destructive it may be, will we be holding on so tightly that we are unable to catch the view, the view that just might transform us and help us grow.

We all have the potential, the vision to grow beyond who we are today, but we are so often burdened by our history and memory, by our date book and lists that we fail to see the sacred potential within and around us.

Institutions, churches, can be much like people.  They also walk into the morning and face each new day.  They carry with them history and vision and the hopes, dreams, disappointments, and struggles of the people who belong to them.

This church has a long and proud history of walking toward the morning, a history of leadership and caring in this community a history of facing challenges and responsibilities.  It stands proud of its heritage.  And the steeple has long been a symbol to many of strength over time through adversity, a symbol of compassion, and vision, and hope. 

As I have begun meeting people in the community, I have heard more and more stories about some connection they have to this church, some meaning it has played in their lives.

A few decades ago, Rev James Allen opened the doors of this church to hold meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous.  This was a pioneering venture at a time when the disease of alcoholism was not accepted or understood.  The Parish Hall was filled two nights a week with those struggling with this disease and on Christmas and New Years the church was open through the night for those who had no where else to turn in their struggle.

Our forebears founded the Mather School in the 1630’s when Richard Mather was the minister of this church as the first school supported by public taxes. 

Around the same time that Mr. Allen was hosting AA meetings, the school’s budget was cut and there were no classes at the Mather School in music and the arts.  Mrs. Allen volunteered to teach the children music and did that for a number of years.  I spoke to a teacher at the school last week who remembers Mrs. Allen and speaks with respect and gratitude of her service there.

These are only two of the stories, two of the ways I have heard of the vision and leadership provided by this church to the Dorchester community.  Beginning next month we will start having AA meetings here again and we are now reestablishing and strengthening our relationship with the Mather School.  

What are other ways we can develop our vision, and continue this wonderful legacy?  There is a biblical proverb that states that, “Where there is no vision, the people perish.”  Over the next few years we will explore ways to discern our vision and make it happen.  For we will certainly perish without a strong vision to carry us forward and help us grow, both individually and as a congregation.

As part of that vision we must face our commitment to restore this church as a sign, a mark of our vision and legacy, as a symbol of our commitment to boldly move forward into the future lighting a path for liberal religious values.  This month, each of us will be asked to make a financial commitment to a Capital Campaign to complete the restoration of the steeple and we will also be asked to give our time and talent to other community fundraising activities.

As we embark on fundraising and restoration this will be a stressful and chaotic time.  It will be a time of change, a time of growth, a time to deal with hard financial questions, and all of this will weigh heavily on our shoulders.  If we lose sight of our vision, if we fail to move forward together as a community, then we will certainly perish. 

This is a time when we have to be especially mindful of the values we embody in our relationships with each other; things like respect and communication, compassion and forgiveness.

One of the things I learned from falling into that sinkhole is that life is filled with unexpected surprises that may shake us up, may challenge us to look at things differently.  But we do move on, and we are often far better or wiser than before. 

Yes, there are times when our lives are marked by tragedy and great loss.

But, in most situations, the crises that we encounter are never as dreadful as we might imagine.

We can walk out into that morning, anticipating and expecting the worst, holding on so tightly that we make the things we encounter into crises far beyond what they really are. 

Or, in Victoria Safford’s words, we can “go out blinking into the glare of our freedom. . . And, on some good days we [can] walk right out of our oppressions, those things that press us down from the outside or (as often) from the inside.”

It is up to each of us what we’ll decide to take with us each morning, what path we’ll select, what values we’ll choose to take with us and wear.  It is up to each of us and it is up to all of us together as a church community.

We are charting a new course and a renewed course in this church’s history, we are leaping into things both known and unknown, and we can only accomplish this together.

Come, take my hand, take each other’s hands, climb that tower with me. Stand on the roof, face a new day and behold the magnificent vision unfolding before us.

Amen and Blessed Be