A Few Worthy Things
January 21, 2007
Rev. Arthur Lavoie
CALL TO WORSHIP
Ask not what the world
needs.
Ask what makes you come
alive
then go do it.
Because what the world
needs
is people who have come
alive.
Howard Thurman
READING
In a cemetery once, an
old one in New England, I found a strangely soothing epitaph. The name of the
deceased and her dates had been scoured away by wind and rain, but there was a carving of a tree with roots and branches (a
classic nineteenth century motif) and among them the words, “She attended well and faithfully to a few worthy things.” At first this seemed to me a little meager, a little stingy on the part of her survivors,
but I wrote it down and have thought about it since, and now I can’t imagine a more proud or satisfying legacy.
“She attended well
and faithfully to a few worthy things.”
Every day I stand in danger
of being struck by lightning and having the obituary in the local paper say, for all the world to see, “She attended
frantically and ineffectually to a great many unimportant, meaningless details.”
How do you want your obituary
to read?
“He got all the dishes
washed and dried before playing with his children in the evening.”
“She balanced her
checkbook with meticulous precision and never missed a day of work—missed a lot of sunsets, missed a lot of love, missed
a lot of risk, missed a lot—but her money was in order.”
“She answered all
her calls, all her e-mails, all her voice-mails, but along the way she forgot to answer the call to service, and compassion,
and forgiveness, first and foremost of herself.”
“He gave and forgave
sparingly, without radical intention, without passion or conviction.”
“She could not, or
would not, hear the calling of her heart.”
How will it
read, how does it read, and if you had to name a few worthy things to which you attend well and faithfully, what, I wonder,
would they be?
Victoria Safford , “Set in Stone,” Walking Toward Morning, pg 35-36
SERMON
My grandmother passed away
in July of 2004. It was the day before her 94th birthday. Until two months before her death, she was living in her own home.
Her mind was sharp, and she was the family matriarch unto the end.
A short time before her
death, one of my more devout cousins asked her what she would say to God in the moment of judgment, how she would account
for her life. A sparkle came to her eye and she replied decisively, “I’m
going to tell God that I cooked for everybody.”
And she did!
Hospitality was her hallmark. Anytime of the day or night that anyone stopped by to visit she offered us a meal. And we knew not to refuse. Her cooking
was the gift that she gave to the world.
After my grandfather’s
death in 1992 we worked out a schedule for a few months that someone would visit with her every evening. She enjoyed that so much that she wouldn’t let the visits stop.
Every night of the week for the next dozen years she cooked for someone, usually a family group within her large family.
And, when she started to
lose energy and didn’t feel up to having so much company she continued to cook and would have a different family member
stop by every evening to visit for a few minutes and then take home a meal for their family.
“She attended well
and faithfully to a few worthy things.”
Do you, do I attend well
and faithfully to a few worthy things?
And what are the worthy
things that you would like to be the hallmark of your life, the epitaph by which you are remembered?
In her poem, “When
Death Comes,” Mary Oliver writes:
“When it’s over, I want to say: all
my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my
arms.
When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder
if I have made of my life something particular
and real.
I don’t want to find myself sighing and
frightened,
or full of argument.
I don’t want to end up simply having visited
this world.”
Neither do
I. But it is not easy to focus our lives on the “few worthy things”
to which we might like to attend. There is always so much else that seems to
get in our way.
Our world is moving so
fast, our lives are so busy and complex, there is so much that we must attend to that it may be difficult to carve
out the time and energy for a few worthy things. We can also become deeply wounded
by the struggles and disappointments of living making it nearly impossible to discern worth in ourselves or in people and
things around us.
When I look back on my
life, I see much of what Victoria Safford calls attending “frantically and ineffectually to a great many unimportant,
meaningless details.” Yet, it was a call to service, somewhat inspired
by my grandmother, which continually pushed me on to create deeper meaning in my life.
It was during
the years that I was living in Northampton, Massachusetts, from the mid-80’s to the mid-90’s that my understanding
of worthy things came into sharper focus.
But first I
had to discover myself as worthy.
The “few
worthy things” had to begin with me, my spiritual, psychological and emotional development and well-being. I went into therapy and joined a 12 step recovery group.
And, after I discovered
Unitarian Universalism, I went to church, faithfully. And with Victoria Safford as my minister, I sat in the pew and cried
on many a Sunday; tears of sadness and grief for so many buried losses; tears of joy for the love and acceptance I never thought
I’d find again in a church community.
And then the calling began
once again, a calling that I had felt at different times in my life, the call to service, specifically the call to ministry. It was something I felt in my bones, a long-hidden longing to “attend well and
faithfully” to the holy in people’s lives, and to the goodness that is possible in this world.
So began a new chapter
in my life story, my religious journey, a chapter that has brought me here to this day, to this moment in time to contemplate
worthy things once again.
When we look
inward to contemplate worthy things there is always a grave danger, especially in our individualistic North American society
that we will become too self-focused. It is all about me after all, isn’t
it? At least that’s what we’re taught, what we’re led to believe.
It is our involvement
with other people in families, in work settings and in community and church circles such as this one, that helps us to shift
the focus from the intense navel gazing of which we are so capable.
Beginning with ourselves
we are called forth, to move out into larger and larger circles of care and concern.
It is like a ripple effect that begins here and now, and we are the pebbles that are thrown into the waters of life. We may never know the effect for good or for ill, that our words and deeds have on
other people.
If you look at the photo
on the cover of this morning’s order of service, you will notice that it is a photo of our church’s steeple hanging
in mid-air as it was being removed a couple of months ago. I love this image
because it feels, at times, like a metaphor for my life.
In life, the
quest for what matters most, the search for the few worthy things that command my devotion; sometimes this quest feels like
I am hanging in mid-air. I have to ask questions and deal with issues that upset
the delicate balance I have created in my life. I sometimes have to move outside
of myself in ways that don’t always feel comfortable.
Let’s face it, life
is downright messy, and at times I just have to trust and let go. In a sermon
last year, I spoke of the book, The Fourfold Way, by Angeles Arrien and her prescription
for living that is healthy and whole. The four steps that she outlines are:
First, to show up
and chose to be present. Like the Buddhist practice of mindfulness, we are continually
aware of what is going on around us, what we are doing and why.
The second is that
we pay attention to what has heart and meaning. There is too much happening for
us to take all of it so seriously. When we pay attention to what has heart and
meaning we can more easily let go of those things that would seek to destroy our spirits.
Speaking your truth
without shame or blame is the third step. When we live our lives with honesty
and integrity, we’re able to discern and speak our own truth, without using it as a weapon to control others, or feeling
that our truth is unworthy.
And of course, the
most difficult is the fourth step, to let go of the outcomes. It is so easy for
us to hold onto everything, to try to control the outcomes of everything that happens around us. And, of course, we sometimes foolishly think that we can control the people around us as well. This only makes us crazy
Following this prescription
for healthy living does sometimes feel like I am hanging out over the edge with nothing to support me. But this photo of the steeple also shows what I often forget. In
the moments when I feel like I am untethered, not supported by anyone or anything, there is something that is holding onto
me, holding me aloft, and setting me to rest in a safe place.
Call it “life force,”
call it “spirituality,” call it “God,” call it “community,” call it whatever you will
but there is something that holds onto us in the moments when we take the greatest risks, or feel the most despairing.
Another reason
I used the photo of the steeple was to remind myself that sometimes I have to stop and question the worth of the things that
are part of my life’s work. There are often things that occupy so much time and energy and if we don’t ask what
is their worth we will not be fully committed to them.
And, I have had to ask
myself this year, “How worthy is the church building and the church’s steeple of my ministry?” We are certainly
putting a lot of time and money into this project that might be spent elsewhere.
And it was good to ask
these questions and to remind myself that this building is a symbol, a beacon of hope that has stood the test of time. It is a symbol for more than just this church community, a symbol of strength and
stability, of community and connection that reaches out well beyond our walls. So,
Yes, I have come to know, deep in my soul that this is a worthy endeavor to which we will attend well and faithfully.
So, I am here this week
and every week, as I hope we all are, to ask ourselves again about the “few worthy things” to which we wish to
devote our lives and perhaps, along the way, we may even find the worth in the rest of what we must attend to.
Last September, over Labor
Day weekend, Mark and I took a trip to the Berkshires. While there we visited
Chesterwood, the home and studio of the sculptor, Daniel Chester French. There
was a fascinating art installation on the grounds of his estate, a kind of whimsical wonderland that had been designed by
several different artists to merge into the landscape.
There was one piece that
fascinated me and I apologize for not knowing the name of its author. Out in
the middle of the woods, there was a brass plaque mounted on a concrete block, much like an old historical marker. At first I didn’t know that it was part of the art installation until I read the inscription on the
plaque.
It Was Here
In this year, on this day,
at this very minute, you were here.
You read this plaque, and
you thought of other memorials you’ve seen,
of the deeds
and lives they commemorate,
of how swiftly the present
slips into the past.
Suddenly you heard the
sounds around you more clearly:
voices, traffic, rustling
leaves, your breath, your beating heart.
You saw the slant of light,
smelled the air,
felt the soles of your
shoes against your feet,
the ridges and grooves
of your warm wet teeth against your tongue.
You remembered how lucky
you are to be alive,
and to be here, right now.
Amen and Blessed Be
