Ten Feet In Either Direction and We'd Be Friends

This is the sermon I delivered on October 26th, 2008 at my church.

Growing up, my older sister Jenny was…annoying. Being four years older, she got to do everything first, and oh did she remind me of this on a daily if not hourly basis. She went to high school first, she got her driver’s license first, and she had a boyfriend first. She was also one of those really great students to whom all future siblings are compared. Every year when I’d meet my new teachers for the first time, they’d say, “Oh, you’re Jenny’s sister, we love her, she was such a good student! She got straight ‘A’s, I hope you follow in her footsteps!”

I think my sister also really missed her calling as an actor. She had an amazing sense of timing. She could rile me up to the point of reacting and would push me over the edge right as our mom walked in. She would just poke at me and poke at me, and as soon as I stood up to react, she would fall to the ground and moan, as if I’d been beating her. And then I’d get in trouble. Again.

You can imagine my surprise when, after so many years of sisterly treachery (all, of course, perpetuated by her, as I was a sweet and perfect angel *smile*), you can imagine my surprise when as an adult, Jenny turned out to be pretty great. Her cutting wit, when not directed at me, is actually quite funny. And I’m so proud of her for all the things she’s accomplished and done in her life, such as getting a PhD in Biochemistry, and building a home with her wonderful husband.

And while we are very different people—I assure you, you will never see her behind a pulpit—we also have more in common than I thought we did as a child. She is the only person in the world who grew up in the same city, in the same house, with the same parents, going to the same schools, and being taught by the same teachers. There are things that she understands about me, and things that I understand about her, that no one else does in quite the same way. That’s been…pretty great.

I’ve also found that this lesson transfers to other relationships as well. Even when I believe that someone is totally different from myself, I often have more in common with them than I realize, or than I want to admit.

When I first moved to the Kansas City area, people began telling me stories about the local area. I was so intrigued by these stories, particularly those about Missouri and Kansas during the build-up to the Civil War, that I began doing research and visiting local history museums to learn more. I found out that Missouri became the 24th state in the Union on August 10th, 1821. Although this was roughly 40 years before the Civil War, there was already tension building between pro-slavery and anti-slavery forces. People were concerned that some states would leave the Union, so there were attempts to maintain a tenuous balance.

Missouri became a state under the Missouri Compromise of 1820. Statesman Henry Clay designed a plan for Missouri to enter the Union as a slave state and Maine to enter the Union as a free state, thus keeping the number of slave non-slave states equal at 12 each. Despite this balancing act, tension continued to grow in the Union.

Concerns grew over whether Kansas, then a territory acquired during the Louisiana Purchase, would be a free or a slave state when it came into the Union. The New England Emigrant Aid Company sent settlers to Kansas to secure it as a free territory. By the summer of 1855, approximately 1,200 New Englanders, including many of our own Unitarian ancestors, had made the journey to the new territory literally armed to fight for freedom. The abolitionist minister Henry Ward Beecher furnished settlers with Sharps rifles. He would put the rifles into a container, and then cover them with Bibles so the shipment would make it to Kansas. They became known as “Beecher’s Bibles.”

The influx of so many New Englanders made Missourians uneasy, and soon raiding parties began crossing the border into Kansas. They went to intimidate and coerce the settlers into supporting slavery in Kansas, and they spilled into the territory on voting days in an attempt to sway popular opinion and vote illegally in elections.

Even along State Line Road, a road that runs right through Kansas City, there was tension and even violence. Neighbors who had lived literally across the street from one another for years believed so strongly in their positions that they would shoot at their neighbor across the road. If the road, a completely made-up boundary, was 10 feet to the east or west, these neighbors would have been on the same side. As it was however, they felt they were worlds apart.

Ultimately, the abolitionists won in Kansas. Kansas joined the Union as a free state on January 29th, 1861. While the decision about slavery in Kansas was answered, the years preceding had taken a hard toll on Kansas. The violent years leading up to their statehood became known as “Bleeding Kansas.”

Now, I have to admit, I’d love to make this a cut and dry period in history. I’d love to think that these groups of people were totally different; that the slave-holding Missourians were morally bankrupt, and that the freedom loving, Unitarian ancestors of Kansas were morally superior. However, history is never simple or clear cut.

Missourians themselves were torn over issues of slavery. The state ultimately remained in the Union, but some of its citizens chose to fight for the confederacy. Neighbors, friends, and families were torn apart. It was a devastating time.

And while Kansas became a free state, its citizens did not necessarily choose this because they believed slavery was wrong. It was a decision swayed by economics, as many decisions are. The small family farmers in Kansas who could not afford slaves had trouble competing with the large, slave owning plantations. Small farmers believed they could gain a stronger foothold in the market if Kansas was a free state.

As a young state, Kansas also faced pressure to become, and I quote, “civilized.” In that quest, they broke treaties with local American Indian groups including the tribe for which this church is named [I said the name in my sermon, but don't want to publish it on the internet]. The tribe was sent on a trail of tears to less hospitable environments, such as Oklahoma, where the remaining people still live today.

These neighbors in Kansas and Missouri, these people who farmed the same land, who lived a few feet away from one another, who were attempting to feed their families and survive the same war, felt disconnected from one another. There was such a sense of “us” versus “them,” and “they” were responsible for the world’s problems. The sense of separation, of difference, was so strong that people were willing to shoot at one another across a made-up boundary.

Almost 150 years has passed, and I find myself asking what has changed, and what has remained the same? Kansas City is still, in many ways, a city divided. There is still tension between Kansas and Missouri. And our larger society is still plagued with the dehumanizing rhetoric of an “us” versus “them” sensibility.

I hear this polarizing language when people talk about their political parties. Now, I sincerely love my political party, yet they do not always make the best decisions. They do not have all the answers. While I would much rather demonize other political parties, at some point I must concede that mine contributes to the problems we face in this country.

I hear this “us” versus “them” mentality when people talk about immigration. There is a tendency in our national dialogue to point the finger at the newest kids on the block and blame them for all that is wrong with this country. I find this particularly troubling, as the vast majority of our families were, at some point, immigrants in this country.

I see this trend within myself, as I seek to distance myself from other colleagues in my field. I am ashamed to say that I have on several occasions introduced myself by saying, “I’m a minister…but I’m not one of those scary ministers! I’m a progressive, loves my lesbian mom sort of minister!” I am so quick to distance myself even before the other person has said a word. I strive to make sure the other person knows that I am part of “us,” and not one of “them.”

At times, what or whom we demonize is not clearly defined. In this country, we are currently fighting an amorphous “War on Terror.” I’ve struggled with that. I’m not sure what it means to be at war with a concept, or an idea. I am not sure what the boundaries of that war entail. I believe the country has struggled with this as well.

So why do we do it? How do we get stuck in this finger-pointing mentality? How do we distance ourselves so concretely from one another?

In my own personal theology, I believe that we all have a spark of he Divine within us. I think we all contain the Holy. To phrase it in terms of the larger UU faith, we all have inherent worth and dignity. Ralph Waldo Emerson, in his 1841 essay entitled “Over-Soul,” writes,

We live in succession, in division, in parts, in particles. Meantime within man [or each individual] is the soul of the whole; the wise silence; the universal beauty, to which every part and particle is equally related, the eternal ONE. And this deep power in which we exist and whose beatitude is all accessible to us, is not only self-sufficing and perfect in every hour, but the act of seeing and the thing seen, the seer and the spectacle, the subject and the object, are one. We see the world piece by piece, as the sun, the moon, the animal, the tree; but the whole, of which these are shining parts, is the soul.

I believe it is when we lose sight of these things, when we no longer see the divine spark, the inherent worth and dignity, the over-soul of all, that we do our worst, that we participate in war, famine, homelessness, hunger, lack of healthcare. It is when the "other" ceases to be human, that we become inhumane.

Why is it so difficult to acknowledge the divine spark, the inherent worth and dignity, the over-soul, of all? It’s hard because…it’s hard. When I feel passionately about something, when I am locked in my stance, the last thing I want to do is to see this person or this group of people with whom I disagree as people. I do not want to think that they are trying to do what they believe is best, that they are trying to help their families, that they are coming from a place of woundedness, or fear, or hope.

Looking at a situation or a relationship as more than cut and dry—looking at it as complex, looking at it as messy, is hard. It is much easier to believe that the Missourians of old were morally bankrupt and the Kansans were morally superior. It is easier to dismiss another political party rather than work through problems and find compromises. It is easier to pin the world’s problems on the newest immigrants rather than acknowledge the larger issues. It is easier for me to take pot shots at other faiths rather than to sit, talk, and reason through the disagreements.

It is much more challenging to say that while I do not agree with much Catholic theology, I have great admiration for the denomination's work building hospitals, and homeless shelters, and for their stands on worker justice.

It is easier to go numb to war, to think of loss in terms of faceless “casualties,” than to think of the deaths of fathers and sisters and grandparents, and children… It is much harder to put a face to such a staggering amount of death and pain. And yet, it is only when we humanize loss that we find our humanity as well. I think we can do better.

In this time of division, of political factions, of war, may we find our humanity. May we stay awake to the world around us. May we seek out the divine spark, the inherent worth and dignity, the piece of the over-soul in one another. For it is when we are awake, when we are curious, when we are not clear cut but messy, that we are truly alive.

May it be so, and Amen.

I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

I had a bit of a frustrating week. My personal laptop died right when I moved to Missouri, and the laptop I was borrowing from my supervisor died this week. Granted, my laptop was 4 years old, and his laptop had just gotten back from the shop for doing the very same thing it ended up doing with me (in other words, I'm not in trouble for breaking anything), but it was really hard to be a broke grad student without a computer. I need a computer to write sermons, answer congregant's e-mails, figure out where hospitals are so I can make visits, and of course check my facebook account...

Anyway, just as I was starting to feel sorry for myself, three miraculous things occurred. One, my roommate Kent let me use his computer while he's at work or doing other things around the apartment, and I've been able to get by. Two, my dad and stepmom sent me a check to help cover the costs of a new laptop. And three, my friend Damienne sent me the following obituary, which made me laugh. A lot. In other words, just when I was feeling alone and cut off from the world, I realized that I wasn't alone at all. That's a pretty good feeling.

Without further ado, the obituary...

As we gather here to mourn the passing of our friend Anne's computer, let us call to mind all of the times shared... the good times, the bad times, the viruses, the lame emails, the occasional weird porn pop-ups when searching for something about sugar or babies... Eternal Computer Friend... be with Anne as she seeks to find meaning and comfort ... surrounding her loss - and alleviate any anxiety she might have about retrieving data... be with her as she travels the road of researching a new computer and figures out how to pay for it... and most of all, dance with her in her joy as she discovers the blessings of upgrades since her life was last enriched by the acquisition of her current, yet now deceased computer. We call upon the trinity of Microsoft, Apple and PC to surround our sister with knowing she has plenty of support - technical, information or emotional. Help her Obi Wan, you are her only hope...