The Cheesy Sermon Title I Had to Pick 6 Weeks Before I Wrote It: "The Gifts That Keep On Giving"

Sorry I haven't posted in a while--this church internship business is a lot of work! Below is the sermon I preached December 14th, 2008 at my church. Happy Holidays!

One of the most exciting, as well as one of the most exhausting, things that I get to do as a minister is officiate at weddings. When I have the honor of marrying people who are close personal friends, the weddings tend to be particularly exciting, as well as particularly exhausting. You see, when I know the couple, I am more than the minister—I’m an old friend, sometimes a family friend, one of the girls ready to go out and get her nails done with the rest of the bridal party. I’m there for set-up, and clean-up, and peace negotiations between neighboring family members…well, you get the idea.

While I have only officiated at half-dozen weddings or so, I’ve begun to form some conclusions. One of my conclusions is, that it is hard enough to be yourself when you are by yourself. It can be incredibly difficult to be honest with ourselves about the challenges we face, the strengths we bring, the vulnerabilities we feel, and the aspirations about which we dream. When the expectations of our friends, our family, and society at large are heaped on top of the stress of a major life transition, such as a wedding, even the most easygoing, well-grounded, centered people, can lose their minds. All of a sudden, the color of wedding cake frosting or a misplaced corsage can literally become a crisis situation.

I’ll never forget one of the brides I worked with and her mother. The daughter and mother had never been close—the daughter was always closer with her father. Believing that this would be an excellent chance to bond with her daughter, the mother insisted on making her daughter’s wedding dress. Now, I’m sure, there have been mothers and daughters for whom this was a magical and beautiful experience. But in this particular situation, it was a really bad idea.

One of the biggest disagreements the two had centered on their expectations for what a wedding dress should look like. The mother believed the wedding dress should be more traditional with a large, full skirt. The daughter wanted the dress to be as practical as possible—she wanted to be able to go to the bathroom on her own, and to dance the night away unencumbered by a great deal of fabric.

This ongoing dispute came to a head during one of the fittings. The mother was holding a crinoline, which is this very full skirt that you would wear under a dress or skirt to make it flare out, and she was thrusting it towards her daughter saying with increasing volume, “the dress won’t look right without it!” The bride was pushing the crinoline back towards her mother, and with her own increasing volume was saying, “I don’t want to be a puffy bride!”

It went back and forth like this, “it won’t look right without it,” “I don’t want to be a puffy bride,” “it won’t look right without it”… And the whole time, the family’s dog is sitting there, watching this dispute go back and forth, and becoming more and more anxious and upset the longer the fight continued.

Now, it’s not that I don’t think this issue is important. I think feeling comfortable and confident in what you’re wearing on your wedding day is very important. What amazed me was the ferocity with which these two usually levelheaded, easygoing women argued. They were about to come to blows over ruffles under a skirt. The sheer energy of the argument was staggering.

Author Anne Lamott examines the stress and the beauty of weddings in her essay entitled “Flower Girl.” She writes,

"Everyone was more joyful and excited and mentally ill as the wedding day approached. That’s what’s so touching about weddings: Two people fall in love, and decide to see if their love might stand up over time, if there might be enough grace, and forgiveness and memory lapses to help the whole shebang hang together. And the ceremony adds so much hope to it all, but also so much more discomfort, and expense, and your only hope is that on the big day, all that energy will run through the lightest elements and the heaviest, the brightest, the dullest, the funniest, the most annoying, and the whole range will converge within a ring of celebration."

While I have been speaking up until this point about weddings, I am firmly convinced that it is not just weddings that can cause people to feel stressed, or overwhelmed, or not quite themselves. Feelings of panic, dread, or reactivity can happen at any rite of passage—funerals, birthdays, pregnancy, retirement, even holidays, family vacations, reunions. Whenever we are thrown together with people we do not normally spend such concentrated amounts of time with, who we were when they knew us best, who we are, and who they believe us to be all begin to jostle against one another.

Long ago abandoned or buried identities can resurface. We are once again the overly dramatic uncle, the long-suffering big sister, or the awkward middle schooler. No matter how successful we feel, how wise we have grown, how mature we act in our daily lives, the old dynamics can kick in, and it can become an uphill battle.

On Thanksgiving Day a few weeks ago, I received a call from an old friend, who was pacing and chain-smoking behind her garage, trying to work up the courage to tell her mom that she is quitting her job and going back to grad school. She is a smart, successful, 45 year-old businesswoman who has been supporting herself for 25 years, but she told me she still feels like a naughty 13 year-old girl, doing something her mother would find totally financially irresponsible.

So how do we do it? How do we navigate the pitfalls, the miscommunications? How do we have the difficult conversations? How do we make it through the holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, sharing what is important to us? What feels fundamental to us? Especially if we are with people who just don’t understand?

One of the things I have found helpful is to talk about things before they become an emergency—especially the hot topics. This church, and the Unitarian Universalist denomination, makes this commitment in its philosophy about religious education. For example, that commitment is the reason why this church teaches a comprehensive sexuality program for the youth, entitled Our Whole Lives, or OWL for short. This program helps participants make informed and responsible decisions about their sexual health and behavior. It equips participants with accurate, age-appropriate information, and it is one of the most thoughtful and thorough curriculums I have ever seen.

We are one of the few religious denominations taking this approach to sexuality education for our youth, and we are an active and strong leader. We do this because we believe that if we can have a conversation ahead of time about things that may feel difficult or awkward for youth to talk about, we can help reduce the amount of crisis decision making our youth do, and we can provide them with resources, both in written form and in the form of their adult church mentors and teachers, to turn to if they are dealing with difficult things.

The same thing goes for the hot topic of money. For example, if we can talk honestly about a budget, be it the budget for the church, the family, our workplace, before the budget deficit, before we are having a crisis, we are able to think more clearly and calmly. When we are not driven by panic, we can be more creative problem solvers. I am delighted to see that this church is doing this, carefully reviewing and taking its budget very seriously even part way through the fiscal year.

Some of the most difficult conversations I have seen families and friends engage in are conversations that acknowledge our mortality. For many, conversations about wills, or advanced healthcare directives, or what kind of care someone would want if they were no longer able to make their own decisions, are conversations we would rather avoid. I’ve talked to a lot of people who say, “yeah, I keep meaning to do one of those,” or “those forms have been sitting in a drawer at home for a while, and I just haven’t felt up to filling them out.” Conversations about organ donation or life support or feeding tubes can seem morbid, can seem like we’re tempting fate.

Honestly, it’s one of the greatest gifts we can give to one another. When we talk about what quality of life means to us—not to a doctor, or a social worker, or a judge, but to us. What makes life worth living? What gives life meaning and purpose? When does life lose meaning?

I talked to a woman at a church I used to attend, and she is making some very difficult decisions about her mother’s care. Her mother’s health is declining, and her mother no longer has the mental faculties to make clear and informed choices about her medical treatments.

As hard as this time has been for both the mother and the daughter, the daughter has found some comfort in a conversation they had a few years ago. My friend’s grandmother battled lung cancer and spent years on and off a respirator, and for both my friend and her ailing mother, seeing the daily realities of respirators made them adamant that they never wanted to be on one. They defined quality of life as being able to breath on their own, as being able to have conversations, and they were both clear that a respirator, while a wonderful lifesaving device, was too constrictive for them.

While this is a still a difficult time, there is comfort in remembering that conversation. This woman’s mother gave the gift of making healthcare decisions for herself, taking some of the burden off of her daughter.

I feel so strongly about the significance of these conversations that I have asked Dr. Alan Forker, a medical doctor and a member of this church, to co-facilitate a religious education class with me on Advanced Healthcare Directives. We will spend a Saturday morning [I gave out the date and times during the sermon and told them the class was listed in the newsletter as well] helping people begin to have this conversation, and if this is something that you’ve been meaning to do, or a topic you feel like you need to address in your own life or the life of someone you care about, we welcome your presence at the class.

In thinking about this topic, about the gifts that we give one another when we have these difficult conversations, I was thinking about other difficult conversations that we have with one another. A story came to mind, of a woman who would invite her parents out to brunch whenever she had something to share that was difficult to talk about with them.

The first time she invited them to brunch, she told them that she was bisexual. It was a surprise to them, but they came to accept it. A year later, she invited them out to brunch to tell them she had come to realize that she was a lesbian. Once again, her parents took some time to really think about what she had revealed, and they slowly came to accept it.

The third time she asked them to brunch, she revealed that she was going into the military. Her parents were concerned, but once again, they came to accept this news. The fourth time she invited them out to brunch, she revealed that she had been studying with a Sufi Muslim Sheik, and that she was converting. Once again, her parents took some time to come to terms with what she had told them.

While her parents have slowly come to accept much of their daughter’s life, they have also developed a real anxiety about brunch. A few weeks ago, she asked them to brunch, and they immediately became nervous and concerned, asking, “Why? Why? Why do you want to go to brunch? Just tell us, whatever it is, now.” She replied, “Actually, I just really like this place’s eggs.”

When I was doing research for this sermon, I talked to Wendi Born, a professor of Psychology at Baker University and a congregant of this church. She has extensive experience in conflict mediation, and often counsels people on how to have conversations about difficult subjects. I asked her what sort of advice she gives.

Wendi first asks the person she is working with to think about possible consequences of the conversation. What could happen? Is it worth the risk? For example, it might be less risky to come out as a lesbian to your parents when you are not relying on them to pay your college tuition. Is this the right time, for you, to have this conversation with the other person?

Also, it is important for us to think about our expectations entering into this conversation. Are those expectations unfair? We may have been thinking about this for a while, but this information may be brand new to the person with whom we are talking. If our expectation is instantaneous and total acceptance, we may be lining ourselves up for disappointment.

It also helps to think about what we really want from this conversation. Do we want to feel accepted? Do we want to feel like the other person really heard what we said? Do we want a hug? The more honest and direct we can be about what we want, the more likely we are to get it. It can be difficult to reveal what we really want. By doing so, by revealing what we really desire to a person who has the power to grant or deny it, we can feel vulnerable. However, when we’re really honest and direct with someone, it can also feel liberating.

Wendi also spoke about trying to mentally prepare for what the reaction of the other person might be. To have a real conversation with someone, to really work through something, if we expect acceptance of who we are, then we have to, on some level, accept whatever their reaction is. This doesn’t mean we have to like it. This doesn’t mean it’s what we want. This does mean that it’s the point from which we negotiate; it’s the starting place for this person in future conversations. If we want them to recognize where we’re coming from, we have to recognize where they are coming from.

I’ll never forget a story my friend Matt told me about himself and his family. Matt came from a conservative, Catholic family in the Midwest. Growing up, he was always close with his mother, and they shared a very special bond. When Matt was 18, he decided that he wanted to join a Catholic religious order and become a Monk. His mother was overjoyed and very proud of him. People would tell him how much they admired the sacrifices he was making, and he would reply, quite honestly, that it didn’t feel like that much of a sacrifice. That for him, marrying a woman was much less important than serving God.

Matt joined the religious order and was very happy. He loved the camaraderie with his peers, and he focused his energy and talents on music. A few years in, Matt began to have doubts. He began to question whether he would want to marry a woman even if he was allowed. He slowly came to realize that he was gay, and when he fell in love with another man, he realized that he did not want to be in the religious order anymore. He wanted to leave and to build a life with this man.

Matt decided that he needed to tell his mother, and that he wanted to be completely honest with her. He wanted to tell her everything, and he wanted to tell it all to her at the same time. As I tell you how the conversation went, it’s okay to laugh. It’s quite the conversation.

He sat down with his mother, and he said, “Mom, there’s something I need to tell you.” She looked concerned, and asked “what is it Matt?”

“Well,” he began, “I’ve decided to leave my religious order.”

His mother put her hand to her chest and gasped in surprise.

“Um, there’s more. You see, I fell in love.”

Gasp!

“With a man.”

Gasp!!

“Who is a Muslim.”

Gasp!!

“And a vegetarian.”

GASP!!!!

And then, Matt’s mother went to bed for a week and refused to speak to him.

While the initial conversation between Matt and his mother was very difficult, the story does have a happy ending. Matt was grieving the loss of their relationship, but he was, for the first time in his life, truly happy. The secret that he had been harboring for so long was finally out in the open, and he was able to start living his life openly and honestly. Matt moved to upstate New York with his new partner and began working as a music director at a church.

A few months later, his mother couldn’t handle the silence any longer. She missed her son, and she missed the conversations that they used to have. One day, she called him up. With a tone that was a little cold and distant, she said, “Your Aunt Sharon had to go to the doctor the other day, I just thought you’d like to know.” Matt replied, “oh no! Is it serious?”

His mother paused for a moment. Then, she said with a much warmer, enthusiastic and conspiratorial tone, “Actually, it’s just bunions. But the way that woman carries on, you’d think she has the plague! It’s just like last Christmas, when she made such a fuss…” Matt’s mother launched into conversation the way she used to before Matt came out to her.

Midway through that conversation, his mother heard a siren in the background on his end of the phone line. She said with protective concern, “Is that a siren? Is THAT a siren? What sort of a neighborhood do you boys live in?!? I’m sending your father and brother up to check on you and make sure you’re safe!” She leaned away from the phone and yelled to Matt’s father, “WALTER, get the car!”

Before Matt knew it, his brother and father were up visiting, checking out the neighborhood. Matt and his mother began to reestablish their relationship, and a year later, his perpetually involved mother had become the president of the local chapter of PFLAG, Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays.

While difficult conversations do not always end in the way that we would like, stories like Matt’s are a reminder to me that they can lead to ultimately positive and liberating results.

In this holiday season, which can be filled with such joy as well as such sorrow, may we stay in communication with each other, forever working to be more open, to finding ways of putting ourselves in each other’s shoes. To giving the gift that keeps on giving—namely, being ourselves, our whole, pure, true selves. For we are the greatest gifts we could give to one another.

May it be so, and Amen.