"Groundhog Day and Second Chances"
A Sermon by Rev. Charles Blustein Ortman
January 30, 2011
READINGS: ANCIENT & MODERN
Our ancient reading is from Chapter 9 of the Tao te Ching by
Lao Tsu and translated by Charles Muller:
To hold until full is not as good as stopping.
An over-sharpened sword cannot last long.
A room filled with gold and jewels cannot be protected.
Boasting of wealth and virtue brings your demise.
After finishing the work, withdraw.
This is the Way of Heaven.
Our modern reading is from the movie, Groundhog Day. The antagonist
who turns protagonist, Phil Connors, is a cynical and rather unbearable
TV weatherman. He goes to the small town Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania
to report on the February 2nd annual event that predicts the beginning
of the spring. Because of bad weather, he and his crew are compelled
to stay over night. The following day, he awakes and finds that
he is living the exact same day over again, but he is the only one
to realize it. And then he continues to relive that day again and
again countless times, over many years. What could Phil do to stop
this? Maybe an improvement of his way of relating to the world and
the people in it is the solution. When that eventually happens he
gives this report to the TV news camera:
...When Chekhov saw the long winter, it was a winter bleak and
dark and bereft of hope; and yet, we know winter's only one more
step in the cycle. And standing among the people of Punxsutawney
basking in the warmth of their hearths and hearts, I couldn't
imagine a better fate than a long and lustrous winter.
SERMON:
The last time Groundhog Day was on a Sunday was back in 2003 and
I happened to be away on my first sabbatical at the time. It doesn't
occur on a Sunday again until 2014. Frankly I'm not willing to wait
that long to commemorate this minor holiday, which I think might
well be considered a major holyday. So maybe by thinking about it
now, we'll be ready for the appearance of Punxsutawney Phil and
all that he represents. I don't know about all of you, but I'm praying
for a very cloudy sunrise over western Pennsylvania this coming
Wednesday morning.
Speaking of winter, I have to make just one comment about this
incredible winter we seem to be having. My comment isn't really
so much about the winter itself, as it is about comments that I've
heard from others about this little winter of ours. The comments
that I'm talking about vary somewhat, but they all sort of boil
down to the same sorrowful complaint, often expressed with exasperation
- "This is just ridiculous!" Of course what is being seen
as ridiculous is merely our current reality. Reality may sometimes
seem ridiculous but in the end what it is, is what it is. I can't
help but thinking that it's the observation that borders more on
the ridiculous.
Reality is reality; it's not like somebody chose to dump 20"
of snow on us, yet again this past week, out of spite. That would
be ridiculous! I think we might do well to take the approach, "Oh,
so this is the world we live in today. I guess I know how I'll be
spending at least part of my day." Reality is often unbelievable,
but it strikes me as curious and maybe just a bit grandiose to think
that the universe herself has a "chosen people" and that
she's paying attention to us by dumping on us. We don't have to
like it, but we do have to deal with it. Dealing with the realities
of our lives, now that sounds like something we are here to do…
So I'm wondering, how many of you ever saw the movie Groundhog
Day? And now I'm wondering, how many of you can remember what you
saw? I saw it again recently and I was surprised by how much of
it I'd forgotten. Can you believe that it is already 18 years since
the movie came out? The thing is - it is a classic. I believe one
of the cable stations is going to air it repeatedly, over and over,
for 24 hours this Wednesday. Now there's a case of format following
content.
We gave a mini-review of the movie in the introduction to our second
reading. It's a story about the incredibly obnoxious Phil Connors
the TV newsman, as he finds himself in a seemingly endless loop
of February 2nds in Punxsutawney. We're not talking about a week,
or a month, or even a year of repetition. This loop goes on for
years and years as Phil despairs, gives up, commits suicide in countless,
creative ways. It continues as he begins to make meaningful connections
with the people around him, and as he eventually falls in love with
his producer, Rita, and is ultimately redeemed by that love. If
you haven't seen it, or haven't seen it in a while, it really is
worth checking it out.
Groundhog Day is not just a romance film, although it is that.
But more, it's a theological exploration into what it means to be
human: how we know what we know; who or what is in charge; it explores
the meaning of death; and ultimately it is about discovering the
meaning in one's life.
Phil Connors begins as a totally self-absorbed individual who finds
no particular value in his own life, let alone anyone else's. Little
by little in a painstakingly slow process, he begins to connect
with those around him. Little by little he begins to appreciate
the value of his own life by learning to appreciate the value of
others. Little by little he discovers meaning in his life, meaning
that comes through the connections he has found with and the affections
he has found for the world around him and the people in it. Poco
a poco se va lejos, say the Spanish - Little by little one goes
far.
To me, this all sounds like the religious journey. It is a journey
from isolation to connection; from vanity to deep connection; from
offense to forgiveness; from loneliness to love; from fear to faith
are these not the characteristics of the journey of a lifetime?
Any lifetime?
The song on the clock radio that wakes Phil at 6:00 every one of
those same February 2nds is, "I Got You Babe," by Sonny
and Cher. It's a nice song, but if I could have picked the song,
it would have been one by Harry Chapin:
All my life's a circle;
Sunrise and sundown;
Moon rolls thru the nighttime;
Till the daybreak comes around.
All my life's a circle;
But I can't tell you why;
Season's spinning round again;
The years keep rollin' by.
It seems like I've been here before;
I can't remember when;
But I have this funny feeling
That we'll all be together again.
No straight lines make up my life;
And all my roads have bends;
There's no clear-cut beginnings;
And so far no dead-ends.
Living his life right out there on the big screen, it's easy for
us to see how Phil continuously falls prey to the very same issues
and pitfalls in his life - over and over.
It seems like I've been here before;
I can't remember when;
But I have this funny feeling
That it's all going to happen again.
I wonder if there isn't a bit of Phil Connors in us all. So often
in our lives, it seems like we keep circling round and round many
of the same issues, over and over, until we get them right. I suspect
that we recreate the circumstances that reproduce those tensions
and so they just continue to show up in our lives from time to time
- until we get it right, until we get it right with the issues and
with the people in our lives. It seems that what's important is
not really so much about what the world is doing, as it is about
how we are responding to the world. And for some reason, it seems
like we do get a lot of chances to do that.
And there is hope for eventually getting things right. Maybe you've
heard the fable about the person walking down the street, not really
paying attention to where they're going. All of a sudden they take
a step and find them self at the bottom of a big sinkhole, right
in the middle of the sidewalk. For hours they scream and holler
for help before someone comes along to lend a hand. Then they get
back out of the hole and walk around the block again. Darned if
pretty soon they don't find them self right back at the bottom of
that same hole. Once again, at long last someone answers their calls
for help. They get out and this time they very cleverly assure them
self that they won't do that again.
The person walks around the block again, but this time they pick
up some rope along the way. Sure enough they come back to the same
pitfall and once again, there they are at the bottom of the hole.
It's not easy getting out with a rope, but it's a lot easier than
before. A few more trips around the block and the person begins
to carry a ladder. It's even easier to get out of the hole with
a ladder. This all goes on for quite some time until eventually,
while going around the block yet again, the thought occurs - I'm
going to walk around that hole this time!
Coming back to the scene of the crime, as it were, is something
that is a human characteristic I think, something I'm guessing we
are all familiar with. It's sort of a coming home experience that
we engage in. In a way it's coming back to ourselves in the struggle
to become our best selves. Every time we wake up at six o'clock
on the morning of Groundhog Day, every time we come around the block
and face that big sinkhole, it's like we're coming back to a place
that we can sense familiarity or maybe that we can even know.
For sure there is some kind of stuck-ness that keeps us coming
back, but maybe there is also a sort of comfort in knowing who we
are in that space. If somehow we just end up there, that's one thing.
But if we're conscious, if we can see our shadow for example, then
maybe - from that familiar place - we can choose to do something
different. Maybe we can choose to do something that might give us
a greater sense of meaning, something that can connect us and not
trap us in our relationships with our people and our planet.
There is a big difference between all of a sudden finding ourselves
back in an old familiar place, and choosing to go back to a familiar
place. When were not stuck in an endless cycle of second, third,
fourth and nth chances of getting it right, maybe we can be free
to go back to and to draw from that comfortable place of knowing
who we are in ways that open us to experiences of awe, and gratitude,
and even service. Maybe we can learn to become more comfortable
with the person we are becoming rather than the person we have been.
There's a wonderful little song by Shlomo Carlebach in our new hymn
book. It suggests going back as a rewarding practice, not because
we are stuck and have to go back, but because we are free and we
can go back.
Return again, return again,
Return to the home of your soul
Return again, return again,
Return to the home of your soul.
Return to who you are,
Return to what you are,
Return to where you are born and reborn again.
Return to who you are,
Return to what you are,
Return to where you are born and reborn again.
It's often said that a person can never go home again. I think
the opposite is more the truth. We do a great deal of returning
back to some home-place in our lives. There seem to be countless
second chances of it. And there is one of two ways we can do our
traveling - either consciously or unconsciously.
To travel unconsciously requires little effort. It will happen,
especially if we fail to pay attention. It seems that the less effort
we make the more we are assured we will net the greatest number
of round trips. Round and round… all my life's a circle.
To travel home consciously though - to return to who you are, to
what you are, and to where you are born and reborn again - that
is to travel with our eyes open wide. It is to travel attentively.
It is to recognize that we are not in this alone, but part of a
great mystery that is life, and that wants life for us. It is to
fall in love with life over and over. It is ultimately having our
lives redeemed by that love.
To travel home consciously is perhaps like walking out the front
door after yet another snowstorm, and not denying the work or the
inconveniences, or even the issues of safety that might lie ahead,
but still finding the beauty in it too. It is knowing that at that
moment what we each are looking at is our precious life. The snowstorm
is a metaphor here; I don't want you to miss that. You fill in the
blank with whatever snowstorm you might have in your life, and then,
I pray, return to where you were born and reborn again.
Dealing with the realities of our lives, now that sounds like something
we are here to do. And though the chances of going back to get things
right or simply to live them again may seem endless, they are not.
We will not be here for ever.
And so what we do today, what we do this Groundhog Day, what we
do every day matters. May our prayer be that we might draw from
our inner spaces, those spaces that connect us with All-That-Is.
May we be born and reborn again to an openness that grants us experiences
of awe, and gratitude, and even service. May we fall in love with
life, over and over, and may we ultimately be redeemed by that love.
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