“It’s All Such a Delicate Balance”
A sermon by Rev. Charles Blustein Ortman
June 15, 2008
READINGS ANCIENT AND MODERN:
Our Ancient Reading this morning is from Chapter 9 of Peter Merel's translation of the Tao Te Ching written by Lao Tsu:
Fill a cup to its brim and it is easily spilled;
Temper a sword to its hardest and it is easily broken;
Amass the greatest treasure and it is easily stolen;
Claim credit and honor and you easily fall;
Retire once your purpose is achieved - this is natural.
Our second and Modern Reading this morning is from Symphony by William Henry Channing, brother of William Ellery Channing who was the 19th Century Boston minister who claimed the word Unitarian as the name of our religious movement:
To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable, and wealthy, not, rich; to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages, with open heart; to study hard; to think quietly, act frankly, talk gently, await occasions, hurry never; in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common--this is my symphony.
SERMON:
(Sung a cappella) Delicate Balance by Tom Dundee
Deep within there’s a feeling that time is nothin’ but space,
And between every minute and mile that is in it,
Somehow there is a beautiful place.
And it’s all such a delicate balance, this sport of infinity gives,
And expectations we have can lead down the path
Where that devil discouragement lives.
Expectations we have can lead down the path
Where that devil discouragement lives.
Now I dreamed I was bearer than naked,
And it scared me so bad that I called,
“Take me back to prison with the chains of the livin,’”
Although, nothing had hurt me at all.
And it’s all such a delicate balance,
As it whirls through the circles of air,
To worry does nothin’ but steals from the loving
And robs from the pleasure that’s there.
To worry does nothin’ but steals from the lovin’
And robs from the pleasure that’s there.
Oh now, deep within there’s a feeling,
That love’s a lock and understanding’s a door,
And honesty’s the key that was given you and me
To open it and so many more.
And it’s all such a delicate balance,
And it takes just as much as it gives.
To live it is real, but to love it’s to feel,
That you’re a part of what everything is.
To live it is real, but to love it’s to feel,
That you’re a part of what everything is.
And it’s all such a delicate balance,
As it whirls through the circles of air,
And to deny it does nothin’ but steals from the lovin’
And robs from the pleasure that’s there.
To deny it does nothin’ but steals from the lovin’
And robs from the pleasure that’s there.
Balance is such a peculiar as well as delicate concept. It begins as an admission that there are competing, or divergent, or opposing dynamics engaged in a kind of …dance. These rival elements are a part of a larger whole, a whole which is kept in motion by the energy and movement of those elements as they ebb and flow, rise and fall, expand and contract while performing the steps of the dance. And the dance is Life itself; it is the life of the larger whole, whether it's a person, or a project, or an institution, or even if it is an entire culture. Everything that exists does so as a partner in a dance of yet an always and ever larger whole.
We simply don't get to stand still. Neither can we ever go back to what has already been. Even if we tried to go back, we'd find that nothing is ever as it was. In the interim since our having passed through, that earlier time has evolved too. We can't ever go back to the Garden of Eden, because we wouldn't recognize it even if we were standing in the middle of it!
Life unfolds; it moves forward; it moves us forward. Like Albert Einstein said, "Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance you must keep moving." If we stop moving, if we stop dancing, it's the end of the ride or the end of the dance.
We're not here to stand still. The world, the universe is unfolding around us, and if we are to have any hope of being in balance within that greater unfolding, we too, have to be moving along. Sometimes we can slow things down – sometimes by choice; other times not. We can choose to slow things down when we meditate or pray or reflect. Sometimes slowing down chooses us though, when we need to heal from spiritual or emotional or physical wounds or disappointments. We slow things down, not in an effort to stop the world in order to get off, but in order to regain our balance so that we can move again with rhythm and balance in an effort to go on with living.
Our lives are lived out within the context of a universe engaged in the same process of balance – ever expanding, ever contracting – in its dance of planets, stars, galaxies, nebula and beyond the furthest reaches of what we can ever know or hope to understand. And our lives are lived out within the context of our world and all our relationships in it. For example, the delicate balance of life can so easily be seen here in our own religious community, as well as in the history of our faith tradition.
This morning, we welcomed 13 new members into our congregation. These new folks add a new set of dynamics here. They bring new energy and expectations. They bring their own needs and their innovative potentials. All of these fresh, new dynamics will work their way into the ongoing balance, and dance of the congregation that we are becoming. And the congregation that we are becoming is the promise of the congregation that we are. Congregations that are dying are unwittingly comfortable doing things the same ways they've always done them, in an environment where everyone knows everyone else's name. Congregations that are alive though, are ever expanding and are always in the process of becoming.
Each of us comes here, as an individual, to find our way within the context of a community whose mission it is to be an agent of transformation in our lives, our homes, our communities and our world. We are here, having covenanted together to learn to be our best selves and to hold one another accountable – individually and collectively – to that same high expectation. We are here to find our place within the tension, within the creative tension of that dance, that balance of the one among the many. It is all such a delicate balance.
In our New UU Class, we talked about the very beginnings of the Unitarian movement set in 16th Century Transylvania. One of my favorite chapters in that history tells the story of Giorgio Biandrata and Francis Dávid following the death of King John Sigismund, who had been an enthusiastic supporter of Unitarianism. The new king, Stephen Báthori, in an effort to do away with the fondling religion of our forebears, made it illegal to profess any further theological development subsequent to the Edict of Toleration that had established Unitarianism as one of the country’s four acceptable religious traditions.
Francis Dávid was the ultimate theologian of that Unitarian community. There were then Unitarian churches throughout Transylvania and Dávid was their recognized clerical leader. He was determined that the new religion would not be reduced through political interference from the new king. Freedom of conscience was an ideal of the highest order, and his would not be compromised. Neither would his preaching.
Giorgio Biandrata’s commitment and devotion to Unitarianism was no less sincere. But Biandrata had lived through some very dark days in Poland. He knew that it was possible for this new religion to be completely wiped out. He pleaded with Dávid to bide his time, to work with what he already had, and not to risk further interference from the throne by violating the new conditions of the edict. He felt that in time the situation would ease, and then, when it would be safe, Unitarianism could move forward into its fullest potential. He was afraid that Dávid would inadvertently cause the ruin of the fledgling religion that they had both worked so hard to spawn.
When Dávid refused to yield, it was Biandrata himself who reported the clergyman to King Stephen. Dávid was charged with heresy. He was imprisoned where he died of pneumonia some months later.
Ever since that time, at the very beginnings of our religious tradition, there has continued to be a tension within Unitarianism that remains at the core of our Unitarian Universalist moral fiber and character, to this day. That tension exists between the rights and the needs of the individual on one hand, and the common good of the institution for the benefit of all, on the other. Though the story that introduces these dynamics into our history is indeed a sad one, the dynamics themselves generate a very creative tension. The religious process, at its best, whether it is liberal or any other religion, is always a dance of balance between the one and the many.
It is all such a delicate balance, and things aren’t always in balance. Sometimes they’re out of balance and they can continue to go that way until they find a way back into balance. Balance will find its way, or the dance will come to an end. How many times in our lives do we come to a point where we must make a decision that will have an effect on the entire course of the rest of our lives, the lives of those around us, and by extension the course of history itself. The equation will be balanced, and so the question is – how will the choice we make affect that balance?
I'm thinking of our early Universalist forebear, Dr. Benjamin Rush. In his own life, he came to recognize the divine nature of every living being. For his life to be in balance, he found the need to work for peace and for healing. He was also one of Pennsylvania's representatives to the Constitutional Convention where he proposed an “Office of Promoting and Preserving Perpetual Peace in Our Country.” His proposal didn't pass, but think if it had. Think if there had been a cabinet level Secretary whose task it had been for the past 2 ¼ centuries to provide a vision of peaceful resolution to every conflict in the history of the United States. Everything would be different. Think of the incredible difference in the balance of it all – for the entire world – if there had been such an office for just the last eight years of our history. It really is such a delicate balance. What we do or do not do with our lives matters greatly... and not just to ourselves.
Although, what we do with our lives surely does matter to us individually as well. The fact of Tim Russert's death two days ago brings this thought sharply into focus. In an era when it is often difficult to tell the difference between the presentation of news and the staging of divisive, partisan opinion, Tim Russert brought at least some balance to the forum by always striving to discern the truth of a story in a non-hostile manner, that engaged and informed the viewer and that endeared him to viewers and political figures alike for over 20 years.
His very sudden, very public death on Friday, awakens many of us (I happen to turn 58 this year myself) to the fact that we can be pulled out of the game at any moment. Very few of us will have much advance notice of our permanent retirement from the dance. If we are going to dance to the end, few of us will know much about the arrival of that end very far ahead of time, at all. And yet we each have the capacity to choose – however expansive or contracted our influence might be – we each have the capacity to choose how we might want to balance the equation, of the one among the many, with the God-given energy of life force that we have been entrusted with.
We can be pulled out of this game at any given moment. What do you want to be doing when that moment arrives for you?
Do you want to be safely tucked away in something like a cloister or some other environment of isolation or insulation, out of the flow of the life of a culture we have helped to create and have certainly enjoyed the benefits of?
And it’s all such a delicate balance, as it whirls through the circles of air,
And to deny it does nothin’ but steals from the lovin’
And robs from the pleasure that’s there.
Or do we want to be in the thick of things? Asking the hard questions? Applying our talents and skills to create a thing of beauty, in a world desperate for the experience of beauty? Working to heal old wounds and relationships that have been tattered by our careless and callous indignations? Striving to heal our endangered environment? Disassembling the structures of racism, homophobia and other oppressions that have provided for the unjust balances of a nation too long of greater benefit to a chosen few? Do we want to be in the thick of things?
And it’s all such a delicate balance, and it takes just as much as it gives.
To live it is real, but to love it’s to feel,
That you’re a part of what everything is.
We are a part of a religious tradition that has recognized the dynamics of this dance, between the one and the many, from its very inception. And from that beginning, we have been made painfully aware that our participation in it is truly a matter of life and death.
We are a part of a religious community here, not because we all have the same ideas about a god or a goddess or and not -god at all, or about how the universe began or what happens after we die. We are a part of this religious community because we recognize that life is a gift, perhaps the greatest gift of all. We're here because we recognize that life is a sacred dance that calls us to be in balance by being the best person each of us is capable of being, by being in step with and responsible for a world that we are a part of.
We are here and a part of this particular religious community because we each hold ourselves in high expectation and because we have connected here with others who hold us as we hold them in that same place of high expectation – expectation that does not lead down a path of discouragement but on a journey of value and meaning.
(sung a cappella) And it’s all such a delicate balance,
And it takes just as much as it gives.
To live it is real, but to love it’s to feel,
That you’re a part of what everything is…
To live it is real, but to love it’s to feel,
That you’re a part of what everything is.
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