Over these past years, I’ve recognized a pattern that occurs each January at the Y. People who have promised themselves that this will be the year they’ll get into shape invade it. By February most of them will be long gone, but a few of them will become regulars. They'll begin a program of exercise that they'll stay with for months, maybe even years.

These, I think, are the true New Year's resolutionaries. They don’t lightly banter about resolutions they won't see through. Instead, they are resolved to do things better. They've recognized the need for improving their quality of life, and they've committed themselves to working on those improvements.

This morning, I'd like us to recognize, as a community, an area of improvement that calls for our attention. My guess is that many of us who have been here for awhile have grown comfortable with this place and how we do things. There are many of us though, who haven't been here so long, and sometimes newer folks tend to see and feel things more keenly.

Perhaps the issue I want to discuss is something about which many of you are already aware; perhaps not. In either case, I’d like to bring it to your attention, and then promote a remedy. Like the folks who stay on at the Y, we too need to recognize our chance for improvement and then commit ourselves to act on it. My hope is that our quest for resolution will not be a passing fancy, but that we might resolve ourselves to long-term efforts to improve the quality of life in our congregation.

There's an old Buddhist story, one you might be familiar with, that could serve as a good introduction to our challenge:

In a distant province a person approaches the Buddha and asks, "I just moved to this town, and I don't know what to expect of the people here. Can you tell me, are these people friendly and kind?"

And the Buddha responds, "Oh, I see. Tell me, what were the people like in the village where you came from? Where those people friendly and kind?"

"Oh no," says the person. "They were very cold, and quite mean."

"I have bad news then," replied the Buddha. "I’m afraid you may find people here to be just that way as well."

A little while later another person approaches the Buddha. "I just moved to this town and I don't know what to expect of the people here." The familiar question is asked, "Can you tell me, are these people friendly and kind?"

The Buddha smiles. "Tell me, how were the people in the village where you came from? Were those people friendly and kind?"

"Oh yes," answers the seeker. "The people in my old village were very warm and caring."

"Well then, I think I have some good news for you," said the Buddha. "You may find the people here to be just that way as well."

What I want to talk with you about this morning is how, as a religious community, we meet and treat one another, especially those whom we might not know so well. I'm not suggesting that our behavior toward one another is deplorable. To the contrary, I think we are a wonderful gathering of kindred spirits coming from a broad and rich demographic spectrum. We come together in a spirit of loving co-operation to promote meaning and compassion. Those are positive and caring goals.

Still, it's brought to my attention from time to time that people coming into our Church are sometimes left to feel unwelcome. Lately, that’s been brought to my attention often enough that I think we should feel a little uncomfortable with our apparent complacency. From time to time we need to pay some serious attention to what we are doing here.

The story of the Buddha and the recent arrivals to the village illustrates that people often create and recreate their own reality, often times through their expectations. Perhaps some people coming into our Church do expect to find a cold and unfriendly place, and so they create that experience. It’s sad, but sometimes that happens. When a good number of people come forward though, with similar negative experiences, we might do well to look at what we’re doing to promote, or at least to allow, an outcome that is obviously undesirable.

Our Church doesn't exist in a vacuum. We live in a time described by Nicholas Mills, author of, The Triumph of Meanness, as a time with "a culture in which cruelty wins out over compassion."

William Kittredge writes in his book, Who Owns the West, "Many of us live with a sense that there is something deeply and fundamentally wrong in our society. Many of us feel our culture has lost track of the reasons one thing is more significant than another. We are fearful and driven to forget the most basic generosities."

My own feeling is that we live in a culture that is a product and outcome of a pursuit for an Ayn Rand style of individualism. This is the philosophy that under-girded our nation's politics for over a dozen years–producing the, "Me Decade" of the 80's and the, "It’s really ME Decade" of the '90s. As we proceed to this first decade of the new millennium, (whenever you might consider it to begin) perhaps it's time to dedicate an era to the possibility of "we."

What are some of the unwelcoming behaviors that have been brought to my attention? It is sometimes said, not always mind you but sometimes said, that taking a red visitors mug at coffee hour is like the kiss of death if you want to meet anyone. It's also been reported that sometimes at our Church dinners and at other gatherings, people actually turn their backs in order to avoid being approached by a new or unknown person. And it’s been noted that sometimes on Sunday mornings, our Narthex is like a heavily trafficked runway area. People zoom through, not looking right or left, but charging full speed ahead in order to accomplish business as usual.

These are a few of the things that I've heard, just to give you an idea of what I’m talking about. There are more like this; perhaps you have witnessed or experienced some of them.

I’ve heard about other kinds of things though, too. I’ve heard stories about how some people in our congregation have gone far out of their way to make others feel welcome. I think that's more of how we all want things to be.

Business as usual ought to be different in our church than it is out in the world. We cannot afford here to forget "the most basic generosities." Not ever. And we oughtn’t feel that we've accomplished the work of the Church until the stories we hear about ourselves are about the friendly and the warm place that we've created, even from those persons who have come with an expectation that this might not be such a friendly place. Since that objective can never be fully realized, the work of the church will never be fully accomplished. But think of how good we can make things if we are ceaseless in our efforts toward that end.

How do we want things to be here? Whenever that question is raised, it is often responded to with a two-part answer. First, we want to enjoy the nurturing spirit of community. Second, we want to give back to the world; both out of gratitude for our blessings and out of our own experiences of healing.

Think for a moment about how you would like to be greeted here each Sunday morning. I’m not talking about how you might be welcomed by our official greeters, but, in the best of all worlds, how you would be greeted by one another?

Some of you, I'm sure, can imagine being recognized by name and spoken to warmly. Others, I imagine, would just as soon not be spoken to at all. If we each try to be sensitive and open to one another, we may not always get it right, but we will surely generate the warm spirit of community we say that we want.

We can't do that by ignoring those we don't know and only speaking with old friends. We can't do that by rushing past one another–by not noticing. We can only hope to gain on our religious goal of warm civility by being open to one another, not by avoiding another’s gaze. It is here that we want to meet one another eye to eye and heart to heart.

The responsibility for creating such a culture here belongs to each of us, however long ago or recently we first walked through these doors. It is a natural human response to many of life's experiences to feel like an outsider. It is a prophetic religious response though, to transcend that separation, to reach out to others and to offer to share what we have with them.

We come together here to create such a religious response. This is not a social club whose focus is on our own pleasure and entertainment. This is a religious institution whose business is transformation–transforming life into meaningful life–for us and for others who may not yet have even heard of this place.

To be about this business of transformation requires a great deal of intentionality. It requires stepping out of our own and into the shoes of the other. To be about this business of transformation requires that we recognize this work as our religious imperative. It means that we commit ourselves, for the long haul, to the effort of making the possibility of transformation a reality.

The religious imperative is to recognize that we are all sons and daughters of The Gift of Life. And as such, we are welcome here to pursue life's meanings and to work toward improving its quality. Our task is twofold. First, we need to accept that we are indeed welcome here, however little we might experience evidence of that welcome. Second, it is our task to extend that welcome, however much we can, to include others in this noble and worthwhile effort.

There's another story, perhaps familiar to some of you, that might lead to a better understanding of how all this fits together. It’s called The Rabbi’s Gift.

There was an abbey that had once been the site of great learning and spiritual exploration. It was known far and wide for the gentle monks who lived there and worked together. Its gardens were beautiful as well as bountiful. The generous monks graciously provided produce to those who were hungry for food, and solace to those who were hungry in spirit.

But recently the abbey had fallen upon hard times. People from the village stopped visiting the brothers. The gardens didn’t look as nice. Singing in the chapel services became most discordant. The monks rarely sought one another’s company, and often at meals–they snapped at one another.

Abbott Thomas didn’t know what to make of the situation. No matter what he tried, the monks just got more surly. Finally he decided to visit his old friend, Rabbi Jacob, who lived across the valley. He left early one morning and told the monks he’d be back in time for vespers.

Rabbi Jacob was delighted to see his friend. It’d been far too long. The two men visited over a hearty lunch and then Jacob asked, "What’s wrong Thomas? I can sense something is troubling you. What is it?"

Thomas, relieved by the invitation to the rabbi’s counsel, told his friend all that had come to pass at the abbey. When he finally got to part about the insults he’d overheard in the dining room, he was surprised to see an expression of puzzlement on his friend’s face.

"I had expected to hear quite a different story," Jacob confessed. "I had it on what I thought was good authority, that a magi (which is a person of great wisdom and understanding) had come to live in your abbey. I’d have thought things would be going quite differently for you. This is quite a mystery."

The two men talked for a while more and then it was time for Thomas to head for home. All the while on his walk back, Thomas thought about what the rabbi had said. Jacob had it on good authority, that a magi had come to live in the abbey? There might be a magi?! Could it be one of the monks? Which one? None of them seemed likely.

Over the next couple of days, Thomas called each of the brothers into his office. He told them about his conversation with Rabbi Jacob, and asked if they had any idea of who might be the magi. Of course they all honestly denied any awareness whatever.

In no time at all the abbey was a buzz. Who could the magi be? No one knew; it could be any of them. Some even suspected that they them self might be the magi.

Things began to change over night. One mustn’t be rude to a magi; better to err on the side of graciousness even to a non-magi, than to come up short with you know who. Those that thought there was a possibility that they were the magi began to think that, not only should they extend their best affability to those around them, but they’d really ought to try to live up to the standards of a magi. Yes, things began to change around the abbey.

Once again the monks singing became harmonious. So did their meals and their greetings. The flowers and the vegetables in the gardens began to bloom and grow in abundance. The people in the village returned to the abbey seeking succor and sustenance.

One afternoon as the townspeople were heading out of the gate, Abbott Thomas heard one of them comment to another, "I don’t know what happened here, but this place is filled with the greatest joy I have ever known. And the brothers are the most loving people I have ever met." It was then that Abbott Thomas recognized the gift his old friend had given.

We now live in a world that is experiencing some harsh times. We can allow for the triumph of meanness, or we can do our part to make sure that compassion wins out over cruelty. The world changes slowly, and in very small steps, but in large measure we are responsible for the realities we create.

In many ways this congregation is a microcosm of the world, a small model of everything that exists out there. If we can change things for the better here, where we are welcome to work together on change, we will do our part, or at least begin to do our part in changing the world.

What I want you to know is this; there is a magi among us. I can’t say for sure who it is, but it might be you, or the person next to you, or the person across the aisle.

What I can assure you is that, if you believe me, and if you act on that belief, you will change. And you will change this congregation. We will change this congregation. It will become much more the place we all want it to be, as we become all the more the people we hope we are capable of being. It’s about putting our best foot forward because there really is no good reason to approach each other in any other way.

I received a thank you note in the mail this past week. Actually, it was a note written to our congregation from the vice-president of First Universalist Church in Southold, NY. Irene Stewart wanted to thank us for our contribution of $850 made a few weeks back in the Chalice Lighters Call for the development of their congregation.

In her note Irene quoted an old Chinese proverb that summarizes our theme this morning very well. "The hand extended with the gift of flowers retains the scent."

When we extend ourselves to one another in graciousness, we are left in grace. This has always been the religious imperative, from the beginning of time to the present. It is our religious opportunity and our quest: to love our neighbor as ourselves. Perhaps an appropriate New Year’s resolution is not simply to love in theory, but in practice, and in deed and in community–to love one another. And here we have this wonderful religious laboratory where we can practice on and with one another as long as it takes to get it right.

"For truly I tell you, if you have faith the size of a mustard seed,[and if] you will say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there’ …it will move; and nothing will be impossible for you." (Matthew)

May it be so.