Sermons

'Settling In'

A Strange Freedom
Howard Thurman

It is a strange freedom to be adrift in the world of men (and women) without a sense of anchor anywhere. Always there is the need of mooring, the need for the firm grip on something that is rooted and will not give. The urge to be accountable to someone, to know that beyond the individual him (or her) self there is an answer that must be given, cannot be denied. The deed a (human being) performs must be weighed in a balance held by another's hand. The very spirit of a (person) tends to panic from the desolation of going nameless up and down the streets of other minds where no salutation greets and no friendly recognition makes secure. It is a strange freedom to be adrift in the world of men (and women).

Always a way must be found for bringing into one's solitary place the settled look from another's face, for getting the quiet sanction of another's grace to undergrid the meaning of the self. To be ignored, to be passed over as of no account and of no meaning, is to be made into a faceless thing, not a man (not a woman)…It is a strange freedom to go nameless up and down the streets of other minds where no salutation greets and no sign is given to mark the place one calls one's own… To be made anonymous and to give to it the acquiescence of the heart is to live without life, and for such a one, even death is no dying.

To be known, to be called by one's name, is to find one's place and hold it against all the hordes of hell. This is to know one's value, for one's self alone. It is to honor an act as one's very own, it is to live a life that is one's very own, it is to bow before an altar that is one's very own, it is to worship a God who is one's very own.

It is a strange freedom to be adrift in a world of men (and woman), to act with no accounting, to go nameless up and down the streets of other minds where no salutation greets and no sign is given to mark the place one calls one's own.

Not too long ago I had that strange freedom. It was on the first weekend in January. After a long weekend of being at church for much the Sr. High District Conference, which I thoroughly enjoyed, in addition to my regular Sunday morning duties, I took myself to the movies. Cast Away was playing at Essex Green and I had just heard an interesting review. A friend of mine from California said he took his young adult son to see it. The son thought it was sad but my friend said he thought it was true to life, that we stand at a crossroads everyday, that we have to make decisions about how we are going to create our lives. I got out of my car and put my keys in my purse. I went in and enjoyed the movie thinking that both my friend and his son were right.

The Tom Hanks character assumes he is about to pick up his life where it left off seven years ago before he was cast away on an uninhibited island. The realization that life did not stand still while he was gone again, casts him away, this time in the modern world. He is again adrift and feels the strange freedom inherent in anonymity. He must create a new life for himself. He is a resourceful person. He may make some mistakes but, we know he will ultimately prevail. So, there is the wrenching readjusting and grieving his lost expectations, along with the exciting possibilities of having both the freedom and the resources to create and live one's dream.

I came out of the theatre and breathed the cool night air with a strange freedom. Nobody at Essex Green knew my name, no one knew I was a minister. I was completely anonymous and in my unrooted state, completely self-sufficient and self-contained. I did not, at that moment know, that the bubble that contained both my false sense of reality and hubris was about to burst.

I walked to my car and took out my keys. Missing from the key ring was the one key I needed–my car key. Needless to say I searched my purse, the parking lot and retraced my steps several times to no avail. In a final attempt at self-sufficiency I called Triple A. They told me it would be two hours before they could get a locksmith and, even if I could get into my car, I didn't have the key to turn it on and drive it home. I needed to call on someone to whom I was connected, for help. Fortunately, I have made enough connections and church members have extend themselves enough, that I could think of a few people that I could call out on a Sunday evening. After all, I had gone to an afternoon show so it wasn't too late. I had an extra car key at home, on the advice of a mechanic friend, and I even knew where it was. All went well and I got home without further incident. But I couldn't help thinking why that one solitary key went missing. And, I was amazed at how quickly I had gone from isolation and strange freedom to interdependence. I began settling in.

Where we are now began as our history. Over the many years that I worked and went to school in pursuit of my calling, I did not have a grand vision. I focused on completing that semester's work and running each event in the RE program year successfully. Yet as each semester went by, I wondered what would happen when my educational goals were met.

A period of discernment began a year and a half before my interview last June with the Search Committee. During that time I hoped against hope that my life would not be disrupted, that I would not have to change, but reality pressed in on me. While trying to decide what to do, I ran across these words from Helen Keller, a woman who chose and embraced life to the fullest, "Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure or nothing." I was, in my quite way, already on the journey. I did not know it would turn into a daring adventure leading to Montclair, New Jersey.

In my search, I tried combinations that would have kept me in Southern California as well as looking beyond. Having made seven international moves as a child and young adult, I felt I'd had my share of moving for a lifetime. I tried to be practical, to use my head. But it also took my heart and my spirit. I still have a piece of paper in a book on discernment from the Ignatian tradition. It says, using the author's guidance, 'make a decision that uses your strengths and minimizes your weaknesses, a position that is true to yourself. And the quote from Deteronomy–choose life and not death. Finally, the name Montclair is written.

Once the decision was made I had to begin my good-byes. I even had to say good-bye to my dog Tori, who had kept me company for five years. Because, as many of you have noticed, I am now happy, don't be fooled into thinking I did not and do not weep for what I left behind. It is not as simple as sunshine. It is as complex as cauliflower. The hope that springs within me is "that" as it is written,"(courage and) power come from moving into whatever I fear most that cannot be avoided." And that this is the chance to create my life anew.

When I began contemplating moving to New Jersey, I thought of myself as a reverse pioneer. I compared myself to all those brave souls who had withstood the harrowing Overland Trail. I have a book on my shelf–Women's Diaries of the Westward Journey. This week I took it down. Was there any meaningful comparison? I mean, I rented a truck with who knows how many horsepower under the hood. I stayed in motels and ate in restaurants. But I did find some parallels. Mostly it was the men folk who wanted to go. They could see a better life for their families and were spurred on by the Depression of the 1840's and 50's. It was the women who mourned leaving their friends and family behind. I could see a little of myself in both those descriptions.

Often the families had to plan and save for years to make the passage, holding on to their dream for an extended period. I did that too. And, I shared one overriding quality with the people who journeyed on the Overland Trail -- moving.

"Most of the emigrants shared certain characteristics as a group" writes Lillian Schlissel "they were men and women who had already made one or more moves before. They were children of parents who themselves had moved to new lands…They possessed the assortment of skills needed to make the journey and to start again."

I certainly qualified as knowing what it means to move and to rebuild the necessary connections. Though, I must say that if it hadn't been for my friend Beth, who arrived as planned, on my doorstep at 5 o'clock in the morning on August 25^th, I might not be here today. She provided the support, stamina and good cheer to make the overland crossing in the reverse direction. And then began the process of settling in. There are many scary aspects of moving but the one that loomed over me was the question of where I would live. As many of you know I stayed in the Montclair Inn, a retirement home started by this congregation, while I looked, and then waited for my apartment to become available. The Montclair Inn formerly the Hillside Seminary for Young Ladies, was in its day, both a day and boarding school that attracted young women from states as distant as California and Florida. One hundred and fifty years later it became the first home and community for a not-so-young lady.

Then on November 10^th, with several people from the church, I moved my belongings from the Inn and a storage unit, into my new home. When I came to see the apartment for the first time, I knew it was the right place. Three floors up, it looks into the treetops where squirrels cavort and birds of all kinds perch.

It looks down on to the park-like backyards of the neighboring homes. It is within walking distance of the church and all town amenities and, I can see part of the Manhattan skyline from my kitchen window. Those first couple of weeks I was obsessed with getting unpacked, putting shelf paper in the kitchen and bathroom. Since then I have had pictures framed and hung and most amazing of all, I have felt unprecedented surges of decorative creativity. I don't know how long it will last, but I'm enjoying it while it's here.

You too have gone on a hero's journey of your own without leaving Montclair. While I've done it on a personal level, you have done it on an institutional one.

The packet the Search Committee put together told the story of this congregation's origin. Charlie's letter recounted the early women's group who organized this congregation around its commitment to the spiritual lives of children and youth, their religious education. Over the years, like many congregations, this one has developed from lay volunteer leadership to professional directors of religious education. I know we have all benefited from this legacy.

Then your period of discernment began when Kathy Solu gave notice that she was going to retire, just as it did for the Santa Monica congregation when I told them that I would be leaving. But you had already applied for the Liberal Religious Educators Association grant. That process cause you to do some deep thinking and to make larger commitments. You had to, amid the regular routine of classes, recruitment and materials, articulate your vision and form a covenant. The grant required you to commit to many things organizational, financial, and just. You too are taking a daring adventure by inviting a stranger in and learning to trust her. You had to make decisions, as we all do, without knowing the outcome. As Sheldon Kopp writes in his Eschatological Laundry List, "All important decisions must be made on the basis of insufficient data. Yet, we are responsible for everything we do." There is a certain humor, a certain cynicism and a certain truth in his words.

Of course we all want to have our cake and eat it too. And yet inherent in that desire is the weight of gluttony. The Koran asks rhetorically, "Oh, do ye think that ye shall enter the Garden of Bliss without such trail as came to those who passed away before you?" Do we think we can avoid the trails of faith that our predecessors passed through? Those who built this congregation, this sanctuary, could not see the future. They had to act on faith. They put their faith in us. That trust is as much our inheritance as is this building. For us to continue to act on faith is a decision to say yes to a life that brings us closer to wholeness and oneness, as our connections expand.

I've recounted our stories us thus far. But the mythological literature is silent about what comes next. Countless movies and fairy tales, Sleeping Beauty and Snow White included, stop at the beginning of the protagonists' life together.

Nobody talks about what happens next. Perhaps because that part is more complex. The hero returns from the journey to accolades, the lovers get married and the story ends with, "And they lived happily everafter."

Well, I think we all know it isn't quite that simple. What does it take for strangers to become friends? How do we form new relationships so that we are not adrift in the world of men and women? Though it may not be documented in mythology, new group formation is documented in the field of Organization Development. When we seek the fulfillment of our quest for intimacy and ultimacy as people are doing in the new Covenant groups we have to go through a process of settling in. It is a cycle of forming, storming, norming and performing. We come together to form a group, a community. Then we experience the discomfort of sorting out our relationships, our roles, our communication styles, our personalities. We have to learn to trust that the face we present to each other isn't just a façade, but us based in our deepest selves and values. While me may not always live up to our best, we must have enough vested in the relationship to transcend the inevitable disappointments.

There is an irony in the fact that we are knitted more deeply to others when we can have a disagreement, and continue the relationship with honesty and good will. When we can see that what we are doing together, transcends our individual interests, much dissolves that might otherwise continue to irritate.

In this morning's story Chrissy and Leah were able to overcome privilege, class and self imposed isolation for mutuality. They were able to appreciate what the other brought to the relationship, work creatively together and reflect on the progress that was possible. The unique bridge connecting their houses, they both conceived of together, built together and helped each other cross, physically, emotionally and spiritually.

As we begin new programs at church we are likely to see these same patterns of personal and group interaction. As the Covenant Group Leader circles began, there were questions, anxieties and challenges that come along with doing something for the first time. The group leaders recognized that the new groups and the new process might be risky for others, as it had been for them. As the leaders are about to meet for a third time, and all of the interest groups have met at least once, we are beginning to trust and understand the process.

The leaders have formed, stormed and are beginning to norm and perform. They are beginning to settle in and the groups will too. As the trust grows based on experience with one another we develop roots in the church community and branches that reach out to one another. The process transforms us as we create the lives we long for. Lives of daring adventure, building bridges in ever widening circles of connection.

I see the same pattern in the Coming of Age group. They are just beginning and are faced with significant challenges. Some balked at the work and thought they could slide through. Then they began to say it's too hard and we don't have enough time to do a quality job. But this week there has been a shift. They have begun to trust the program leaders and now they are working with adult mentors whom they know will help them achieve.

Sometime ago these teens began to call this church their own. They still have a way to go but, they have begun to call this program their own. They are making choices and decisions that will root them in this community on a conscious level. They will not be adrift in that strange freedom. But will settle into new relationships they are building with adult church members and the Sr. Youth Group. They will not go nameless up and down the streets of other's minds but will be known and named and accountable. They are finding their place, their value and a life that is their very own. We trust that these connections will support them in making life-enhancing decisions.

People ask me, "Will you ever feel that you can call this place your home? After 6 months I can tell you that it has been exciting and joyful this far. What I can say is that the relationship we are developing will be a deep and important one for us both. I can also say that sometimes it feels like we've known each other for a long time. That makes me believe things are working for us both. At other times and in other ways things are still very new and each time I leave Bloomfield Ave. I'm on an adventure. Yet I know I'm settling in because I meet and greet church members at the grocery store, the movies and the bookstore. I run into clergy and community organizers on the street. I've subscribed to public radio, voted and have my library card. That strange freedom, along with the winter snow, is melting away.

Since making this commitment in June, I'm sure we've both been asking, "How will this new relationship transform us? What will it demand of us? What are my expectations and yours? We worked on it at the Covenanting Workshop two weeks ago. We will continue to live with these questions and, if we are smart, we will keep them alive, returning to them from time to time, even as our settling in slides into a groove.

As unsettling as it sounds, I think Emerson was right when he said, "People wish to be settled: Only as far as they are unsettled is there any hope for them." We have both worked on visions and dreams. We are joining our individual histories working toward the realization of our common imaginings. Henry David Thoreau assures us that, "If one advances confidentiality in the direction of one's dreams, and endeavors to live the life which one has imagined, one will meet with a success unexpected in common hours."

So be it.