A reading from On Pilgrimage by Jennifer Lash:
While we were standing together at the back of the basilica, there was suddenly a tremendous gust of wings. Sparrows and pigeons were continually flying around, but this gust of bird was mighty and different. We looked up, and there, high above the narthex was the unmistakable, compelling face of a barn owl. Again and again it flew and paused, frantically crashing its white body with terrible hopelessness against the dusty windows. I cannot describe how unbearable it was to follow the flight that bird, knowing that we were quite incapable to give it its freedom. There were holes and spaces, if only it would see them.
We left. We couldn't bear to be there. I suddenly thought, what if God witnesses in every man a divine spark, which flies within us blindly, like that bird, crashing in terror, punched and pounded from wall to wall, blinded by obstacles and dust, and yet, God knows, that there is a way for natural freedom and ascending flight. What an extraordinary pain that witness would be.
A comforting thought occurred to me as I prepared this sermon. I don't have to be witty or brilliant up here. I only have to be honest. The truth need not be fancy in order to get people's attention. And the truth is I'm nervous. To many of you this fact comes as no surprise. Standing at the front of this sanctuary is not an easy thing to do. Aware of the difficulty and facing my fear, I volunteered to assist in a couple of services over the summer. So some of you have previously watched me struggle to look into your faces and read the right word. "Maybe warming up will help with the grand finale," I had thought. The practice did help, but not in the way I expected. I'm still not relaxed up here. I learned however, that many people with more experience and eloquence are not that relaxed up here either. I am not alone in my stage fright.
Most of my anxiety in life stems from a precarious and distressful upbringing. As the second child of unwed alcoholic parents, I was so neglected as an infant that I was placed in foster care. Since my parents refused to relinquish their parental rights, I spent my entire childhood as a ward of the state of Missouri. As a foster child I felt like the owl from our reading. That poor owl futilely crashed into walls while attempting to escape the basilica. Frightened and defenseless, trapped in an unjust system, I blindly reacted and crashed into the barriers of authority. My anger and despair obscured the good. Fortunately as a teenager, I realized that most people were ill equipped rather than unwilling to help me. Like helpless witnesses of the owl, my foster care workers did not have the right tools to let my spirit soar.
Let me explain my fear by momentarily asking you to imagine my situation. Imagine you are a child arriving home from school and, instead of the usual household chores, you must contend with a stranger and her car. Your few belongings have been put into plastic bags and placed in the vehicle. It appears that it was requested that you move away immediately. After a short lecture on why this decision is best for you, the stranger opens the car door. You know that to resist is futile and possibly even detrimental. So you slide into the vinyl seat and hope that the ride will be short. You do not know the destination or who will greet you when the engine stops. You are taking a trip to your new home, somewhere still completely unknown and inconceivable. During this fear-filled journey what would you do? Would you pray or cry? Would you watch the scenery? Would you listen as the stranger tries to utter an explanation and words of comfort? I did all these things to cope over the fifteen years that I had to take many such rides. There was nothing else to do. Fright and uncertainty were the constants of my childhood and they never got easy.
Hearing my plight and that of the trapped owl is painful. These two scenes are awful. But we all have personally witnessed uncertainty and fear-filled scenes and felt unable to help. How many of us have been distant rather than watch a loved one or friend flounder in a bad relationship, a dead-end job or a severe illness? How many of us have listened to bigotry and were silent, rather than risk the retribution of a superior at work? Every adult has endured the pain of fear and the despair it often brings. Uncertainty in all its various forms can be awful, but no good can come if we only seek to be snuggled by familiarity and material comfort. It is a struggle to not wholly dwell within the vaulted ceiling of our fears. It is the struggle to free myself of fear that has brought me to this moment.
Today I feel more fortunate than frightened. As Unitarian Universalists in New York City we are lucky. We have choice. Liberal faith allows maximum choice. There are no creeds to be our guideposts. Our faith and city give us ample opportunities to express and confront our fears in creative individualistic ways. Provided with no absolute saviors, enemies, or promises we are allowed to seek our own divinity and freedom. This search by its very nature is not easy.
When I first stepped into this sanctuary I did not feel at ease. It seemed so polished and I did not feel well formed. Insecure and lacking refinement, I felt rough. After all, I had arrived in New York to attend the New School with $800.00 and a letter promising a scholarship and a job. I had never even seen a subway and did not know a single person. Bubbly me was struck dumb by the elegance and cosmopolitan sophistication of this church and congregation. But after standing alone at coffee hour after service a few times, someone waved, "Hello!" to me. It was enough to renew my desire to belong here, to continue my seeking.
Needless to say, buying a one-way plane ticket from the Midwest to New York was a daring feat. I had moved on the advice of one of the few persons that I trusted. One of my high school teachers had said, "Rosemary, you've got to move to the East or West Coast. Go where there are the most opportunities for creative people." To this day beaming with pride, this teacher refers to me as, "my former student who lives in New York City."
As I boarded the plane bound for New York fear nearly paralyzed me. This was only the second flight I'd ever taken. I carried with me my protection, my talisman and most prized possession, a stuffed Curious George monkey. Throughout my many moves I managed to keep hold of George, a gift for my 8th birthday from my Baptist Sunday school teacher. She had tempered hellfire with genuine love and concern. I wanted to have my little George in my arms if the plane crashed. Now I knew carrying around this stuffed monkey must have appeared childish and silly to those around me. But in the safety of anonymity, the severity of my fear of flying dulled whatever self-consciousness I felt. I didn't care how weird I looked. I needed the comfort of George.
Sitting next to me was a middle aged African-American woman. She buckled her seat buckle and sighed deeply. "Who's this?" She asked, peering at George very suspiciously.
"This is Curious George. He's my good luck charm.''
"That's nice," she replied. As the airplane took off, the woman squeezed the armrests. I squeezed George. We both had the grip of frightened souls. When we reached cruising altitude, my seatmate and I managed to relax enough to exchange a few words.
"I have a fear of flying, too." She confided and added. "The landing is the worst for me."
After seeing her tension at take off I braced for the descent. The landing would be scary for both of us. But the landing would be different from take off. I positioned George between our seats. I squeezed his left side. My seatmate squeezed his right side. The woman had tears in her eyes as the plane came to a safe stop. "I'm so glad you brought him." She said. "He made me feel so much better. Thank you." With a kiss and a hug in gratitude, I had arrived in New York.
Now, over ten years and several flights later, I wouldn't be caught dead carrying a stuffed monkey in plain sight on board a plane. But I will be forever happy that my fear of flying was initially more powerful than my fear of appearing childish. If my primary worry had been how others had perceived me then Curious George wouldn't have comforted my seatmate or me. Whenever you can, choose the fears that you respect most carefully.
Carson McCullers was unambiguous about the power of fear. In 1948 she wrote:
For fear is a primary source of evil. And when the question "Who am I?" recurs and is unanswered, then fear and frustration project a negative attitude. The bewildered soul can answer only: "Since I do not understand 'Who I am,' I only know what I am not." The corollary of this emotional incertitude is snobbism, intolerance and racial hate. The xenophobic individual can only reject and destroy, as the xenophobic nation inevitably makes war.
Fear has continued to ignite despicable behavior since McCullers wrote these words. Despite the efforts of the UN, in 2000, countries still fear each other more than fear itself. We still live in a world ravaged by war and under the threat of nuclear annihilation. Our own city is plagued by homophobia and racial hatred.
It is easy to think that these expressions of fear have nothing to do with our personal individual lives. Shakespeare tells us otherwise. "All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts..." If all the world's a stage, then we all suffer from stage fright. Ironic isn't it? The world is a stage and we get no audition for life. It seems so unfair. All of life's entrances, exits, scenes and sermons will not and cannot always be perfected. We do not even control who watches our successes or shortcomings. At birth we have no choice of parents or community. We have no say in our class, race, or gender. We are thrust into this world, onto this stage by life. Many of the parts we are fated to play are difficult.
I know that the role of an unwanted child is a part that no one should have to play. Because of my experience I've had to make too many entrances and exits. The world should never seem to be merely a fear-filled trial. No one should ever endure such severe stage fright.
Yet herein lies another more profound irony. Ask any actor. Sometimes the adrenaline rush from stage fright can empower a best performance. In other words, when we don't succumb to fear greatness is possible.
Now I've gathered my courage. I will attend seminary at Meadville Lombard Unitarian Universalist Theological School this fall. It took me a long time and help of this congregation to overcome my fear. I had to stop thinking that my childhood was a punishment from God. When I got tired of fearing the divine and my fate, I entered this church. You all have taught me that my life is a gift. I have nothing to fear. Here I learned that my past is nothing shameful. This congregation has given me the freedom to acknowledge who I really am. When repeatedly troubled by the dark wrath of uncertainty, I sought a divine spark. A spark called hope. I'm going to be a minister because I am compelled to share this spark. I'm so happy to have found Unitarian Universalism. In our faith, it is my hope, not my fear that will make me a good minister. For such a faith, we all can be grateful. Through blessings to each person, may peace come to us all. Copyright AllSouls 2000.