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One Point on a Line An End of the Church Year Worship Service by the Reverend Mark W. Christian Presented to the First Unitarian Church of Oklahoma City Sunday May 22, 2005
Member of the Year AwardPresentated for Dedicated and Outstanding Service to John Graham Ginny Gregory—President of the Congregation
It is my privilege to present the final award for this year. It is for dedicated and outstanding service and is not necessarily given every year, but some years we have given more than one. This year when the Board of Trustees went into closed session and began talking about deserving recipients, and there are many, it just seemed obvious to us all that this was the year for this particular person. John Graham, please come forward. John began coming to our church about 1980. Most recently, John has headed up our Building Repair and Maintenance Committee for several years. He’s gotten estimates on everything from replacing the roof to replacing the sanctuary light bulbs. He coordinated selecting, buying, and installing the light by the courtyard steps for the Alliance and arranged for replacing guttering. He has repaired many things himself and replaced light fixtures and bulbs. To assist with evaluating possibilities for the Capital Campaign, he and Bill Dinger have been all over this church measuring every room, nook and cranny. John has definitely been a “full-service” Building Chair, willing to check into anything. More than once, John served as coordinator of the Singles Group that was active from about 1980 to 1995. And, of course, he was always at their events. Several of you will remember John most as planning and presenting many of the Wednesday night discussions during that same time period. He also co-chaired Adult RE with Jim Gordon and Betty Sonders. John has served on the Board of Trustees and many committees, including the Disaster Relief Committee which had oversight over all the donations that poured in after the bombing. Additionally, John also serves as sort of an outreach ambassador for us, going to the Lawton Fellowship several times to present a sermon, as well as to other congregations. John has been willing to accept many and varied responsibilities. I remember once he even agreed to try to make a relish tray. Now, we will just stand back and see what calls him next. John, I’m pleased to present you with this certificate. We have engraved your name on the Outstanding Member plaque that will continue to hang in our hallway. Thank you so much your many years of service and your dedication to this church. We appreciate all that you have done.
New Member Ceremony An Invitation to Membership Membership in this church is something that is very important but we sometimes neglect talking about joining the church as part of the normal life of our community. Today we set aside part of our service to invite people who have been attending for a while to join the church. First Unitarian Church does not have a set of creeds one has to affirm to become a member—but this doesn’t mean that membership should be taken lightly or rushed into on your first or second visit to the church. There are things you should know before joining this church. Joining this church carries with it certain responsibilities and expectations. Too often these responsibilities and expectations are unspoken. Today we give them voice. You should know that as a member we expect you to attend worship every week. We know, of course, that none of us can be here each week but look around this sanctuary and you will see a great many people who come to church here week in and week out—without regard to sermon title or speaker. To join a church is to make a commitment to be present. As a member of this church we expect you to enthusiastically participate in the activities and ministries of this church. Not every activity, not every outreach, is any individual’s passion but part of being a member entails supporting the work of the church because it is the work of the church and not because it is something that sounds fun or attractive to the individual. The church is larger than any one of its members. As a member of this church we expect you not only to support the activities and ministries of this church—but we expect you to help us chart our course to the future. We need and expect our members to see the brokenness of the world and rather than practice sullen resignation to suggest creative responses to the pain, suffering and injustice that prevail in the world. We expect our members to support the church financially. We expect our members to give from the abundance of their lives and not to mete out life’s leftovers to the church. We expect that, as a member becomes more involved in the church that the portion of their income that they share with the church will rise as an expression of their spiritual growth and gratitude. Finally, we expect our members to grow spiritually. We expect that you will seek, rather then reject, experience to broaden your exposure and deepen your connection to meaning and mystery in the world. We hope and trust that the ways you participate in the church—your regular attendance, your involvement with groups and ministries, your outreach into the world, and your financial commitment to giving will help you to become a better person than you expected to be. If, understanding these expectations, you desire to claim us as your own, we invite you to come forward now, and with your signature offer us the strength of your presence. We invite those who will, to formally join the church at this time. In addition we’d like to invite members who have joined the church since our last Membership Sunday in January to come forward so that we can formally welcome you. Joining a church is but a beginning. We look forward to becoming a new and more diverse congregation thanks to the presence of each of our members—new and old. Please know, though, that churches aren’t perfect. If you hang around this church long enough two things are likely to happen. A time will come when the church breaks your heart. The church will eventually act, or fail to act, in a way that disappoints and hurts you. There may also come a time when you break the church’s heart. Eventually you will do something, or fail in some action or response, in a way that damages the church or hurts some of its members. Please know that the covenant between us offers the hope and miracle of healing as long as we stay in relation with each other. It isn’t that it doesn’t matter what happened or what went wrong—it is that what really matters is what happens after that. This expectation of failure and forgiveness is the final aspect of membership that we share with our members—new, old and in-between. You are now a part of us—and we of you—may our days together be joyous.
Prayer and MeditationMoments of High Resolve Howard Thurman (SLT 498) In the quietness of this place, surrounded by the all-pervading presence of the Holy, my heart whispers: Keep fresh before me the moments of my High Resolve, that in good times or in tempests, I may not forget that to which my life is committed. Keep fresh before me the moments of my high resolve.
One Point on a LineA Sermon by the Reverend Mark W. Christian Delivered to the First Unitarian Church of Oklahoma City Sunday May 22, 2005 I’d like to share a few of my favorite cartoons with you today. The first is an overhead depiction of our Milky Way Galaxy—don’t ask me how we know that our galaxy is shaped like many-armed spiral, I understand a lot about radio—but radio astronomy is far beyond my ken. At any rate, looking down on the Milky Way there is a big flashing arrow pointing to an otherwise nondescript point in space and a sign that says, “Einstein Lived Here.” A second cartoon, this one by Sidney Harris, shows what appears to be a pencil dot in the middle of a large piece of paper. The caption below the dot reads—“The Universe Before the Big Bang” and in parentheses it continues “Actual Size.” The third piece that I am reminded of this morning is one of my favorite Calvin and Hobbes cartoons. Calvin is sitting down to take a history test. He looks on the test at a question that asks, “What is the significance of the Panama Canal?” He scratches his head a moment, a sly smile comes to his face and he scribbles the answer, “In the grand scheme of things—probably nil.” The final frame of the cartoon depicts Calvin proudly observing “We big picture people are very rarely historians.” Perhaps you can infer from these images that I have been struggling these days to put things into context. Context, perspective, it seems we continually desire to find the order of things, the order among things, the meaning of things—cosmic significance. With today’s sermon I conclude my fourth church year of occupying this pulpit as minister of this church. My how time flies when you’re having fun—except when it doesn’t. Add to the perspective gestalt, the trip Linda and I made last weekend, back to Las Cruces to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the church I served before returning here to Oklahoma City. The question of perspective on things was amplified even further by a memorial service we conducted, this week, for a young man who died far too soon. Together, these things cause me to consider beginnings and endings and asking how we manage to put things in their proper context. So, today, I guess I ask, “What does it all mean?” Seems like fair sermonic fodder and my first response is to share cartoons about cosmology, philosophy and history. Moving from the absurd toward the sublime, I’d like to share a couple of poems that I hope will steer me away from nihilism along today’s homiletic journey. The first is “The Eel in the Cave” by Robert Bly.
Our veins are open to shadow, and our
fingertips
Reading my old letters I notice a secret
will.
That doesn't mean I have done things well.
Why is it our fault if we fall into desire?
So many invisible angels work to keep
Even though the District Attorney keeps me
Another piece, this one by Anne Sexton—titled “Courage” has been on my mind as I try to put things in context.
It is in the small things we see it. The child's first step, as awesome as an earthquake. The first time you rode a bike, wallowing up the sidewalk. The first spanking when your heart went on a journey all alone. When they called you crybaby or poor or fatty or crazy and made you into an alien, you drank their acid and concealed it.
Later, if you faced the death of bombs and bullets you did not do it with a banner, you did it with only a hat to cover your heart. You did not fondle the weakness inside you though it was there. Your courage was a small coal that you kept swallowing. If your buddy saved you and died himself in so doing, then his courage was not courage, it was love; love as simple as shaving soap.
Later, if you have endured a great despair, then you did it alone, getting a transfusion from the fire, picking the scabs off your heart, then wringing it out like a sock. Next, my kinsman, you powdered your sorrow, you gave it a back rub and then you covered it with a blanket and after it had slept a while it woke to the wings of the roses and was transformed.
Later, when you face old age and its natural conclusion your courage will still be shown in the little ways, each spring will be a sword you'll sharpen, those you love will live in a fever of love, and you'll bargain with the calendar and at the last moment when death opens the back door you'll put on your carpet slippers and stride out. Somehow it seems that a big part of the human condition is the desire to see the big picture, to make sense of it all, to put everything in context. Amid this, even those of us who don’t believe in angels need to acknowledge those many hands that reach down to pull the swimmer from the drink and the grace that is as ubiquitous as the air we breathe. Deep down I think we know that the goodness is there. I believe in the prevalence of grace—in the undeserved goodness of things that are often—though not always inbreaking into life. It’s just hard to see these things at the same time we are forced to live our lives breath by breath—heartbeat by heartbeat. Perhaps it’s something like taking a sightseeing trip. Taking the trip is one thing. Doing the sight seeing is often another. One can end up in a heck of a fix if, for example, one does too much admiring of the scenery while one is driving down the winding mountain road. At the same time, if one drives without making note of a few landmarks life becomes something akin to the repetition of a race, round and round, on a closed oval. More than that if we never seek perspective we will forget where we began should we ever desire to return. There is an instruction, which I think comes from Zen Buddhism, by which I try to live. It urges—“When sitting, sit. When standing, stand. Above all don’t wobble.” As I stand at the end of one “Church Year” with an alternating gazes forward and back, I guess my message is that beginnings and endings are mirages our minds play on ourselves. Putting things in context is an imaginary task. It is as if all the moments of our lives are stacked one dot after another—they appear to make contiguous points on a line. Each moment is one point. Each of our lives makes its own line. There are, of course, points and there are POINTS. There are lines and there are LINES. Points and lines by themselves don’t possess order or intention—they have a randomness that tempts nihilism. Our lives, however, can be shaped by intention, we can orient ourselves toward order—even if we can never really possess it. As I stand in this moment of my life. Reflecting on the things that prove inescapable to me now, I am prone to observe that we are about as a church is coordinating the direction our lines are going. Some might think that the idea is to get everyone pointed in the same direction—everyone’s line surging as a unified force. I guess, sometimes it is—but that’s not quite it. I think it is more that we gather in community—whether that community is this church, or your family, or the place you work, or our city, state, nation or world—we gather in community and try to build our lines in ways that harmonize and provide contrast to the other. I don’t think it’s a matter of trying get everyone’s point to occupy the same point in space—like that depiction of the universe before the big bang. It is more that we are trying to form constellations among the eternal sea of stars. I think our task as a community is to form those constellations that can guide us—constellations that others can use to set their course—toward a future we believe worthy of the mysterious, miraculous, creation that is life. Together our points form constellations. Together our lines sketch pictures. Together we embody a message of what we know deep down the world should be. Reading those constellations, seeing those pictures, understanding that message is more art that science, I suppose. Language wails in its imperfection but I think, I believe, I feel, the thing we embody together is a signpost toward compassion and justice. Each of us is free to put the point of this moment in our life anywhere we want in relation to the line that has brought us thus far along the way. Today we stand together—like it or not together we form a constellation. Each of us occupies one point on a line, our lines connecting and crossing and shadowing and outlining something that looks like a church. This church. Our church. It is interesting to know what we look like now, but what is important is the ways our points on a line will build on each other in the time to come. May freedom, reason and love guide us. AMEN
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