Sermon: For All That Is Our Life

Rev. Robert M. Hardies

October 19, 2008

Last fall—right about this time of year—Shana and I led our first bi-lingual child dedication right here in the sanctuary on a Sunday morning. Perhaps some of you remember it. The dedication was for a little boy named Gael Daniel Bermudez Hoben. Gael’s parents, Diana and Merrick, had asked us to do the dedication in English and Spanish to honor Gael’s two cultures and to help Diana’s family—visiting that weekend from South America—feel more at home and connected to the service. We happily obliged.

You know how the child dedication goes. Shana just did one last week for little Luz Antonia. We begin by introducing the child to the congregation. And then proceed to ask some questions of the family and godparents.

The moment in the service came for me ask Gael’s maternal grandmother, in Spanish, whether she promised to support and love this child and his parents through good times and bad. I asked her to respond to my question by saying, “Yes.” Si.

Now, I’ve been at this ministry business for about 10 years now, and during that time have conducted innumerable rites of passage—weddings, commitment ceremonies, child dedications—in which I ask people to make public vows. And not once in all those years has anyone answered the question I’ve put to them in a way that is different from how I asked them to. When I say, “Please say ‘I do’” they invariably say, “I do.” When I say, “Please say, ‘Yes, we will.’” They always say “Yes, we will.” It’s one of the few occasions that I’ve found I can actually count on Unitarians to do what their pastor tells them to.

But that morning when I asked Gael’s grandmother if she would dedicate herself to this child and his parents, she didn’t say, “Si.” Instead, she looked at her grandchild with a loving gaze, and with tears streaming down her cheeks, she said, “Con toda mi vida.” With all my life.

You know, we share so many special moments when we gather together in this sanctuary. But every once in a while something happens that seems to embody the very reason we’re here. That sums up what we’re all about. For me, this was one of those moments. Because at some level, this is what we all come to church looking for. This is the holy grail of our spiritual seeking. At some level we are all hoping to discover what it is we can give our life to. And then to find the permission and the courage to give it all. Toda mi vida. All of my life, given as a gift.

But too often this ideal eludes us. Too often we suffer from the sense that we are not living our life to the fullest. That we have not yet discovered that center—that unifying purpose—that orders our steps and gives our life direction and meaning. Sometimes it’s as though we stumble from one thing to another. Sleepwalking, almost. Emerson once asked his parishioners, “Are you living, or are you merely growing old?” And sometimes when we wake in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep, we wonder the same thing.

Con toda mi vida. There are lots of things that prevent us from giving ourselves fully to life and love. One is that our lives are so crazy. We’re pulled in so many different directions. Our troubled children. Our ailing parents. Our stressful job. All the problems of our world. With so many demands, how can we give ourselves fully to anything? At the same time, we’ve gone on some wild goose chases, pursuing things that promise fulfillment, only to find they weren’t really worthy of our lives. Things like power or fame or wealth. Things which aren’t bad in and of themselves, but that are means rather than ends. They rarely, if ever, deliver on the fulfillment they promise. We were created for more than this.

We know this. If we’ve found our way to this place, its because we know that there is a greater fulfillment to be found. And if we haven’t found it yet, we can’t simply blame our busy lives or our crazy culture, we must look inside ourselves and ask “What is holding me back?” What is keeping me from giving myself fully to life and to love? Why can’t I finally show up for life and say “Here I am. Presente. Con toda mi vida.”

This morning I want to suggest that one reason we are not better able to offer our lives as gifts to the world. One reason, at least, that has prevented me and many others, is gratitude. We can’t give our life as a gift, until we receive our life as a gift. Let me repeat that. We can’t give our life as a gift, until we receive our life as a gift.

When we see ourselves as blessed we become blessings. When we see ourselves as gifted we become gifts. On the other hand, when we are full of doubt and regret and recrimination, our souls become stingy. Tight-fisted. (Make a fist) With this kind of soul we will never be able to open ourselves to life and love.

Remember what we sang this morning?

For all that is our life, we give our thanks and praise.

For all life is a gift, that we are called to use.

To build the common good and make our own days glad.

There’s that word again, “all.” Toda. “For all that is our life, we give our thanks and praise.” For me, at least, right there’s the rub. Right there’s the challenge. There are so many times in our life when we feel blessed. Whether it’s because we’re surrounded by loved ones. Or in the presence of great beauty. Or doing something we love. Or maybe its just the air on a crisp, sunny fall morning.

But there are other times when our lives feel like anything but a gift. When it seems the bad news just piles up. When our spiritual resources feel tapped. Our joy sapped. Its moments like these when our souls want to curl up into that tight fist again. Cutting us off from the world. When in reality it’s the very time we need to be opening up.

My friend and colleague Forrest Church, who last month celebrated his 60^th birthday, is dying of esophageal cancer. Some of you know Forrest. He preached here during my sabbatical, when his cancer was in remission. Do you remember the message he brought that day? Dealt a death sentence at the age of 58, Forrest came to us filled not with regret or recrimination, but with gratitude. He wasn’t raging at the odds that he, a relatively young man, had been diagnosed with cancer. Instead, he couldn’t stop reflecting on the miraculous odds that any of us is here on this earth in the first place. His message to us that morning was a message of gratitude for this unmerited gift of life.

What am I saying? Shana’s list of prayer concerns this morning was long and filled with sorrow. Am I saying we should blithely welcome all the hurt and pain and sorrow that comes into our lives? To joyfully accept it as a gift. No, that’s not what I mean. I am saying that our grief can also be a path to gratitude. That our brokenness can be a path to wholeness. That our protective “no” to life, can be the prelude to a “yes.”

Earlier I shared with you Pesha Gertler’s poem, “Healing Time,” because its written in the voice of one who is trying to move from a “no” to a “yes.” Turning recrimination into gratitude. Listen to what she says:

Finally on my way to “yes”

I bump into

all the places

where I said “no”

to my life

all the untended wounds

the red and purple scars

hieroglyphs of pain

carved into my skin, my bones…

[Now] I lift them

one by one

close to my heart

and I say holy

holy.

Imagine if we could take all our hurt and the pain. Imagine if we could take all our doubt and vulnerability and bring them close in to us and pronounce them “holy.” This litany of acceptance and gratitude might be the first step back to life and love.

It’s been my experience that sometimes it is precisely our brokenness that can lead us to giving our lives away in love. There’s a passion that we can tap into in the midst of our suffering—a passion that can fuel a life’s calling. There was a time in my life when I felt cut off from the love of God and man. But at one point during that dark night I was ministered to by both loved ones, and, I believe, God. But from that dark night has come a gift. A gift that I want to share with the world: the message that nothing can cut us off from the banquet of life and love. That there is a space for us all at the Welcome Table.

And so my message this morning is this: Only when we receive our life—all of it—as a gift, can we give our life—all of it—as a gift.

But instead, many of us continue to live our lives divided and dissipated. Unable to decide between competing claims. You know, its funny, I’ve been watching the presidential debates over the last few weeks. And at least on CNN where I’ve been watching, they’ve given a lot of attention to the undecided voter. You can watch a little squiggly line at the bottom of your screen track the preferences and whims of a focus group of undecided voters. And then afterwards, Soledad O’Brian interviews them and asks them if, after now having heard the candidates for another 90 minutes, have you made up your mind. And inevitably none of them have. Part of me just wants to say, “All right now, it’s time to get off the fence.”

And that’s what I want to say to all of us this morning. Get off the fence. The most important election any of us will ever make—the most important question any of us will every ask—is this: “Will I give myself to fully to life and love?” Don’t be an undecided voter in the most important election of your life.

That’s the message I got from that baby dedication last fall. When Gael Daniel’s grandmother exclaimed, “Con toda mi vida.” on that Sunday last fall, it was as if an alarm were sounding in the sanctuary. Imploring us all to “Wake up!” “Pay attention.” Get off the fence. Here is life, calling to you. Asking for your all. Like this small child. How will you respond? May we all reply with a resounding and full-throated “Yes.” Presente! Con toda mi vida.

Amen.