Some years ago, I attended a conference on "Matters of Life and Death" led by Dr. Robert Stevenson. He suggested an exercise to help us better understand ourselves...Find a time when you are alone at night in your home. Starting on the top floor or attic, or the furthest room in an apartment, check each nook and cranny of the room to make sure that no one or thing is there to endanger you. Close and lock all windows. Look under beds, check the covers and pillows, examine each closet, under furniture, rugs, on top of shelves, in cabinets. Each time you are certain that the room is safe and secure, turn off the light and close the door. Systematically go from room to room -- locking, safeguarding -- until you are sure that you have covered the entire home and know by immediate experience that there is nothing there to harm you. When you get to the last room, or the basement -- all doors closed, all windows secured, all but the one light in this last room out, find a comfortable chair put it near that light and settle in. Turn off the final light. Sit there quietly and listen. Listen to all the sounds of the house...coming to get you...
Fear. One of the natural responses to living. Everyone knows fear. Those who say they have no fear are not wholly honest or in touch with their full selves. Fear triggers our instinct to protect what's vulnerable, and we are all vulnerable. Everyone knows fear. It is how we regard it and respond to it that varies from person to person. And our relationship to fear directly speaks to our ability to love.
The most basic fear is of change. Death, of course, being the ultimate change. Change introduces the unknown and the uncomfortable realization that we are not in control. It's a realization that occurs throughout our lives, repeatedly, because for some reason, denial helps us forget that we are not in control. We forget that we will die. We forget that we don't have it all in place. We forget that perfection is not possible. So when a change occurs, we can be thrown for a loop in various degrees, as we start reconfiguring our lives again.
Change can be seen as a faith discipline. How can we trust in life when we never have a hold on it? Well, we get a lot of practice in a faith community, for change is happening constantly through the presence of "the stranger". And the stranger comes in many forms -- a new visitor, a fellow member seen in a new light, our selves experiencing a new sensation. It is really part of the local work that effects the world, part of our training or test as a community modeling for the future -- how do we deal with "the other", how do we find ourselves in this welcoming community?
This is not a new calling -- it has been one of the challenges to faith communities since the beginning of human history. Change in the form of the foreigner happens by birth, migration, life partnering, change in leadership, change in location. The faith community keeps its constant in its ability to work through the change that new blood brings. As Parker Palmer reminds us, encountering "the other" is part of the narrative, the very fabric of a faith community.
One of the most popular parables in the New Testament is that of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37). It is one of the lessons told to illustrate the ethical law to love your neighbor as yourself. A man is mugged, beaten and stripped by robbers on his way to Jericho from Jerusalem. Two Jewish holy men, a priest and a Levite (a high priest) pass the ailing man by on separate occasions. Along comes a Samaritan, a foreigner by culture and race and looked down upon by the Jews of the time. He helps the man as best he can with cloth, wine and oil, sets the wounded man upon his beast and takes him to an inn. The Samaritan then looks after him overnight, hands the innkeeper money the next morning to help the stranger further and then goes about his way promising to reimburse the innkeeper should it cost more than he gave.
Commonly, this story is told to stretch our comfort level in community. Who to us would that hurt person on the road be? Who would we be inclined to pass over due to fear or status or indifference? The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King introduced another way to approach this story in his last sermon in Memphis Tennessee the night before he was killed.
He spoke of how the road from Jerusalem to Jericho was a dangerous road, known as "Bloody Pass" to folk who lived in those parts. The priest and the Levite could have passed this man thinking he, too, was a robber pretending or that perhaps the muggers were near by for another victim, or that, indeed, this man was not of their community and so unworthy of compassion. But it was most likely out of fear that the religious leaders did not stop. He puts a nice twist on the popular parable. He offers that "the first question that the Levite asked was, 'if I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?' But then the Good Samaritan came by, "Dr. King continues, "And he reversed the question: 'If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?...That's the question before you tonight, "King offers, "...the question is not, 'If I stop to help this man in need, what will happen to me?, If I do not stop to help those in need (the sanitation workers), what will happen to them? That's the question."
Compassion cuts our fear. Seeing the other as a being in need is only the beginning. Seeing our actions as effecting the other, that creates a deeper connection a shared compassion, an urgency to improve the life of another. If I do not help this person, what will happen to that person? Knowing the need and passing it by becomes a part of us, our choice. If we do not help the ailing stranger then we are part of his or her outcome.
Removing ourselves from direct cause also cuts the fear. It is far easier to address the immediate concern of the situation than to feed our ego which is irrational and inconsistent and, generally, afraid of losing ground. Be not afraid -- extend yourself and see how effective you can be.
And let's recall that the adage is: "love your neighbor as yourself". Making sure the robbers are not around the corner is part of the equation. We, too, are lives worth living and caring for and must keep that ever in mind within our ethic of care: loving your neighbor as yourself.
So when we meet our neighbor, how do we approach the calling of love, how do we exercise the ethic of care?
A modern parable to throw in the mix:
"A young student found a cocoon one day and brought it to school. His teacher put it in a warm place and several weeks later an opening could be seen. As the class watched, an emperor moth was struggling to break out. But try as it might, it couldn't seem to force its body past a certain point.
Finally, the class decided to help. A student took scissors and snipped off the cocoon's protective covering. The moth emerged, but its body was large and swollen and its wings stunted. the wings didn't spread out in their natural beauty and the moth never flew. It spent its short life dragging around a swollen body and shriveled wings...The moth's struggle to get through the tiny opening in the cocoon was necessary to force fluid from the body of the wings. Without struggle, the wings never developed."
What does this story tell? One, as the moth needed more time in the cocoon, it's important to nurture ourselves enough, before venturing forth. Keeping in mind that venturing forth is the goal. Two, the eager students wanting to help did not have enough information or understanding of the other's needs. It's important not to force others out of their protective coverings -- yes, perhaps encourage or shed some light -- but honor the timing of another's revealing. And three, part of the moth's natural growth was to struggle. It is important that we experience the struggle, the effort to earn and develop that sense of safety and assurance. Only when we are ready can we reveal ourselves in all our glory so that our spirits can fly.
G.K. Chesterton once remarked that angels can fly because they take themselves lightly. That happens only after we are well grounded in embracing our full selves, potential and calling to venture out into the open air. That only happens after an understanding of gravity, taking ourselves seriously enough to honor the life that is ours. When we meet our neighbor, it is important to remember that that process is before us within the other.
As faith stems from the courage to love, fear can be healed through love. It's rarely, nor fast. But person by person, opening one's heart to understand and embrace another strips away the false sense of danger and brings a person closer to embracing all life. We must start with who we know and share our stories, so that step by step, familiarity leads to acceptance. Eventually, as fear of difference unravels, a greater sense of the larger truth will be known in community.
Unitarian Universalism promotes an atmosphere where minds are free and the issues of our lives and times are examined openly. We are open to changing our minds and hearts as we discover new knowledge given by the experiences of others. We learn justice and compassion by living our acceptance of 'the other'.
Courage is not the absence of fear. Courage is being afraid and going forth with what must be done, anyway. Let us find our courage to do what Rev. King suggested some thirty years ago, let us "develop a kind of dangerous unselfishness".
Be not afraid. Open your hearts to possibility. Let us welcome "the stranger" as we would welcome ourselves, with kindness in our caution, and integrity in our questions. Let us find ourselves in the other. Let us know our own worth and dignity so that what we find in the other is that sacred place of awe and wonder that will bring about a better world. So may it be. Amen.
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