First Parish Bedford UU

“Wherever You Are, It’s Probably Egypt”

A Sermon by Rev. John Gibbons

delivered on Sunday, October 5, 2008

at First Parish in Bedford, Massachusetts





Opening Words: 

“Summons,” by Robert Francis



Keep me from going to sleep too soon

Or if I go to sleep too soon

Come wake me up.  Come any hour

Of night.  Come whistling up the road.

Stomp on the porch. Bang on the door.

Make me get out of bed and come

And let you in and light a light.

Tell me the northern lights are on

And make me look. Or tell me clouds

Are doing something to the moon

They never did before, and show me.

See that I see.  Talk to me till

I’m half as wide awake as you

And start to dress wondering why

I ever went to bed at all.

Tell me the walking is superb.

Not only tell me but persuade me.

You know I’m not too hard persuaded.





Story:  from Rabbi Hayyim of Zans



There was once a poor countrywoman who had many children. They were always begging for food, but she had none to give them. One day she found an egg.



She called her children and said, “Children, children, we’ve nothing to worry about any more; I’ve found an egg. And, being a provident woman, I’ll not eat the egg, but shall ask my neighbor for permission to set it under her setting hen, until a chick is hatched. For I am a provident woman! And we’ll not eat the chick, but will set her on eggs, and the eggs will hatch into chickens. And the chickens in their turn will hatch many eggs, and we’ll have many chickens and many eggs. But I’m a provident woman, I am! I’ll not eat the chickens and not eat the eggs, but shall sell them and buy me a heifer. And I’ll not eat the heifer, but shall raise it to a cow, and not eat the cow until it calves. And I’ll not eat it then, either, and we’ll have cows and calves. For I’m a provident woman! And I’ll sell the cows and the calves and buy a field, and we’ll have fields and cows and calves, and we won’t need anything any more!”



The countrywoman was speaking in this fashion and playing with the egg, when it fell out of her hands and broke.



Said our master: “That is how we are. When the Holy Days arrive, every person resolves to do Teshuvah, thinking in his heart, ‘I’ll do this, and I’ll do that.’ But the days slip by in mere deliberation, and though doesn’t lead to action, and what is worse, the person who made the resolution may fall even lower. Therefore every person ought to exercise great caution so as not to fall even lower, God forbid.”





Sermon:

In an interview shortly before his death, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel was asked, “What message have you for young people?”  To this he replied, “Let them remember that there is a meaning beyond absurdity.  Let them be sure that every deed counts, that every word has power, and that we can do our share to redeem the world in spite of all absurdities and all frustrations and all disappointments.”

There’s a lot of absurdity, frustration and disappointment going around.  What does it mean when my bank loses 72% of its value one day (and recovers 40% the next)?  What does it mean when we learn that 700 billion dollars was just a number pulled out of thin air?  Last week I also learned that Warren Buffett, according to some the richest man in the world, attributes his good fortune – not to wisdom or perspicacity or even to hard work - but…to luck!  Is luck all it is that separates him and his 82 billion dollars from those who are in debt or homeless or struggling or fearful? 

When, standing here yesterday, I asked Rebecca Green and Thom Neale if they took one another for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and health.  Was I really just asking if they were willing, well, just to take a chance on each other?

Come to think of it, as a husband and as a father, as a minister and just in my own self-estimation, there actually have been times when, in a single day, my stock  has fallen 72%, and regained some the next, but the final bell has not been rung. 

As investors, as citizens, as spouses and parents and human beings, is life just a casino? A throw of the dice?

Whether our struggles are political or personal, what is fundamentally at stake in all our lives is whether or deeds, our votes, our parenting, our protests – signify.  Does what we do matter?  It’s a good question, for much of the time we do seem simply blown about by chance: good things happen and we feel good, bad things happen, we feel bad; stuff – good and bad – just happens.

Chance is a big factor.  There is an anecdote about Albert Einstein who, over the door to his study, hung a horseshoe.  In proper fashion he hung it with the ends up because, as everyone knows, if you hang it the other way your luck will simply run out.  Well, a fellow scientist was visiting Einstein and noticed the horseshoe.  “How can you believe in such a charm?” he complained.  “You’re one of the most intelligent thinkers of our day.  Surely you don’t believe in that superstition?”  Einstein replied, “No, of course I don’t believe that a horseshoe can bring good luck.  But I understand that it works whether or not you believe it!”

I do not belittle chance.  Someone once asked the composer Anton Bruckner, “Master, how, when, where did you think of the divine motif of your 9th Symphony?”  Well,” it was like this,” Bruckner replied, “I walked up the Kahlenburg, and when it got hot and I got hungry, I sat down by a little brook and unpacked my Swiss cheese.  And just as I opened the greasy paper. That darn tune popped into my head!”

But conceding a role to chance, this is a church and not a casino, and our reason for being here in this place is to affirm and to nurture our ability to shape destiny, to make good things happen despite all absurdity, frustration and disappointment, to refuse to stumble into our own futures.

Rosh Hashonah which commenced at sundown last Monday with the blowing of the shofar is a wonderful opportunity to confront absurdity and renew our conviction.  Rosh Hashonah is the Jewish New Year, and with the end of vacation and summer and the beginning of school and church and everything else – this time of year is every bit as much a new year as is January 1st.

In Judaism there are really four new years within one calendar year, and there is good theology and psychology behind it.  On the one hand everyone knows that God’s patience is not unlimited – remember the Great Flood and other threats of destruction.  (And by the way I don’t want all you atheists to get your whatevers all in a twist.  This is just like the story about the horseshoe: think metaphorically, translate into whatever language you understand, keep breathing, stay calm.) 

Judaism reasons that if humanity does not set aside periodic times to confess our past sins of omission and commission and resolve to do better, well then, the sins will simply accumulate until there are so many that destroying the world is the only way to start fresh.

Thus, with different nuances attached to each, there are four annual “new year” holidays which give people opportunity for fresh starts.  Rosh Hashonah is the primary new year and celebrates the fact that we and the earth exist in the first place.  It is a time to cherish being alive, and to resolve to protect the earth and its inhabitants so that there will be future generations.

Psychologically, too: all human beings get into ruts, get depressed and discouraged and bored all too often.

Last June there was a gathering of UU ministers at the UUA General Assembly.  We heard a keynote address by Walter Brueggemann, one of the most important liberal theologians in America today.  Brueggemann is a biblical scholar and, well, to tell you the truth, a lot of his speech went over my head, way over my head (I just don’t think the way a lot of theologians think).  But one thing Brueggeman said that struck me as true as true can get was this: “Wherever you are,” he said, “Wherever you are, it’s probably Egypt.” 

Egypt, in the biblical tradition, is a place of captivity.  The story of the Jewish people and the adopted story of every liberation movement is the history of exodus from Egypt.  It is a story both personal and political:  from the perspective of liberal religion – our religion is one that seeks liberation and freedom and to break the chains of oppression.  Whether as a citizen or an activist or as a parent or as a spouse or as a human being longing for release from whatever it is that oppresses you, be it addiction or loneliness or unproductive habits or angst or ennui – all of us know the truth that wherever we are, it is probably Egypt and we need to get out.

Think about whatever it is that worries you the most – personal or political – we are in thrall to ideas and habits and ideologies and customs and thoughts and feelings and behaviors that oppress us.

I think it was Oliver Wendell Holmes who had for his breakfast a daily bowlful of oatmeal porridge.  Every day, invariably, without fail.  When one day his cook reported oh-so-apologetically that she had run out of porridge, he responded, “Why, that’s all right: I never really cared for it.”

So, how do we get outta Egypt?  I think that the rituals of Rosh Hashonah give us a hint and I don’t think anyone will object if we expropriate a portion of that tradition to meet our needs.

First of all, the Jewish New Year doesn’t happen all at once, like 5-4-3-2-1 down comes the ball at Times Square, kiss your sweetheart, happy new year.  The process of renewal goes on for 10 days, beginning last Monday and not ending until Yom Kippur this coming Thursday. 

The tradition is that on Rosh Hashonah, God open three books (keep breathing, God, Einstein, whoever): a Book of Life wherein are inscribed the names of all those who have led faultless lives over the previous year (a very thin book); a book of Death wherein are inscribed the names of those so sinful they’re hopeless (also very thin); and last, a big fat book jam-packed with the names of those who – like most of us – are neither pure nor utterly depraved, but who could go either way depending on the choices we make. 

It’s sort of a triage system.  Last Monday, God opened the books and on Thursday, God will transfer the names into either the Book of Life or the Book of Death – so Rosh Hashonah is a great big warning that says, “Hey, get your life in order, because down the road just a little bit, there’s going to be some accounting.”

Perhaps I’ve made it sound like the motivation for change is fear. It’s really not  These ten days are called the “Days of Awe” because that’s the true impetus for change: awe, fascinating and tremendous, wonder, amazement at creation itself.  Someone once said, The world will never want for lack of wonders, only for lack of wonder.”  That is the spirit of the Days of Awe: to nourish in ourselves the capacity to wonder and be in awe.  Keep us from going to sleep too soon!

OK, fine.  That’s the goal, the hope.  But like the preacher who says he’s against sin or in favor of world peace, we say, “Great, but how?”  Often you’ve heard me say that “the trouble with changing your life is that you have to change your life to do it.”  Sounds great, but how?

During the 10 days of awe, Jews are instructed to do three things and we might pay heed to these three things because they’re the only things that truly work when one wants to change one’s life.

And the first is the one Unitarian Universalists – along with most people – least like to hear…because it is that horrible, terrible miserable thing called Confession.  God, sin, confession – I figured I’d drop the whole load on you today.  To a lot of us, confession brings up images of divine retribution, judgment and guilt and self-flagellation and hairshirts and making up sins because you have to tell the priest something and just a whole lot of stuff we want nothing to do with.

Well, that doesn’t mean the idea is bunk.  Call it admitting we are wrong sometimes, call it telling the truth about oneself, call it what-you-will, but the only way we can possibly change our lives is by first acknowledging that there is something unacceptable with the way things are now. 

It’s hard to do; we are not wont to take responsibility.  I make some clumsy move at the breakfast table, knock over a glass and say, “Oh gee, the glass broke.”  Sue says, “You mean you broke the glass.”  Well, yeah, that’s what I mean.

In AA, the first thing that a person does if they want to break their drinking habit is to say out loud, “My name is Joe Blow and I’m an alcoholic.” No ifs ands or buts, and you can call it by some other name if you want but it’s also called confession.

Now for all you change-the-world types who wonder what this pseudo-psychological, quasi-theological Jewish sermon is about, I assure you that the concept of confession has real application to social action.   Too often our liberal efforts have a paternalistic “boutique” quality because we fail to acknowledge our complicity with injustice and inequity, racism, sexism, homophobia, nationalism, consumerism – even if that complicity is but our silence.  It is not guilt-mongering but truth-telling that moves us to say that we can sometimes even be the beneficiaries of the abuses we decry. 

A few years ago, when I saw some opportunities in the stock market, I too decided to get a little riskier ‘cause I wanted a piece of that action too!  We begin down the road to change when we acknowledge our responsibility.

To acknowledge to ourselves that , “Yes, indeed, I seem to have gotten myself stuck in Egypt once again” – whether our commissions or omissions are personal or social – such an acknowledgment frees us to begin again.

And here also is a wonderful tradition that some Jews still observe called Tashlich, meaning “to cast or throw,” in which one reaches down deep into one’s pockets and cleans out the accumulated lint and refuse and crumbs and junk and then casts all this useless stuff into the closest river or stream.  And it’s not just our misdeeds or regrets that we cast off but it’s all the resolutions we didn’t follow through on last year.  You wipe the slate clean.  So you didn’t lose those 20 pounds?  That was a dumb thing to have resolved in the first place.  So you didn’t act on all those impulses to do good?  You weren’t ready.  Fuggetaboutit.  You are forgiven for being human.

Tashlich is a wonderful ritual, I think, for you’re not just sweeping the sidewalk or rearranging the closet; but you’re digging deep into a place very close to you, a place you carry with you, a place that others are not likely to see and, therefore, a place which is easy to ignore or put off or neglect…and you do something about it.

The second step in self-renewal, to improve our chances of being inscribed into the Book of Life, has to do with doing something about whatever you need to do something about – not just wishing or hoping or praying.  If you’ve wronged someone or made an enemy or need to set a relationship right, it’s necessary to go to that person, ask their forgiveness and make restitution. 

That’s the meaning of the Jew Jesus who said, (Matthew 5:23), “If you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you…First go and be reconciled to your brother; then come and offer your gift.”

 He was saying, We don’t dispense magic in this place.  Get outta here.  The new year is not new, it must be made new: the only way to begin afresh is to deal with whatever it is that is old and crummy and concealed.

Wrongs must not simply be admitted, but as much as possible they must be redressed.  Saying you’re sorry is a good beginning, but if there’s something more – some affirming action we can do – then we’d better do it.  Confession without restitution is getting off the hook cheap.  Restitution could also be called penance, but I won’t push my luck.

In Hebrew, this is called teshuva, not just repenting but moving toward the good and redressing.

This reminds me that every Monday, starting just a week ago on Rosh Hashonah, there’s now a Smart Recovery meeting here at First Parish.  Our parishioner Tom Larkin is facilitating this self-help group and I went last week – not just to show my support but because, you know, there are actually a few things in my life that I’d like to change a bit.  And, among the many tools that Smart Recovery offers is the observation that there are stages of change – from Pre-contemplation (when you’re not even thinking about change) to Contemplation (when you’re thinking about change but ambivalent) to Preparation (getting readier to change) to Action itself, and after that to Maintaining change. 

Smart Recovery meetings try to mobilize movement through all these changes.  You move from “that sure is a funny looking house but it can’t possibly be a pyramid, and I’ve never seen a horse with humps and a neck like that” to, you know, it’s possible I took a wrong turn back there, to “Whoa, this is Egypt!” to “You know, I need to get outta here,” to “feet, don’t fail me now!”

You know, just to put in a Passover story here, the Red Sea did not majestically part when Charlton Heston raised his magic wand.  The Red Sea began to part – and this is according to tradition – when one lowly scared slave timidly put one reluctant toe into the cold cold water.

And, last, the third aspect to self-renewal is to again make resolutions, to resolve to do what we now realize we must do.  I don’t need to say much about resolutions because we love to make resolutions.  The problem is that we usually skip the first two steps about confession and restitution and we launch willy-nilly into the making of resolutions, which is why we so seldom keep them.  But if we went around confessing and penitent all the time and never get around to making resolutions, we’d really be wallowing in guilt, so resolutions are important.

And the only wisdom regarding resolutions is the wisdom of the story from Rabbi Hayyim of Zans:  be reasonable and stop talking about them and start doing something, or else you’re apt to fall even lower than you were at the outset.

And, finally, remember the shofar.  Yes the tradition says the shofar is to be blown on Rosh Hashonah and at various other times of the year.  Yes the tradition says that the various notes are to be played in a particular order and in a particular way.  It’s nice to know this but it doesn’t make a lot of difference in our lives: most of us will never be shofar blowers.  What is important is that the tradition says one more thing: We are to listen for the shofar’s call.  Its sound means wake up, begin anew, hope abides.  Being hopeful isn’t going to fall into our laps; we’ll have to work at it; we must strain to hear its beckonings from afar.

I began by saying there’s a lot of absurdity going around. The Arabic root of the word absurd means, “one who does not listen.”  When you begin to wonder if things are beginning to look a lot like Egypt, when you are in need of refreshment, when you are fearful there are no new beginnings, listen…hear the far off sound…hear the far off sound…and wake up!  



Closing Words:

Wendell Berry’s poem, “A Purification”:

At start of spring I open a trench

in the ground. I put into it

the winter's accumulation of paper,

pages I do not want to read

again, useless words, fragments,

errors. And I put into it

the contents of the outhouse:

light of the sun, growth of the ground,

finished with one of their journeys.

To the sky, to the wind, then,

and to the faithful trees, I confess

my sins: that I have not been happy

enough, considering my good luck,

have listened to too much noise,

have been inattentive to wonders,

have lusted after praise.

And then upon the gathered refuse

of mind and body, I close the trench,

folding shut again the dark,

the deathless earth. Beneath that seal

the old escapes into the new.