What Are You Doing Here?

A sermon delivered at the Unitarian Universalist Congregation (Blacksburg, VA), September 24, 2006, by the Reverend Christine Brownlie.

Years ago, when I lived in New York City, I attended the Friends Meeting in Flushing. Getting there was a bit of a project, but I was happy to make the long trip each week even though this was not the ideal congregation for me. I was the only young single adult in that small congregation, and I stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. There were a few elders, some middle-aged singles, and nine to ten families with young children. Most of them these folks lived nearby and saw each other during the week. My commute required about 45 minutes, and Sunday was the only time I encountered anyone from the meeting.

Everyone was kind and welcoming to me, but it soon became clear that my presence was the cause of some concern. I didn’t fit in with the demographics of the congregation, and they weren’t sure what to do with me. Finally, one of the older men got up the courage to ask me the question that apparently was on everyone’s mind. Although he phrased it more elegantly, his words boiled down to “What are you doing here?”

I remember being somewhat taken aback. I wondered why he was asking me this question. Why did I have to explain to him or to anyone else why I was there? Why couldn’t I just be there and let my presence be good enough? Was there something I was missing? Was there some unspoken expectation of which I was not aware? Was there something about me that made people uncomfortable?

I recall saying something vague and low key about needing the peace and quiet of that hour to get in touch with my own thoughts and feelings after a busy week filled with people and too much to do. My questioner smiled and agreed that an hour of silence was ideal for hearing that “still small voice,” that most people ignored all week.

On the long subway ride home, I thought about the metaphor of the “still small voice” and the bloody Bible story that this image comes from. ¹ Elijah, the great priest and prophet of Israel, had killed the prophets of the false god Ba’al after proving to the mob that Yahweh, the god of Israel, was the true and most powerful god. Queen Jezebel, a worshiper of Ba’al and one of the bad girls of the scriptures, had sent a death threat to Elijah and he’d taken refuge in a cave on Mount Horab, the “Mount of God.”

Anytime someone is on a holy mountain in the wilderness, you can expect that they will have an encounter with the divine — or maybe an angel, or maybe the Almighty. Elijah was visited by an angel who fed him for 40 days, and then he heard the voice of God saying, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”

I was taught that when God asks a mortal being a question it’s not because God doesn’t know the answer. God, after all, knows everything — at least that’s what my Sunday school teachers said. The reason God asks questions is that the person in the story needs to think about the question and reflect on the answer. I decided that while the gentleman from the Friend’s Meeting was definitely not an incarnation of the divine, I would benefit from taking his question as an opportunity to reflect on my own involvement with that community.

What am I doing here? It strikes me that there are two ways to interpret this question. What is my purpose or intention as someone who attends services? What am I looking for in terms of my own needs and desires? Turning the question just a bit, there’s another angle. What was I doing or contributing to the larger group?

These are important questions for anyone who belongs to any group that expects us to give of our time and energy. In this hectic and driven world, time is a very precious resource and we want to ensure that we are making the most of whatever discretionary time we have. It’s easy to get lulled into a routine of meetings and activities. Asking ourselves, “What am I doing here?” can be a valuable exercise. This morning I’d ask you to ask this question of yourself. What are YOU doing here?

There are many reasons that might lead you to attend services here. Maybe you started showing up on a regular basis because you were looking for people who shared your hopes, your values, and your sense of what is important in life. Or your children are at the age when they are asking questions about life and religion, and, as the resident theologian, you’d like some help. Perhaps you want your children to know that there are other adults who share your values of tolerance, open-mindedness and a concern for the earth and all that is a part of this great web of existence.

Some of us have been faithful churchgoers most of our lives. But the church we grew up with doesn’t fit us anymore, and we found something here that made us feel at home. Or we’ve never attended any type of religious services, but we want to pursue our own spiritual path and we’ve just heard about this different place where you can think and question and come up with different answers for life’s challenges. We got up our courage, we came to check it out, and we stayed because the people and the sense of community filled an empty place in our hearts. We’d found a unique and safe accepting place where we can be who we really are with all our lumps and bumps and individuality. Some of us have been UUs all our lives, and we can’t imagine being anyplace else on a Sunday morning.

The need to connect to other people — to feel accepted, heard, and valued for who we are — brings many of us through the door week after week. For others, the reason we’re here is the chance to share our thoughts and opinions about a wide variety of ideas and issues. We value the intellectual stimulation that we find here through the sermons and discussions. We’re not satisfied with easy answers or ancient formulas. We want to be engaged, and we want to struggle with the hard issues and complexities of our times. We are after the truth — or at least the bits and pieces that we can know as human beings — and that sacred quest keeps us coming back.

Some of us are seeking a different kind of truth, one that can’t be proven through scientific method or debates. We feel dissatisfied with the ordinary daily routines of life. The pursuit of material things; a sense of success that comes from the approval and recognition of other people, doesn’t make our hearts sing anymore — maybe it never did. We’re restless, uncertain, and maybe even lonely in a strange way that haunts us. We yearn for something we might define as wholeness or a connection to the transcendent in human experience. We may not believe in absolute truth, but we do hold out hope that there is something that lasts, something that leads us to a deeper understanding of our purpose. We yearn for a perspective that leads us to a wider picture of human life than we see on the wide-screen TV in the living room when we watch the evening news.

Some of us understand that the work of religion is transformation: transformation for the individual and of society. We see our life as “a chance to grow a soul,” a phrase that comes from Unitarian minister A. Powell Davies. And what does this lovely phrase mean? To me, this phrase describes the capacity to respond to the beauty and mystery that runs through all of life like a sacred thread: binding it together into a unity that evokes love and reverence for all that is.

Some of us show up on Sunday because we need the sense of beloved community. We relish the opportunity for creative interchange and a synchronicity of ideas that feeds us and keeps us on a path that seems to carry us to something larger and more lasting that our brief individual lives.

Some of us have chosen this congregation as our spiritual home because it calls us to offer our gifts and talents to others in ways that we don’t find in our home or work life. Teachers can sing, accountants can play with three year olds, bus drivers can teach middle school kids about Buddhism. We can explore our own capacity for leadership, we can learn new skills while making new friends. We can give something back to the community that has given so much to us, and that makes us feel good.

Feeling good about ourselves and our abilities while creating strong and healthy relationships with other people who love and accept us, wrestling with the meaning of our experiences and with the mysteries of life: all of these are good reasons for being here. Here we find people and opportunities that enrich our lives and bring us joy. That’s not all that we might find here. I hope that as we enjoy and celebrate this congregation, we recognize that we belong to a religious tradition — or perhaps I should say two traditions — that offer a unique set of answers to the human heart that yearns to live a life of meaning and purpose.

Unitarian Universalism calls us to an attitude of hope, no matter how difficult things become, because it tells us that life is grounded in goodness and love, not fear or a belief that only certain people are worthy of acceptance and respect. It calls us to act with courage, transforming our selves and the world through actions grounded in our deep love for freedom of spirit, heart and mind, and justice. This faith that we share, asks us to live not only for the fulfillment of our own desires and dreams, but for the shared hopes and visions of all who are searching for a path that will lead us away from those painful ideas and beliefs that separate us, up to a mountaintop that offers a wider view — a view of people living in peace and understanding.

Elijah scaled mount Horab because he was looking for a safe place to hide. Instead, he encountered the Divine — something that asked him to consider what he was doing. His answer was that his actions were guided by his love for his God, and that he wanted all people to know the truth of this God. After proclaiming his commitment to his God, to what he believed was the ultimate source and truth of life, the mountain was shaken by a strong wind, an earthquake, and a fire. But God, the ultimate source and truth of life, was not in any of these things. And after all of these things had passed, there was a still small voice—and it was this still small voice that spoke hope to Elijah, that told him he was not alone, that his life still held hope.

I’d ask you to set aside some time in the next few days, away from the demands and outside forces that shake your live. Listen to that still small voice that asks, “What are you doing here?” and consider your answer. What does your association with UUC mean in your life? In the life of your children? In your relationships with friends and family? How do the ideals of this faith bring you to new awareness and a vision for the future? Each of us comes to this beloved community with a unique set of needs and gifts. As we look for those people and connections that will help us meet our needs, we discover that often our needs are addressed when we share our gifts and resources with this congregation and the wider UU community.

As you reflect on all that you receive here, I’d ask you to consider what it is that you offer in return. What are you doing here, dear sisters and brothers? For whatever you do, you can be sure that it will matter as we face the future, ready to welcome other open minds other loving hearts other growing seeking souls into this circle of growing faith.

May it be so.

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