The Price of Being Right

A sermon delivered at the Unitarian Universalist Congregation (Blacksburg, VA), September 14, 2008, by the Reverend Christine Brownlie.

Meditation

May I be well. May I know peace.
May I know happiness and the root of happiness.
May I turn from suffering and the root of suffering.

May all those I love be well. May all those I love know peace.
May all those I love know happiness and the root of happiness.
May all those I love turn from suffering and the root of suffering.

May all those with whom I find myself in difficulty be well.
May all those with whom I find myself in difficulty know peace.
May all those with whom I find myself in difficulty know happiness and the root of happiness.
May all those with whom I find myself in difficulty turn from suffering and the root of suffering.

(Names of individual people can be used in this meditation.)

Sermon

Over the past few months, I found myself embroiled in an unhappy and painful tug of war between members of this congregation: each of them very dear to me. As I was trying to sort things out, it became clear to be that part of the difficulty was that all parties involved in this complex conflict believed that they were right in their perceptions and resulting actions. There has been a great deal of pain on all sides. I believe that this pain persists and has had an unfortunate impact on our beloved community

Through this experience, I became aware of the tragic danger inherent in the claim of “I’m right” and how the claim that “I’m right and you’re wrong” harms not only those involved, but actually hurts the whole community. I’ve watched people step back from an active role in our congregation because they were angry, disappointed, or frustrated over this situation. I’ve noticed that for some of us, it has become difficult to see one another as whole human beings, separate from the unresolved conflict that persists. I am still troubled by this unhappy outcome, and I struggle to find a path to healing.

My thinking has been deepened by an essay in the quarterly journal of the Unitarian Universalist Christian Association by Aaron McEmrys titled “Who Are My Brothers and Sisters? Jonah’s Dilemma.” This intriguing title led me to re-read the Book of Jonah, which is found in the Jewish scriptures — sometimes called the Old Testament.

As the story begins, we’re told that a prophet named Jonah has been instructed by the Lord to go at once to the city of Nineveh and to cry out against the wickedness of the people, because that wickedness has become an offence to God. For reasons that are not immediately explained, Jonah responds to this call by heading off in the opposite direction, as fast and as far as he can go. He books passage on a ship that he hopes will take him even farther from the presence of the Lord, and he confides about his troubles to the crew of the ship.

Soon there is a great storm on the sea that batters the little ship. The crew is terrified. Each man prays to his own god for mercy, and then they remember their passenger and his troubles with his god. They decided that he must be the cause of the storm, and they toss him into the sea where he will surely drown. But God has plans for this prophet. He sends a large fish to swallow the runaway. Jonah sits in the belly of the fish for three days and three nights. Weary of his plight, he offers a prayer of thanksgiving to his God. This leads God to command the fish to spit the errant prophet out on dry land. Once more God lays a charge on the prophet to go to Nineveh and proclaim a message of impending woe.

Jonah knows he can’t escape, but he can still serve his own purposes. Instead of going into the heart of the city to speak to the king, he walks a few miles into the outskirts and proclaims,

“Forty days more and Nineveh shall be overthrown!”

and walks back out. Jonah probably expected that his message would be ignored and that the people of Nineveh, whom he despised, would surely feel the wrath of God.

But it didn’t work out that way. The people who heard the message took it to heart, and the alarm was raised throughout the land. When the king heard this dire news, he tore his clothes and put on sackcloth and ashes and commanded that all the people should do the same. Even the beasts were to wear sackcloth and ashes. Everyone fasted and wailed and repented of their wicked ways. This satisfied the Lord who promptly put aside his plans for destruction and mayhem.

God’s compassion and mercy for the people of Nineveh made Jonah furious. Filled with self-righteous anger, he asks God to take his life. Instead, God affirms that he will love whom he will love and show mercy according to the leanings of his heart. As the story ends we leave the prophet in the desert, angry enough to die. He is never mentioned in scripture again.

I understand Jonah’s pain. I really do, because I’ve been there, filled to the brim with righteous rage. When my husband and I ended our marriage, I saw myself as the good spouse; the one who played by the rules and who had bent over backwards to be forgiving and openhearted. As we moved through the misery of divorce, I wanted my friends and family to see him as the bad guy. I wanted everyone to hate him as much as I did, to turn their backs on him forever. I’m sure I’m not the only person in the room who has had such feelings!

Over time, my anger cooled and I took on the work of forgiving my husband. I sincerely wished him happiness in his new marriage. I thought I’d made real progress, but I had not. Once more I came face-to-face with my self-righteous anger, and I paid a great price.

My younger son was getting married, and of course my family and my former husband and his wife attended the wedding. It was the first time in many years that we’d all been together, and my family greeted my ex and his wife warmly with smiles and good wishes. They seemed so glad to see him, and he appeared equally happy to see them

I felt hot rage boil up within me. What I really wanted in that moment was for everyone in my family to treat my ex and his wife coldly — to snub them. I wanted them to be treated as outsiders, barely tolerated — and don’t get any ideas about exchanging Christmas cards! The truth was that I was still holding on my self-righteous attitude that wanted him OUT OUT OUT of the family circle and the covenant that guided the relationships within our circle. Caught in a painful past, I had a very difficult time just being in the same room with him. It didn’t help that during dinner he was gracious and kind, asking about my congregation, and he seemed happy to be among us all. I, on the other hand, was in great pain and distress. I worried that my feelings would be obvious to everyone else and take away some of the joy of the occasion, which was the last thing I wanted to do. Days later I was still struggling with the intensity of my feelings, and I was very disappointed in myself.

Truth be told, I don’t want to renew a relationship with my former husband, and I’m certain that he feels the same way. But I know that I will have to find some way to get beyond my self-righteous anger. My older son is planning a wedding for next spring, and I don’t want to pay the price of missing that event because I’m too filled with rage.

The covenant between my former husband and myself is long dead. I’m under no obligation to him, but I believe that I do have an obligation to myself, my son and his fiancé, and to my family to do all that I can to bring a happy and compassionate attitude to this wedding. Our family covenant requires this of me.

So what can I do?

Some counseling is a good idea. Also, as part of my meditation practice, I can also focus on my self-righteousness. I can include my former husband and his wife in my ritual of holding people in a light of compassion and wishing them well. I can imagine a new encounter with him, and watch mindfully as thoughts and emotions bubble up. I can engage in the practice of touching these feelings, even though they may be hot and painful, naming them, and letting them go by. I can also journal about my feelings, giving myself a way to express my feelings fully without the risk of hurting anyone. As I take on my feelings and work towards releasing my former husband as the cause of these feelings, I can begin to heal and be fully present at my son’s wedding. Our covenant asks no less of me.

My life is filled with other covenanted relationships through my connection with this congregation. The idea of covenant is at the very heart of our way of the spirit, our ethics of relationship, and our dream of creating a beloved community. We feel so strongly about this concept of covenant that three years ago — before I left for a six month sabbatical — we created and voted to accept on an explicit set of ideals to help guide our shared life.¹

These guidelines speak to a number of situations and issues. My focus today is on our personal relationships as we work, worship, and share a common life together as a beloved community. When you hear these words, what are the images that come to your mind? My guess is that most of us envision a group of happy people who are loving, sincere, kind, and compassionate. All are welcome in the beloved community. Everyone is honored as a person of inherent worth and dignity. We recognize and honor our connections to one another and to all the people of the earth and live in accordance with that knowledge. What a wonderful ideal! Or is it really?

To be honest, the more I think about this ideal, the less I like it. To my mind, this overly sweet vision doesn’t seem to value authenticity or speaking the truth when the truth might hurt. It doesn’t provide a way to work through and, yes, even value the inevitable conflicts, hurt feelings, and struggles that are an expected and necessary part of a shared life that is honest and respectful. In this nicey-nice world, conflicts may remain unresolved and fester because we are not required to address hard issues between ourselves and others. And these unresolved conflicts will surely affect the whole community in negative ways.

My own vision of the beloved community is not based on false sweetness or turning away from difficulties in order to preserve an appearance. It is demanding and difficult, and I find that I struggle and flounder as I try to live this ideal. But I keep going with patience and hope, and I believe that I’m getting a little closer to my vision — after nearly ten years of ministry.

I’ve found a very useful source of courage in a book written by the Rev. Tom Owen-Tolle titled Growing the Beloved Community. Tom assures us that conflict and pain are a natural and healthy part of this shared life. He says that healthy conflict that is guided by an ethic of respect helps us to understand one another — and ourselves. It allows for creativity as we come to compromise based on deeper understanding. He reminds us to look at one another again and again with new eyes, allowing each other to change and grow and not get stuck in the past, as I did with my former husband.

Tom asks a lot of those who would create the beloved community. It takes real courage to bring up an issue with someone, especially if we feel deeply wronged or if we don’t know the other person very well. You should all know that we have two groups of people who are available to help you. The first is our Committee on Ministries (Molly Lazar, Nancy Bodenhorn, Sharon Day, Steve Keighton, and George Lally), and the second is our Conflict Resolution Team (Mark Benson and Nancy Gardner). I am also available. If your issue is with me, I’d suggest that you and I get together for a conversation. If you would feel more comfortable if a personal friend or a member of one of the groups I mentioned earlier were present, that can be arranged. But I would urge you to push yourself to find allies and do this work, so that you can be free of painful feelings toward someone that could develop into a self-righteous anger that will cost you and the other dearly.

I started ministry some 12 years ago with a very radical ideal that was planted firmly in my mind by Dr. Joey Jeeter, my professor of Homiletics (or preaching) at Brite Divinity School where I studied for the ministry. Dr. Jeeter told us that we were not required to like everyone in our congregation, but we were to do our very best to love each and every person.

This was a shocking statement.

It seemed impossible, but over the years I find that I’m beginning to understand what he meant. This love is not really personal, nor is it focused on individual traits. Tom Owen-Tolle says that this kind of love is expressed by the Hindu salutation namaste that honors each and every person as a fellow human being who is growing, struggling, and hurting just as we are. It is a love that reaches out in spite of clashes of personal style, or even difficult relations. It is a love that offers and asks for forgiveness. It is the antithesis of self-righteousness because it proclaims that every one can join the beloved community. There are no insiders and outsiders. We are bound together in covenant and caring, each and every one.

As I said earlier, I’m just beginning to understand what these radical ideals mean, but I intend to do my best to practice them daily. I intend to practice them not just here, but everywhere I go, because I believe that everyone should have the opportunity to experience at least a taste of the Beloved Community, which is something that self-righteousness and anger cannot even imagine.

May it be so!