UUS:E was honored and blessed to welcome Bishop John Selders, minister of Amistad United Church of Christ in Hartford and Bishop Presider of the Interdenominational Conference of Liberation Congregations and Ministries into its pulpit on December 4th, 2011. Bishop preached this sermon, “Life Living Lessons,” in honor or World AIDS Day:

Bishop Selders Life Living Lessons

The Rev. Jeanne Lloyd, Minister

November 13, 2011

“Perfecktion Not Required”

It is likely that many of you do not know the story of my journey toward being ordained by UUSE in 2006.  It certainly would never have happened if I hadn’t met my husband and his family, who are life-long Unitarian Universalists.  It would never have happened if I hadn’t learned how to control this concept of perfectionism in my life.

I was raised in the Army.  With that experience comes certain expectations, not the least of which is to “do your best” and “never let the team (or unit) down.”  These are concepts deeply rooted in a survival instinct that is so necessary when people’s lives are threatened.  But, it also became part of my mantra when moving from school to school, usually at least once a year.  “Do your best” and “never let people down.”  Very often people, who have a strong desire to do things “just right” are drawing on a deeply internalized survival instinct, it is something they learned at an early age, that made it possible for life to go just a bit easier, if they did things the “right” way, and didn’t let others (perhaps parents, friends or teachers) down.

As I grew up, I was a pretty good student, though certainly gaps in my education occurred as I moved from one school to another.  And, I wasn’t so perfect, as I certainly gave my parents fits, as I moved into my teenage rebellion stage.  I also got married the first time at the age of 19, looking for love and my identity in all the wrong places.

My undergraduate college years at Virginia Tech were focused on experimental psychology, and I have a few research papers published from those days.  Those were the days of B.F. Skinner, Operant Conditioning and Cognitive Dissonance.  Does anyone remember those topics?  Those were the days of doing various experiments with white rats and human subjects.  The rats were in cages, the humans were not.  One of the lessons I learned back then was about “learned helplessness.”  I want you to imagine for a moment the elements of a very famous experiment that sketched out this idea of “learned helplessness”.  Imagine a dog in a cage, divided by a small wall.  Initially, the dog receives a treat if he performs correctly on one side of the cage.  But, if he goes to the other side of the cage, he is given a mild electric shock.   Thus, he learns to stay on one side of the cage.  However, taking it to the next level, the experimenters begin to shock the dog on both sides of the cage.  So that, no matter where he jumps, he cannot find safety.  In time, what happens is that the dog becomes paralyzed with fear.  He can neither go one direction nor the other.  He can do nothing “right.”   Trust me, if he could have figured out the “right” thing to do, he would of, and from there he would have developed a strong survival instinct to always do the right thing, to always be “perfect.”

I’m not particularly happy to remember this experiment and its cruelty to animals.  But, it is food for thought as we think about what might drive perfectionism.

My life was not so dramatic, but none the less there was that strong survival instinct to do what appeared to be ‘right.’  But, in whose judgment?  As a child, we rarely have the innate moral capacity to figure out what is “right.”  Instead, we are told what is right by adults, teachers, siblings, our peers, the media, religious leaders, and others.  We are told by a whole constellation of many people what they each believe is the “right” way that we should be.  And, most often, each person believes that their perspective is the right one, above all others, the ultimate toward which each of us should strive. All this direction is difficult for people who are still finding themselves, to resist.  And, yet, so many different opinions of the right way to be can overwhelm the individual’s own sense of self, and create in them the desire to be perfect to all people.

After completing my Master’s in Clinical Psychology, I ended up teaching psychometrics, research methods, abnormal and child psychology at the University of Maine in Bangor.  Graduate training had helped me understand that there are a variety of ways to look at a human being, and by and large, each of these evaluation methods has its limitations in terms of statistical reliability and validity.  Ironically, in later years, when I was pursuing my Master’s in Divinity, one of the requirements of that process was to take a variety of psychological tests including intelligence and personality tests such as the MMPI and Myers-Briggs, in an effort to hone in on whether I was “right enough,” “good enough,” “smart enough,” “sane enough” to be a Unitarian Universalist minister to our congregations.  Even though I had some skepticism about whether there could in fact be a “right” way to behave, these various experiences did nothing to calm the notion that one must always do their best and never let anyone down.  It proved to be a hard and ultimately Self-defeating path to walk.

And, then, there was a moment of epiphany, as there would be others on my path in life.  My development as a minister was somewhat different from others when it came to my internship.  Most ministers have their internship in one church for a year or two.  Mine was at the District level, working with all the congregations in the district.  Instead of preaching in one congregation all the time, I had to preach in several of our 66 congregations across the district.  Each different in their ways of being, their people, their histories, their structure, their degree of hospitality, the location of their pulpit, the music, and so forth.  The experience mirrored very well my childhood, moving to different places.  (And, I always prided myself on landing on my feet and thriving on chaos.  But, then that’s a different coping mechanism, we’ll not talk about today. J )

In order to meet Harvard degree requirements, I needed each congregation to evaluate the Worship Service I delivered to them.  To do that, I would speak with the worship coordinator several weeks before my preaching date, send them the evaluation form ahead of time, and ask to meet with the Worship Service committee after the service for feedback.  Most times, this all went very well.  But, there was this one time where it didn’t and because it didn’t, because all was not perfect, it changed my whole perspective on life, and thereby the course of my life.  On a particular Sunday I was scheduled to preach, I saw the Worship coordinator only then just copying the evaluation forms at the copier as I was walking in the door.  I then saw her handing the forms to members of the Worship committee as they came in the door.  They were surprised.  They did not expect this assignment.  They came to the service that day to fill their heart or mind with something inspiring or something comforting.  Instead they were given homework to complete during the service.

Now, as I was preparing for the service, a member came forward to ask if I knew where the chalice was?  I did not.  They spent time looking for it.  The clock was ticking past when we should have started the service.  Members who were also musicians of that congregation, were scheduled to play the prelude . . . but they were late.  The clock was ticking.  Once they arrived, I took a breath, and proceeded with my part of the service.  I moved through it as best I could.  At the end, after it was all over, I was handed 5 sealed envelopes, with each person’s evaluation in it.  There was no Worship Committee feedback meeting planned.  No opportunity for dialogue.  No opportunity to learn and reflect with them.  Later, I opened the envelopes  . . .   At first I was confused by their responses.  The comments ranged from such accolades as, “you’ve changed my life,” to “boring” to “anger” because I had started the service late.  I was speechless.  There was no consistency between these comments.  I couldn’t find a common theme.  And, then it hit me.

Remembering the basics of how experiments are conducted, I realized that I was the one constant in the sermons they heard that morning.  I was one person.  I had not presented 5 different services that day.  Instead, each person who evaluated me had come to the service with different expectations, different pressures, different baggage, different personalities.  Each person, was by themselves, their own independent variable effecting their own perception of what they had gotten out of the service.  And, in that moment, I realized I had no control over what people bring to a service.  I could not know what they all wanted.  And, the only thing I could do, was to speak my own truth, from my own heart and mind.  They might disagree with whether my truth resonated for them, but if I spoke my truth, they could not deny that it was my truth.  It is from the idea of speaking one’s own truth with love that the concept of “freedom of the pulpit” comes.

And, that’s what I try to do each Sunday, when I share my thoughts and perspectives with my congregation.  I try to share, as authentically as I can, what I believe to be true for me, based on my own experiences and learnings.  It may not be true for you, your perceptions are different.  But, it is true for me.

Ministers, Presidents, Heroes, Leaders, and even Moms and Dads and children are often judged by how they have failed to meet the expectations of others.  Do you sometimes feel the pulling and strain that goes on when trying to meet other’s expectations?  All these expectations coming from a variety of sources, cannot be met.  Many of you know this truth, but some do not.  It cannot be done.

There is a time and place to “do your best” and “to not let people down,” and there is a time and place to set those expectations aside and to take care of yourself.  Neither way of being is the right way of being all the time.  There are times when doing less than your best results in catastrophic consequences.  But, these occasions are rarely all the time.  When less than perfection is OK (as it often is), it is important that we let go of this survival instinct that has served us so well, and focus in on a different survival instinct, that is to take care of ourselves in ways that nurture the spirit and gives it resilience.

Perfection is not required.  Perfection is fragile and unforgiving.  Let’s face it.  We all have baggage.  It may be heavy or light.  But we all travel with it.  What is needed is transparency so that we can be our most authentic selves to one another, just as we are.

So, when you saw the title for this sermon, how many of you wanted more than a little to correct the spelling or the grammar?  “Perfecktion Not Required.”  It’s natural.  Most of us sort for the negative.  We sort for what is different from our expectation.  When we see something that is different from our own expectation, we want to correct it.  We want to make it right.  And, in the process, if that something is a person, we may give the message that there is only one “right” way to be.

Too late, we learn that when a survival instinct to please everyone all the time takes over our whole lives, then that instinct is living our lives for us; and we have lost the very control over our own lives that we sought.  There are times when it is important to do our best, and help one another.  And, there are times that it is important to let go of that expectation.

What is unique about this faith tradition is that it doesn’t tell us what to believe, and when we are wrong or right.  What it tells us to do is: to work together, to try to keep our promises to one another, to work toward our highest aspirations, to create space for people to be themselves, so long as they do not cause harm to themselves or others.  It is a very delicate balance, but one which allows each person to find their own truth, and determine for themselves where and when it is important to live by their own expectations.

And, here is the delight of our faith, that in which I take the greatest comfort.  When I can speak my truth, respectfully, to you, and you can speak your truth respectfully, to me, I will learn from you.  You may learn from me.  And, by that process, we can be changed, often for the better by the other, or at least acknowledge the other’s right to their own true beliefs.  Isn’t this what “respect for the inherent worth and dignity of each other” truly means?    Isn’t this what each of us is called to do in good times and times of struggle?  To create space for people to grow themselves into the people they wish to be? To allow them to make mistakes, as they grow?  To invite them back into relationship after they’ve made those mistakes?  To listen so intently, so carefully, so compassionately, that we may learn from the other?  This is, what I believe it means to hold in high regard the inherent worth and dignity of another.  This is my truth that I share with you.  It is up to you to decide whether it is a truth that makes sense to you.

Either way, perfection is not required here.  Love, honesty, authenticity, self-reflection, compassion, acceptance, transparency, good deeds:  these things we strive for so that each of us may find our own truth.

So may it be.

The Rev. Josh Pawelek

Video at: The Place We Require of Humans

“Who will journey to the place we require of humans?”[1] asks the poet, Sonia Sanchez. This question from her poem “Aaaayeee Babo (Praise God),” has become scripture to me in recent months. I have read it and re-read it, reflecting on its implications for my life and longing to answer “I will. I will journey to the place we require of humans.” In the midst of this longing I also recognize in myself a struggle, a not knowing, a not being sure anymore what, exactly, the journey looks like, what the place is and what is required. But I do know in some instinctual, intuitive, spiritual, ‘beyond words’ way of knowing that I need this question in my life. So I commend it to you this morning: “Who will journey to the place we require of humans?”

Though I confess to not knowing, I am sure of one thing: we human beings, collectively, globally, are not in the right place now. Sonia Sanchez says it with her characteristic grace and edge: “This earth is hard symmetry / This earth of feverish war / This earth inflamed with hate / This patch of tongues corroding the earth’s air.”[2]

Reflecting on “Aaaayeee Babo (Praise God)” led me back to an essay by the Rev. Rebecca Parker, president of the Unitarian Universalist Starr King School for the Ministry in Berkeley, CA, entitled “After the Apocalypse.” In this essay, which she wrote in the 1990s, she critiques the popular religious notion of a coming apocalypse—a divinely wrought moment of great violence and destruction after which a new heaven and a new earth will emerge out of the ruins of the old.[3] She says humanity needs to let go of this myth in all its forms. She suspects—and I agree—that this kind of spiritual looking forward (even in its liberal form) prevents us from engaging in an honest spiritual looking backward, an honest, collective accounting of where we’ve been. This kind of spiritual looking forward—and these are my words more than hers—prevents us from beginning a deeply-felt, collective process of atonement for and healing of the deep wounds of the past—an atonement and healing that must take place if humanity is to have a future worthy of our looking forward.

Countering specifically those who look forward to a final, violent apocalypse, Parker says, essentially, Come on! Haven’t we had enough already? She says, “We are living in a post-slavery, post-Holocaust, post-Vietnam, Post-Hiroshima world.” Were she to write this essay today, I assume she would add “Post-9/11” and “War on Terror” world. For so many people on this planet, hasn’t the apocalypse already come? She says, “We are living in the aftermath of collective violence that has been severe, massive and traumatic. The scars from slavery, genocide, and meaningless war mark our bodies.” For so many communities on this planet, hasn’t the apocalypse already come? She says, “We are living in the midst of rain forest burning, the rapid death of species, the growing pollution of the air and water, and new mutations of racism and violence”[4] For so many of the earth’s creatures, hasn’t the apocalypse already come? She says, “We must relinquish our innocence and see the world as it is…. We must notice the breakdown, sorrow, and legacies of injustice that characterize our current world order. From this place of honesty, we must discover how we can live among the ruins.”[5]

From this place of honesty. Perhaps that is the place we require of humans. Perhaps that is where we must journey.

I feel compelled to remind us that tomorrow most of the fifty United States observe Columbus Day in honor of the explorer Christopher Columbus’ arrival in the Americas on October 12, 1492. I have mixed emotions about this observance. One can certainly argue that what Columbus achieved was remarkable, and that his arrival on the island he called San Salvador, but which was known to its inhabitants as Guanahani, opened the doors to an era of European exploration and colonization led eventually to the creation of a truly great nation, the United States of America, a beacon of freedom to the world, a bulwark of democracy, equality and human rights. And one can also argue that this great nation was founded on the near genocide of its indigenous people, founded on a centuries-long struggle to wrest the land from the first nations, founded and made strong on the bloody backs of African slaves, founded through the stealing of land, forced migration, the creation of reservation, the exploitation of workers of all races, and an assault on indigenous cultures such that even today their survival, in many cases, remains quite tenuous.  Both arguments can be true—a great nation; a profoundly tragic history.

This history is what Rebecca Parker is asking all of us—Unitarian Universalists, Americans, human beings—to face honestly. This is, I believe, what Sonia Sanchez means by “This earth of feverish war / this earth inflamed with hate.”

Our theological theme for October is atonement. Last Sunday I spoke about atonement in very personal terms, as an individual process in which I first recognize that I’ve missed my mark, that I’ve let others down and, most significantly, that I’ve hurt someone. Second, I seek out the one I’ve hurt and pronounce some version of the words, “I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?” I spoke of the blessings a spiritual practice of atonement yields in our lives, the invitation it extends to us to repair broken relationships, to restore trust, to return to our best selves, to forgive and be forgiven, to know and be known, to love and be loved. I spoke of atonement as an essential practice in managing the conflicts that seem to arise, as if they are inevitable, in human communities. This morning I’m wondering what it would mean for human beings to atone for this earth of feverish war, for this earth inflamed with hate. I’m wondering what it would mean for human beings to really finally atone for slavery and genocide and meaningless war. I’m wondering how that might happen, what that might look like, how one might organize it. I’m wondering how it might change us. I’m coming to believe such atonement is the place we require of humans.

I want to disclose my fear to you. That is, I want to tell you about a feeling of fear I’ve been experiencing in recent months. I think it will help you grasp why I would make the claim that the place we require of humans is a place of atonement. Suffice it to say, I’ve been assigned to write a paper for my clergy study group, the Greenfield Group, to present at its convocation in November. For this convocation we are speculating about the church of the future. What does it look like? What challenges does it face? What ministries does it carry out? One of the books we are reading is former head of Greenpeace International, Paul Gilding’s The Great Disruption: Why the Climate Crisis Will Bring on the End of Shopping and the Birth of a New World. Gilding is convinced that we (meaning we the inhabitants of earth) have “physically entered a period of great change, a synchronized, related crash of the economy and the ecosystem, with food shortages, climate catastrophes, massive economic change, and global geopolitical instability.” [6] What does the church of the future look like is like of a synchronized, related crash of the economy and the ecosystem?

Most of us have heard such dire scenarios foretold before. Some of us take them seriously. Some of us can’t imagine they could possibly come to pass. I’m often in the latter camp, but Gilding has gotten under my skin. I know there are many who will hear or read this and say, “there’s no cause for fear. This is overstated. It’s overly dramatic, left-wing environmentalist manipulation. It’s anti-corporation, anti-jobs, etc.” On the far political and religious right there will be those who say, “There is no climate crisis, no related economic crisis; it’s all a hoax; don’t listen to Gilding; burn that book.”

I read the book. I find him more convincing than anyone else I’ve read on the subject. Gilding is not drawing from biased sources which, admittedly, some environmentalists do. He cites decades of studies from a wide range of sources that warn about the coming of this great disruption. He cites the Pentagon’s 2010 Quadrennial Defense Review that discusses how climate change will act as “an accelerant of instability or conflict, placing a burden to respond on civilian institutions and militaries around the world.”[7] He cites a letter from 33 retired generals and admirals to the Senate majority and minority leaders in April, 2010, stating that “climate change is threatening American security … it exacerbates existing problems by decreasing stability, increasing conflict, and incubating the socioeconomic conditions that foster terrorist recruitment.”[8] This is hardly biased, left-wing fear-mongering.

Gilding also talks about the limits of his previous tactics of direct confrontation with corporations and his recent work in the corporate world trying to build sustainable companies producing sustainable goods, and consulting to multi-national corporations on how to become more responsible global citizens. He appreciates the way profit motives are in constant dialogue with moral and ethical considerations in many corporate boardrooms. He recognizes how so many corporate leaders, in the end, are decent people who want to do the right thing, yet must navigate complex financial and legal structures in order to change corporate cultures.[9] Many of you will disagree with Gilding here and argue that we have to maintain immense pressure on corporations to cease practices that destroy the environment. That’s true. My point is that an honest reading of this book doesn’t lead one to appraise it as a biased, left-wing rant. It is not, which for me, makes his conclusions all the more convincing: we (meaning we the inhabitants of earth) are facing immense loss, suffering and struggle in the coming decades, and there is nothing we can do to prevent it. The damage is already done. This is the source of my feeling of fear.

For the record, Gilding is quite hopeful about humanity’s capacity to adapt to the great disruption. In fact he’s so positive that his tone throughout the book is, well, sunny, and often feels at odds with the future he foresees.

What seems very clear to me is that the reason we’re in this predicament is because we (meaning we the inhabitants of earth) have allowed “This earth of feverish war / This earth inflamed with hate / This patch of tongues corroding the earth’s air.” We’ve allowed it. No single person, no single group of people, no single race, culture or nation it to blame. Many have tried to warn us, but in the end, we (meaning we the inhabitants of earth) have allowed it. It has all happened on our watch. It strikes me that some form of atonement is necessary.

What would that look like? I’m not looking for a global high holy day like Yom Kippur. I’m not looking for some global ritual that will atone for all the atrocities of modern human history. I’m not sure that’s possible. But I am looking for what is within our sphere of influence—our power—here in this congregation. I am fearful of what may be coming, but I also feel very strongly we can be the kind of people who speak honestly about our history and about how it has led us to where we are now. Speaking with such honesty is a form of atonement.

I feel very strongly that we can be the kind of people who feel and express deep remorse for the violence human beings have visited upon each other and upon the earth—not only in the founding and fashioning of this nation, but throughout the world—which has led us to where we are now. Feeling and expressing such remorse is a form of atonement.

I feel very strongly that we can be the kind of people who lament and critique racism, sexism, homophobia, heterosexism and environmental injustice—and work to end them. Such work is a form of atonement.

Yes! We can be the kind of people who lament and critique and work for an end to economic injustice, an end to this vast divide between the wealthy and the poor across the globe. Such work is a form of atonement.

We cannot atone for all the violence and oppression of the modern age—we don’t have that kind of power—but we do have power. We can be the kind of people who use our lives to proclaim “It is time for a new way of being on this earth.” Such proclaiming is a form of atonement.

We can be the kind of people who do everything in our power to build beloved community, among ourselves, and in the wider world. Such building is a form of atonement.

We can be the kind of people who, in the words of Howard Thurman, keep open the doors of our hearts, recognizing that love “is the very essence of the vitality of being,” recognizing the “great disclosure” that “love is stronger than hate and goes beyond death.”[10] Such recognition and such open-heartedness are a form of atonement. Bringing such love to bear in the world is a form of atonement.

We can be the kind of people who do everything in our power to heal this earth of feverish war, this earth inflamed with hate. Such healing is a form of atonement.

We have it within ourselves to be this kind of people. If we want to do what is within our power to help humanity and the earth meet the challenges that lay ahead, to adapt to the radical changes that lay on the horizon, then we must journey to the place required of humans. We must journey to that honest, remorseful, lamenting, critiquing, proclaiming, beloved community-building, open-hearted, healing, loving place. I’m still not entirely sure about what the journey looks like, but I want to go there. I want us to go there. May we go. May we be and may we become that kind of people.

Amen and Blessed be.

[1] Sanchez, Sonia “Aaaayeee Babo (Praise God)” Shake Loose My Skin(Boston: Beacon Press, 1999) p. 151.

[2] Sanchez, Sonia “Aaaayeee Babo (Praise God)” Shake Loose My Skin (Boston: Beacon Press, 1999) p. 151.

[3] Revelations 21:1.

[4] Parker, Rebecca, “After the Apocalypse,” Blessing the World: What Can Save Us Now (Boston: Skinner House Books, 2006) p. 20.

[5] Parker, Rebecca, “After the Apocalypse,” Blessing the World: What Can Save Us Now (Boston: Skinner House Books, 2006) p. 21.

[6] Gilding, Paul, The Great Disruption: Why Climate Crisis Will Bring On the End of Shopping and the Birth of a New World (New York: Bloomsbury Press, 2011) p. 5.

[7] Gilding, The Great Disruption, p. 109.

[8] Gilding, The Great Disruption, p. 109.

[9] Gilding, The Great Disruption, Chapter 2.

[10] Thurman, Howard, “Keep Open the Door of Thy Heart” in Fluker, Walter earl and Tumber, Catherine A Strange Freedom: The Best of Haward Thurman on Religious Experience and Public Life (Boston: Beacon Press, 1998) p. 301.