Turning/Speaking

A sermon offered at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Lafayette, IN

By Rev. Hilary Landau Krivchenia

On November 3, 2002

Reading

What tiny fragments survive, mangled

into our language.

I am a woman committed to a politics of transliteration,

the methodology of a mind

stunned at the suddenly possible shifts of meaning –

for which like amnesiacs in a ward on fire,

we must  find words

or burn.

From Beginning with O

 By Olga Broumas

When I first saw O’Keefe’s portrait of the Bridge I fell in love -- unrequited since I had neither the good fortune or the sheer moxy to be a resident New Yorker.  In time, I read McCullough’s biography of the bridge, much like a starstruck teenager would read a fan magazine.  This week I ran into my old flame on PBS.

It was designed just after the Civil War.  The Roeblings wanted the bridge to stand for a new America.  To do more than link Manhattan with Brooklyn.  It was meant to lift people high above the river, nobly frame the passage from shore to shore, to be a crown on the brow of New York.  It was the high arching of the human spirit – renewed, capable of creating beauty, wielding wise power, of building a new world of integrity and peace -- suspended as the human spirit then seemed destined to be – in 1883, between heaven and earth.

Yet, for all the shining and vibrant dreams, for all the bridge did stand like the doors of a great cathedral with niches filled by the forms of humanity, for all it stretched toward the sky --awakened poets to rhyme, artists to paint, and voices to sing – for all that the bridge was a bridge as humanity was and is human. 

It’s easy to become confused.  Zen sayings are good for highlighting this -- one says “Mountains are mountains; waters are waters.  This does not mean mountains are mountains; it means mountains are mountains.”  Just so – the bridge is a bridge – not a bridge but a bridge.  I can dream about the bridge and on the bridge but if I want a better world I had better look at myself, at you – and at the distance between us. 

Our most real constructions – the creations that make heaven or hell, that make us isolated islands or havens of connectedness – our real constructions are our relationships – all that passes between the island of me and the island of you -- over the bridge of communication.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said: Language is a city to the building of which every human being brings a stone.  All of history that is built this way – we bring our lives, we connect with one another through language – a built a history, a culture, a world.  Stone by stone, word by word.  Good fences don’t make good neighbors – that wasn’t what the poet was saying – good bridges do.  It’s all in how we span the distance between us.  In every interaction and every connection or missed connection. 

In September, I talked about listening deeply, about bringing to one another our full attention.  Each person here is a treasure, a gift, a world deserving of our attention.  Think of how easy it is to be pulled into a television program!  But doesn’t each person here, each person warrant a much greater curiosity, a deeper attention than anything on the moving screen – we are real – present – un repeatable.

Nelle Morton said “we hear one another into speech” – the attention we bring one another lifts us from hazy silence into clearer life.  Hearing one another into speech we also speak ourselves into life – we emerge from indeterminate shadow and silence word by word. 

It is the quality of the words -- of the listening and the speaking -- that builds a powerful or weak bridge between us.  In a campaign season, I long for words of real quality.  This is a season of jockeying for power at any expense, a time of lost voices.  In this chilling season, as we posture and perhaps prepare for war, I feel a great hunger for words that count.

Just as Roebling was inspired by the words of the Unitarian minister – William Ellery Channing – so I wish we would recognize our celestial inheritance and reverence humanity – in ourselves and in one another.  To recognize the inherent worth and dignity of every person is to say that we are as great a miracle as the blowing clover.  Harry Emerson Fosdick said, Democracy is based upon the conviction that there are extraordinary possibilities in ordinary people.  To treat one another with reverence is to make room for extraordinary possibilities.

Let me make the scale clear – I’m not talking about monumental bridges, historic sermons, and extraordinary words – I am speaking of simple interchanges -- the conversations that compose our lives – one stone at a time.  We build that vision of the democratic world, the peaceful, the just world – the world of our principles one word at a time.

Unitarian Universalists revere words.  We believe in the power of speaking and of hearing them.  We hold precious the art of conversation and we value the words that we share.  At times, we may even reverence our words more than we do one another.  Words have power – they’re not magic – but they’re powerful.  In Ursula Le Guin’s story – A Wizard of Earthsea – a young man learns of the power of language – of words and names. To truly know the name of a thing, is to know its soul, to be able to call it and even to shape it.  This power is so great that his teacher puts a spell of binding on his tongue so that he can learn first before speaking.  

As we revere words and their power perhaps we could all use a Spell of Binding to keep silent our tongues until we’re ripe, mindful – ready to use our power of language wisely and constructively.  Words can become a tide that sweeps us under.  I know I need such a spell. 

Of course, it’s not words that kill people – but they have impact – they shape us inside as we speak them and they ripple out to shape the world.  Not just sticks and stones.

I was reminded of this a while back after a sermon in which I referred to the President of the United States – George W. Bush -- simply as Bush.  On one hand, I felt proud that I didn’t call him Shrub, on the other hand I was reminded by a caring friend that the office of the presidency – regardless of the occupant -- deserved respect.  And I knew that his plain humanity – no matter what our differences or my fear of him may be – his humanity deserved respect.  I wanted to criticize the President for his warlike attitude and yet my own words were negative and unmindful.  We make peace with every word we speak – as we make life or breed despair.

Slow as we are to learn language we’re even slower in learning how to speak it with care – to bring our full minds to the project of speech. 

In every word we make choices – and with every word we evoke power. Speech is a holy power.  In the Talmud it is said that the tongue has a power so great that it must be kept shielded behind two walls – the tongue and the teeth – to protect the world from its power.  The Koran advises that long with constant acts of charity and generosity, kindly words must be spoken – and that those who take part in the sacred Pilgrimage will be guided to goodly words.  First Corinthians warns us that if we speak in the tongues of angels yet without love our words are in vain.  The eightfold path of Buddhism carries the precept of Right Speech – Loving Speech. 

Buddhists always make things sound so easy – it’s only the idea which is easy – the practice that takes time and deep attentiveness. We muddle along well enough – getting our points across.  Why should we do such hard work?

I ask you to imagine a world in which we spoke in honesty, care, and reverence with one another.  With compassion.  Imagine a world in which more people understand and carefully use the power of words.  Now, we’re like gun owners without licenses or training.  Our words fire off – both on purpose -- sometimes very much on purpose -- and quite accidentally in government, between nations, in our homes, at our workplaces, and even in our church.  Too often words explode and we hardly understand why -- we just know that something blew apart and we are standing in smoke and sadness.  Edgar Allan Poe asked -- Is not every word an impulse on the air?  It’s a lovely image – but I want more than impulse guiding the words from me and around me. I want intention, integrity, compassion, honesty, and trust.  In every place that we can, we can change our world acknowledging the power of words.  Our world is so habit ridden that to step outside of habit and expectation and speak with love is to transform any exchange – there are hundreds of opportunities in every day.

So, instead, let us also acknowledge the power of our words – not The Word – but all words – and use them as the power that they are – with integrity and intention to build a finer world with them. To acknowledge the real power of words – is to become mindful of them and to lift them to conscious awareness.  To raise them like a bridge.  To find the right words or burn…

If words are a bridge we are the place where our words begin -- the anchorage.  Before words emerge they are in our hearts and minds – embedded in our feelings, reactions, and habits.  Did you ever just begin to talk – your words rising on a tide of feeling?  Words pouring out – and then later in reflection you recognize that that was not quite what you wanted to say.  Not quite. 

The way to anchor our communication is to first take the time to become aware.

So first you take a deep breath and listen to the other person – observe – pay attention—allow their words to enter your mind with freshness.  Sometimes more than one breath is needed to stop reacting and really begin listening. And we may be able to really listen yet we may become caught up in judging, agreeing, disagreeing, and thinking ahead.

You know the difference between waiting for someone to finish so you can have a turn speaking and really listening, observing them.  I recognize that these may be familiar ideas to many of you – but bear with me – I know that I need reminding – and I more than suspect that most of us do – it takes practice to become a mindful speaker.  Sometimes – okay – perhaps often one needs more than one deep breath – to stop reacting and be able to clearly hear.

So – the beginning is hearing without judging.  Here’s an example – We’re in the kitchen and you say “The smell of cilantro bothers me – it’s just not pleasing to my nose” – how do I hear that?  Can I hear that without thinking – “I love Cilantro! Why don’t you agree with me” or, if insecure – “Why don’t I agree with that?”

It’s worse if you carelessly say – “I hate cilantro” – evoking a rather strong word.  Perhaps I think “They are certainly is missing out on something – a really limited palate.  I have wider tastes.” How hard is it to hear and simply observe “Oh, you have intense feelings about cilantro.” And let that observation exist without judgment or evaluation.  To listen, understand, and even acknowledge is the next step. 

The way to firmly anchor words – not to be swept away on a tide of feeling and loose the precious moment for real connection – begin by really hearing and observing.  The next step before spanning the distance with speech is to observe and acknowledge what you yourself are feeling.  Another breath or many more will be helpful here – just to be fresh and able to be honest and clear with oneself.  Down one path I may be tempted to say “What a culinary bore!  I have offered you an adventure of herbaceous delights!”  Instead of being over powered by my feelings there is another path.  Down that one there is no need to over react – or even to react – only to hear and respond.  I could then say simply, “Oh, I like cilantro on my burritos.”  These are the anchor pins – set firmly and clearly in the mind – that begin to keep our outreaching words from swinging wildly in space.  Once these are in place it’s possible to contemplate creative responses – responses to your needs, responses to my own.  I want cilantro and you don’t.

            The key here is that this next step is like the suspension cable across the river – strong and flexible – responsive and responsible. The next step is to be responsible for my own feelings and needs.  It is the tower that lifts our cable high above the rough water.  This is tough.  It is so easy to try to shift the responsibility away “You make me feel like cilantro is bad”  “You are making our dinner more complicated. It’s never easy to eat with you.”  “You’re just like an oppressive parent – You’re too picky.” And on and on.  Any creative thought is jammed shut.

How much harder it seems to acknowledge my own feelings.  “I wish we loved the same things.  I got the cilantro as a treat for you – but it was really for me.  To be responsible for one’s own feelings is terribly hard and here we’re only talking about cilantro.

Still – not taking responsibility for your own stuff crowds the wires – prevents connection and leaves us stuck on opposite sides of the river. And worse.

As I fail to take responsibility you may also retreat – am I going to have an awkward lunch? Will I have to eat cilantro? Do I have to get blamed for everything? Didn’t she notice the flowers I brought?”  In taking responsibility I can feel strong enough to reach out again. 

I think, “my, I’m feeling defensive about cilantro – I just like it!”  I can go a step further thinking, “I want to feel good about what I like but I don’t have to make you feel bad to do that.”

This is where creativity becomes possible – at last I’m calm and say “I really like cilantro and I want some on my burrito – but I see that you really don’t want any.  I can set it on a small plate the side.”  The more I breathe and take time to be a true individual – free – interdependent, yet not chained to your reactions – the more I do this the more creativity becomes possible.  I realize that here we’re only talking about cilantro.  Every day we face tougher conversations, tougher differences, unwilling partners – maybe – and more sensitive issues. 

But – how often do you feel pressed to really acknowledge the person you are trying to connect with while honoring and being responsible for yourself?  Do you contemplate the impact of your words on others as often as you contemplate the impact of their words on you?  How often can you simply set aside your reaction, fears, even your need to be heard, need to win, how often do you set these things aside and hear another person – exercise compassion?

You may discover that they are right – or that it does not actually matter either way.  Or that you want both of you to walk away feeling positive – both of you to walk away feeling positive.  Or even that you want to help someone else instead of yourself?  I’m asking myself these questions.  I’m asking these questions of us all.

I’m only talking about cilantro -- but I’m aware of our lives – our hard work lives, family relationships, civic involvements, border disputes, and even here in our church. 

Here – in this place of covenant.

While we bring our own needs here we are not here simply to self serve – we are here also to serve one another.  How often do we get stuck, entrenched, defensive, critical when we could reach out to one another and find support, creativity, and answers to questions we really – despite our illusions – we really could not find alone.

With a commitment and a practice of mindful communication – some people call it non-violent communication – with such a practice we can reach out – renew one another – thank one another for hard work – find joy together – discover a middle ground, a new ground, a play ground – we can make discoveries we cannot make alone.  That is the beautiful bridge – simple – lovely, utilitarian – with twined suspension wires, a harp strung across turbulent waters, the wind singing in the weaving of lives and minds. 

That is what happens when complex distances are spanned – beauty is created.  When the work that went into the bridge is solid, it lasts lifetimes – as we hope that this place will.  Here we can begin but here certainly, we can create a world of mutual care, safety and healing.  This is a community of good will – truly – and good intentions – truly.  Yet we know we can pave the way to hell with those.

We live in trying times when it is easy to feel helpless, easy to blame the President – to pass our helpless time squabbling over the exact text of a mission statement for the peace group, over the immediate detail and turn away from the larger struggles, wounds and fears.  But we are not so helpless – neither in the world nor especially here in our own sphere.  In fact, to honor the spirit of Unitarian Universalism we have to engage in mindful speech – otherwise we may eternally find ourselves a small group when we could reshape then world with a democratic religion. We come together here with visions of a just world – a world where Reconstruction came to pass – where tyrants – tremble but we sing for the light.  We come here because although we know all of the brute history of humanity we still cherish the possibility of a future – of the ability of the bulk of humanity to grow in wisdom and peace.  Remember Harry Fosdick said, “Democracy is based upon the conviction that there are extraordinary possibilities in ordinary people.”  That is the root and branch of Unitarian Universalism – to take the human dimension always into account – to bear toward one another and ourselves respect and compassion.  It is easier to do this for the Palestinian terrorist than the person sitting next to us in church, perhaps – but that is the spiritual path we are on – we come here not to worship God so much as to invoke the sacred in ourselves and one another.

It should not take wire rope and concrete to span that short distance.  We span that distance with mindfulness and care.  We span that distance with practice and intention – we span that distance with our principles.  Our spell of binding is writ into our covenant.  From one to the other of us we build our amazing bridges – It does not take wire ropes and concrete – though there will be that in our future.  It takes a material both tougher and finer – a material we can mine if we but reach deeply and diligently enough into ourselves – love.