Sermon

INTRODUCTION: Tony Kushner, in his book, Angels in America, tells the story of a conversation that took place between a rabbi and a fellow passenger on a train headed to the Bronx in New York City.

The passenger says to the rabbi: “Rabbi, I’m afraid of the crimes I may commit.”

The rabbi answers: “Please, mister. I’m a sick old rabbi facing a long ride home to the Bronx. You want to confess? Better you should find a priest.”

The rabbi answers: “Worse luck for you. Catholics believe in forgiveness. Jews believe in guilt.”

I took that excerpt from a book edited by Ruth Andrew Ellenson, entitled, The Modern Jewish Girl’s Guide to Guilt, which I read parts of this past week. It’s a litany of bright, young and successful women struggling to come to terms with life in America as a Jew. According to the book, Jewish identity and Jewish guilt are especially problematic.

n One woman fantasized about marrying a Muslim so her parents would stop complaining about her being single and having no children.

n Another struggled to become a Jewish mother without becoming her Jewish mother.

n One completed her Ph.D. only to learn that her parents were still wondering when she would finally grow up and have kids.

n But most of all, there was the fear of punishment when things were going well…like the piano that might break loose from the freight airplane overhead with the loose baggage door, and the piano falls right on your too happy self. Instead of a god who would punish the sinful, it was guilt over being too happy, given all that Jews have to bear.

As you know, we’re in the midst of the High Holy Days of Judaism, which began with sunset last Monday, and continues on until sundown this coming Thursday, which is the day called Yom Kippur. This is the start of the Jewish New Year 5766, which is based on the cycles of the moon around the Earth, rather than that of the Earth around the Sun. Also remember that a day in the Jewish calendar starts with sunset, not sunrise. So sunset on Wednesday evening, to nightfall Thursday October 13 mark this year’s Yom Kippur.

The great myth that informs these days is rooted in the biblical account of Moses and the children of Israel receiving the Torah at Mt. Sinai. It’s important to remember, that “myth” is not a pejorative or negative word; rather, it is a truth packaged in an ancient vehicle to communicate a timeless reality. And the great myth – the great truth, if you would – of Yom Kippur is this:

During the high holy days – that is, from the beginning of Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur – God has "books" that he writes our names in, writing down who will live and who will die, who will have a good life and who will have a bad life during the next year. God wrote in these books on Rosh Hashanah.

But there’s a caveat: Our actions during the High Holy Days can alter God's decision about us. Jews worldwide are given these Days, to repent of their sins and to ask God for forgiveness.

The actions they can engage in, that can quite possibly change what’s written in the book, are repentance, prayer, and good deeds (especially, charity). Then on the last day of the high holy days, Yom Kippur, the "books" are sealed.

In Judaism – in contrast somewhat to Christianity – there are two dimensions to forgiveness: one is the forgiveness that we seek from others; the second is the forgiveness we seek from God. Judaism makes the point that before we can seek forgiveness from God, we must first make amends and find forgiveness from our fellow human beings. That may mean actually going to them and asking forgiveness. Then, and only then, can we proceed with addressing our need of divine forgiveness.

So, imagine knowing that we had ten days to examine our conscience, and make things right. Would we know how to do it? What would we look for? That’s the issue of the High Holy Days, which observant Jews pose for their lives. And we bless them for it as we approach the most holy day of the Jewish calendar, Yom Kippur – the day of atonement – when we atone for the sins of the past year.

One of the things that we’re especially challenged by in studying other religions and cultures is how difficult it is to put ourselves in someone else’s place. As one of the young women in the book I mentioned earlier wrote, “When people say, ‘I know how you feel,’ trust me, they don’t.”

If there is anything that we are, it is that we are unique. We experience ups and downs differently. We respond differently. We act differently. That’s true as well with how we experience guilt.

Huston Smith in his latest book[2] suggests that guilt is built in to the human condition, for none of us lives up to our ideals completely. It’s not only that we fail in relationship to others, but we also fail to live up to our own ideals. Guilt reduces and represses creativity, as well as increasing self-condemnation.

Tova Mirvis writes of the experience of going through these days that, it’s “like looking at the stalk of a plant, a tiny organism under a magnifying glass. The most minute particles of life are enlarged, swelling in importance, to a size worthy of God’s attention.”

The act of introspection may serve as a cleansing and purifying process. One of the benefits of our ability to reflect on the past is that we can determine to change our life patterns, and to do differently in the future. Many of us are helped by significant experiences, whether religious or otherwise, that give us the extra push we need to become that different person.

Rather than being born as sinners needing to be saved, I like to think that we’re born with what’s called the imago dei, needing to recognize our divinity. Here’s what I mean:

I read recently that during the recent extreme rains in Los Angeles, seeds of plants that had been dormant for centuries were sprouting. They had somehow kept themselves alive for all that time.

I understand faith saying the same thing. The potential for us to be persons of love and kindness, courtesy and respect, is always present. There are all these creative seeds buried in us, no matter how distorted our lives might have become. The task is to create a space in which we can find our own inner strength…to change the conditions of our lives. We have this incredible capacity to transform ourselves, and the world. It’s the god within us.

Hector Artistizabel is a Columbian, now living in Los Angeles, who was brutally tortured in Columbia as a result of their version of the Patriot Act. His brother was snatched off the streets by the paramilitary and murdered. In a painful rage, Hector went looking for them, determined to wreak vengeance on the entire army, all by himself. Looking back he realized he was seeking to be killed as a way of dealing with the pain, to make the hurt stop. A friend stopped him before it was too late.

Since then, he’s devoted his life to working with those who have been tortured, or children forced into armies who have lost all touch with normal childhood feelings, or to gang members who’ve gotten lost in the morass of an American ghetto. One of the ways he works with them is to write a play out of the stories of their lives; then as it’s being acted out, he encourages them to stop and let the people whose stories are being told, change the script.

To me, it’s a variation on the ten high holy days. We change the book of our lives that was being inscribed. What it says to us is:

Think of life as a play that we have written. It has a real-life problem central to the play, which at first seems insoluble.

As the play is being performed, we step forward and say, “Wait: Let’s change this scene and do it this way.”

We don’t know how it will change the outcome. Maybe we won’t find a solution, but we begin to see that we don’t have to follow a predetermined script imposed on our lives by others.

That this can occur is a way of saying that life has other possibilities. If we can change the script, then we can change our lives.

Forgiveness is a way of talking about beginnings…new beginnings…the first day of the rest of our lives.

I received this e-mail from Linda Jacobs yesterday. The subject line was, “A favor.”

Hi Wayne – I met with my surgeon this morning, Valerie Dyke. She was very nice and I feel confident that she will do a good job. She needs one more test before she can operate. It’s something called a pet scan. I think the purpose is to see if the cancer has spread. I have a large cancerous mass in my right colon. The hope now is that it has not spread to other organs or my lymph nodes. I had a colonoscopy three years ago and everything was fine. There is no history of colon cancer in my family, so you can see why this is such a shock. I don’t have a date or place for the surgery yet. I know that I won’t be at Health Park, unfortunately. They took such good care of Bill and it’s such a pleasant environment, but I need to go where my doctor schedules my procedure.

I meet with my oncologist on Monday and Amanda is going with us to help us interpret what he is saying and ask the important questions.

Right now I am scared and I’m still having a difficult time accepting that this is the real thing. I know that a positive attitude is important and I’m doing my best. I will meet with Kandy Love on Wednesday and she is going to take me through some meditation and visualization. I need to be in a “good place” before all of this starts.

I have decided that I am not strong enough to face everyone on Sunday morning. I love them all so much. They are like the extended family that I never had. I sit there on Sunday mornings surrounded by brothers and sister, aunts and uncles and the best friends that I have ever had in my life. I have received so many calls, notes and emails from everyone. I don’t want them to think that I am ignoring them. I just think that I would probably turn into a big blob of jelly.

On Sunday, please tell everyone what the situation is and that I love them. As soon as I have a date and place for the surgery, I will let you know.

For those of you who are interested, Amanda will be available in Studio 2 after service, if you would like to process how we choose to be present for Linda.

Mother Teresa once said, “I know God will not give me anything I can’t handle. I just wish that He didn’t trust me so much.”

Sometimes things happen that simply take our breaths away. We’re left hanging on by our fingernails. In such times, it’s very important to sort out two very different responses. The first is this:

In fact, that is the ongoing task of human existence, from which none of us are exempt. It’s the essence of human hope. But that is much different than saying:

“Everything that happens is for the best, which it most assuredly is not.”

There are some things in life that shouldn’t happen. Yet, they occur. And we must go on.

It’s important that we understand the difference between sympathy and compassion. Sympathy gets in the bed and cries with us; compassion reaches out a hand and says, How can I help? It’s not easy to know which is which sometimes.

So how do we respond when bad things happen to good people? Hubert Humphrey said, “Oh, my friend, it’s not what they take away from us that counts. It’s what we do with what we have left.”

[1] Presented on October 09, 2005 at All Faiths Unitarian Congregation, meeting in the Foulds Theater of the Alliance for the Arts, 10091 McGregor Boulevard, Ft. Myers, FL, by the Rev. Dr. Wayne Robinson, minister.

[2] The Soul of Christianity: Restoring the Great Tradition (HarperSan Francisco: 2005).