Sermon

INTRODUCTION: As Muslims, this is the time of Ramadan, when practicing Muslims around the world go without food all day, so as to experience firsthand what the hungry of the world are going through. It’s a spiritual time as well, when they hear the reading of the sacred scriptures of the Qur’an, pray and meditate.

As Jews, this weekend is the beginning of the High Holy Days in which we talk about forgiveness, and mistakes we’ve made. It’s the beginning of Rosh Hashanah, the start of the Jewish New Year, 5767.

Most great religious insights are conveyed in myth and so is this one. Here’s how it goes:

On the first day of Rosh Hashanah, God examines how we’ve done to this point. We’re weighed as it were by heavenly scales. When we come up short, we have ten days between now and Yom Kippur to repent, to seek forgiveness from those we have wronged, and to make restitution where appropriate. Then on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, we learn whether it’s been enough.

It’s a wonderful religious practice, the notion of identifying your mistakes, confessing them, and making restitution where possible. For many, confession and restitution are important dimensions in their spiritual recovery and well-being. It’s also the heart of Alcoholics Anonymous.

But what about those parts of our lives in which the one most hurt was ourselves…when there’s no one to whom we can make restitution, such as this story tells.

Several years ago, I gave the Yom Kippur sermon during the High Holy Days at Temple Beth-El to a packed congregation of several hundred Jews. Their dining hall doors had been opened to accommodate the crowds and all the seats were taken.

Fortunately, in blissful ignorance, I did not realize how unheard of it was for a Gentile to deliver the Yom Kippur sermon. But as part of my sermon, I told the story of my late friend, novelist Robert L. Duncan.

Bob had written more than 400 documentaries, a hundred prime time television shows, and at least 25 novels. As a result, he was very affluent, so much so that he decided for the first time in his writing life that he was going to write a novel without regard to what the market, his agent or publisher wanted. It was a book for which he had been keeping notes since he was a soldier during the occupation of Japan. It was to be almost Tolstoyian – an Asian War and Peace – in its sweep of history, with the inevitable love stories and heroic acts on and off the battlefield.

He was given a half-million dollar advance from Delacourt Press: half upon signing the contract and half upon delivery of the manuscript. He began with an energy he had never had before. He felt it might be his very last work, his signature piece for which he would forever be remembered. And because it was such a labor of love, he did something he had never done before: he sent a first draft of almost 1,500 pages to the editor in chief at Delacourt Press, just to let her see how well he was doing.

She was stunned. She had never seen anything from Bob but concise and fast-paced novels. Here was something twice the size expected, filled with stories of generals, war and battles, plus fashion shows in Paris, and love stories…all mixed in unedited prose, repetition and lack of clarity.

She had initially asked to be his editor, but there was no way she could invest the time and energy needed. She called his agent, the agent called Bob, and soon there was a meeting in New York at Random House, which owned Delacourt. The editor put a take it or leave it offer on the table: The manuscript as submitted was unacceptable. However, the freelance editor who had the number one hardcover and paperback on the New York Times bestseller list that very week was available, present at the meeting, and willing to edit Bob’s manuscript.

When she spoke, she made clear that she wanted most of the generals and battle strategy to come out, and to focus on the love story and the fashion industry. The editor in chief pitched in that if Bob was willing to rewrite the entire book according to the free lance editor’s instructions, then he not only could keep the $250,000 he had been given, but also receive the other $250,000 as well. Otherwise, the deal was off.

Bob begged for time. This was the one book his whole heart and soul were in. He didn’t need the money. What he had sent was only a draft. He had sent it just to prove how hard he was working. The manuscript would be clean, smooth and fast-reading when he finished.

They were unrelenting. Yes or no. Walk away with no contract and no advance, but with his dream still possible. Or say yes, and sell his soul for a bowl of porridge – a half-million dollar bowl of porridge.

As Bob told me later, he was too much a child of the Depression. He couldn’t walk away from a half-million dollars, even though he would never spend it if he had it. He said yes.

The next year was a creative disaster, as he worked with a free-lance editor who had no interest in what Bob wanted, but forced him to write about what Bob had initially intended as enhancement…not the storyline itself.

When the book came out, Publishers Weekly asked in its review, “Why is Bob Duncan not writing about the things which had made his books so popular?” The book bombed.

In a hurry, Bob wrote a thriller, so as to prove he still had it. But not only had he badly damaged his reputation, a door had closed in his soul. And he never had another bestseller, ever. In fact, he never wrote another book.

When he died a few years later, his wife asked me to do his memorial service, which I was genuinely honored to do. Afterwards, she gave me this Mont-Blanc pen, with which Bob always wrote his novels before transferring them to the computer. I can remember at our weekly lunches through the years, he would hold up this pen before each new book and say, “There’s a book in there.”

So what happens when the one we’ve hurt most is ourselves, the dream we didn’t fulfill, the promise we made but didn’t keep, the love we gave but then betrayed? When the sin, if we choose to use that language, was a sin against ourselves – our dreams, our hopes, our possibilities?

A short time back, one of our participants confessed to a personal struggle with the privileges enjoyed, especially when contrasted with so many in need here and abroad. This person put it in an e-mail, which had lines in it like this:

“I am not sure if I am really living up to what I seem to profess….I am agnostic, but have been developing an acute sensitivity to those who are most oppressed….I am particularly sensitive to hypocrisy.”

As I was working on this sermon, I went back to the e-mail and reread it, and began to apply to myself the questions asked: Am I living up to what I profess? But maybe it’s not just that person’s question, or my question. Maybe it’s your questions too, especially at Rosh Hashanah and Ramadan. Are we living up to what we profess? And how would we know if we were or weren’t?

The fourth declaration on the “We believe” card is enclosed in your order of service states:

“We believe that ultimately faith is not so much the creeds we say, as it is the lives we live, which is why we seek constantly to be involved in issues that matter.”

Is that true? And again: How would we know? Who’s to determine whether we are or are not?

Now look again on the left hand side of the card, at the first clause of the second, “We believe” statement”:

“We believe religious language and sacred scripture can be thought of as the poetry of faith….”

What does that mean? What is the “poetry of faith?” Let me give an example: an expression of poetic faith reprinted in the Christian Gospel of Matthew. It has Jesus quoting and adapting most probably from the Jewish prophets, Ezekiel and Isaiah.

In this faith poetry, it’s Judgment Day. Every one has been summoned to court to face a life or death decision. The first thing the judge does is divide them into two groups, “like a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats.” The sheep he tells: “You made it, so climb right on up.” To the goats: “You didn’t, so slide right down.”

All the sheep and the goats are totally amazed. They shouted back, “Wait a minute! When did we see you in those dire situations and either helped you or didn’t.”

The judge’s response: when you did it to the very least of those who were hungry, thirsty, immigrants, naked, sick, and in prison.

That’s pretty heavy-duty poetry. So can we talk for a minute? When I joined a church for the first time as an adult, three things happened.

First, I was baptized…immersed in water. It was a cold Oklahoma day in March, and the water wasn’t heated. I about froze. It is not a warm memory!

Second, I professed that I believed a lot of things that were pretty improbable, all or nearly all of which, I no longer believe.

Third, I agreed to give to the church a 10^th of my gross income, in other words a dollar out of every $10.

Now let’s go back to that poem from Matthew about Life and Death, about Judgment Day.

What did it say about baptism…I mean, cold-water baptism? Let’s see: hunger, thirsty, immigrants….Nothing! How could that be?

Let’s try the next part of church membership as I experienced it many years ago: What about all the things I believe…I believe…I believe? What? It doesn’t say a thing about all of my beliefs, nothing about how important belief is? Wow!

Let’s go to the third thing: What about giving a tithe, a tenth of all I earn. There’s nothing listed about giving money! Surely, this must be an oversight.

To put it more succinctly: None of the things that I did when I first joined the church – baptism, profession of faith, or giving money – were listed in this poetic statement of faith as important in the light of life and death. Not one. Nada. But what was important and is important and will always be important – according to this poem of faith -- is addressing hunger, water, immigrants, sick people, clothes, and people in prison.

So, what if you asked me, “Wayne, what do I need to do to become a member of All Faiths?” What if I answered, “Well, there are two ways we need you to help us: inside and outside.

By helping us outside, help us as a congregation to find a way to feed the hungry of the world which includes Ft. Myers, provide clean water for the thirsty on this planet which also includes our area, welcome immigrants legal and illegal as a nation and a neighborhood, provide clothes for those here and abroad who don’t have any, visit the sick in person or by phone or letter, and help us find a way to stop our government from putting so many people in prison. By joining All Faiths, you agree that doing these things is now your problem, too. You will become one of those in charge if no one is in charge. If nothing is happening there, by joining, it will become your responsibility.

There’s a second dimension. It’s inside. Here’s what All Faiths will do for you: We will have a Sunday morning service to keep you inspired and excited about life and living. We will provide you a community of other people who would really like to be your friends, to get to know you apart from services. We will have dinners together, study together, and meditate together, and even do Tai Chi Chiuh together. If you have children, we will provide religious education for them. We know that singing is an important part of spirituality, so we will not only sing on Sunday morning, but we will have a group you can perform with. We will provide counseling when needed. And jobs in which you can help on Sunday morning to insure that everything runs smoothly.

Last Thursday afternoon, Joyce Ramay had about 30 people or so gather at Crestwell to plan on the best use of our facilities. There is so much to do, and we need help in doing it.

But faith always has to be about more than what happens on Sunday morning: inside and outside.

So how about it? Do you want to be a part of All Faiths, inside or outside, or enabling others in your behalf?

It’s a wonderful time of year when we ask those kinds of questions. It’s Rosh Hashanah. It’s Ramadan. What do we want to do? And how do we do it?

This bulletin just in: The job is yours. You’re the best applicant we’ve had. So the question is, when do you want to start?

CONCLUSION

Remember. Here is the issue:

“I am not sure if I am really living up to what I seem to profess. I am agnostic, but have been developing an acute sensitivity to those who are most oppressed. I am particularly sensitive to hypocrisy.”

Those are the questions that this time of the year poses for us. Amen and blessed be.

[1] Given September 24, 2006 at All Faiths Unitarian Congregation, meeting for the last time in the Foulds Theater at the Alliance for the Arts, 10091 McGregor Boulevard, Ft. Myers, FL, by the Rev. Dr. Wayne Robinson, minister. (Part IV of the Oxford Experience)