The Lactating of the Ewes
Long ago in a mountain valley in Transylvania, a village became Unitarian.
The people decided to erect a church on the hillside above the village. They
built a lovely gray stone church and decorated the inside in rich luxuriant colors
of deep red, royal blue and shining gold. It had everything a church needed in those
days.
Then one little girl noticed something was missing. "Father," she said, "there
are lamp stands but no lamps for them. How will we see to worship?"
Her father answered, "Oh, there are lamps. Down in the village each house has
a small bronze lamp that fits into one of the stands in the church,. When the bell
rings for worship, each household brings its lamp, lights it, and puts it in a stand."
His daughter said, "But if some people do not bring their lamp some corner of
the church will be cold and lonely."
Her father replied, "That is true. When we built this church together, we agreed
that everyone would be responsible for it, that we would keep our faith. We will
do our part." And he took her home to show her the lamp they had been entrusted
with.
Those lamps have been passed down from generation to generation, carefully treasured,
responsibly held. Today when the bell rings for worship the people make their way
up the hill carrying a lamp. The church is nearly always full for no one wishes
their corner to be dark and gloomy.
(from THE PARISH RECORD, First Church Dedham MA 11/13/90)
When Unitarian Universalist ministers get together informally, as often happens at
retreats and continuing education programs, we sometimes find ourselves in one of
the more entertaining phases of talking shop: namely, swapping stories. A story
I picked up at such a gathering a couple of years ago goes like this: it seems that William
Sloane Coffin, (who is NOT a Unitarian Universalist minister), at some public event
or other, chose the occasion to make some wry observations about Unitarian Universalists. First, he styled us as "thick on ethics and thin on theology." Then he continued
by characterizing Unitarian Universalism as the religion to have when you're having
more than one.
Now I suspect that both of the Reverend Mr. Coffin's allegations were intended
to carry some sort of pleasant albeit negative judgment. But it is a time-honored
tradition within the Unitarian Universalist movement to accept the pejoratives leveled
at us and go on to affirm and identify with those labels in positive, even creative,
ways. Certainly this was so in the early 1800's when, in Massachusetts, conservative
and liberal ministers of the Standing Order that was the Congregational clergy of
the established, state-supported religion, went at it tooth and claw-- well, mostly in
more or less genteel journalistic debates. But the arguments did get warmer and
warmer until they culminated in name-calling. The conservatives labeled the liberals
"unitarians," accusing them of an old, old heresy. Those early nineteenth century New
England divines were, of course, debating the number of God at the time and the conservatives
figured that the low score was the losing score. (They still do!) But the liberals did not agree. So finally, it got to be mid-May of 1819 and the gentle William
Ellery Channing went off to Baltimore for an ordination and preached his famous and
subsequently much-published sermon entitled "Unitarian Christianity." In the process
of that sermon, he not only accepted the conservative's nasty label but turned it into
an identifying non-pejorative for himself and his fellows of like mind. Of course,
that still did not reconcile all the Congregational brethren; and so a decade or
so later, the whole game finally got turned over to the law courts. The decision in the
Dedham Case assigned many of the Massachusetts churches to the Unitarians, including,
it is sometimes ruefully-- sometimes gleefully-- noted, a small fortune in Revere
communion silver, some of which is still paraded out now and again with armed guards
standing significantly in the chancel!
Our early Universalist forbears were perhaps a little more pro-active. They simply
referred to other Christians as "partialists." Whether they intended it or not,
they set the stage for William Sloane Coffin's Unitarian Universalism as the-religion-to-have-when-you're-having- more-than-one charge; because the embracing of all humanity
as subject to the same destiny evolved naturally into an appreciation of, a respect
for, and an attempt at understanding and assimilating the many expressions of human
religious need and experience. That process has carried us, for the most part, to the
outermost periphery of Western religion-- beyond the confines of our Jewsh-Christian
background. And, more heretically, we include within our worshiping communities
the whole spectrum of theists, agnostics and atheists reflecting many different religious
traditions.
So both streams of the Unitarian Universalist river of which this congregation
is an important tributary have spawned radical individuals whose judgments and activities
have expanded our tradition beyond the particulars of its historical roots. In the process we have come to emphasize, as the UUA Statement of Principles puts it: "The
right of conscience and the use of democratic process within our congregations and
in society at large." In other words, the problems of obligation and responsibility
in human interaction--
ethics
--function as if here there is an equal if not larger claim upon us than the more
esoteric attempts to apprehend supernatural beings of whatever number or to assume
we could begin to fathom the nature and intentions of deity, or deities if such there
be--
theology.
In the process we tend to engage in social criticism and, now and then, hands-on
social action. But beyond ethics and theology there is also the equally important
intuitive need for enthusing or inspiriting the depths of the human psyche and soul
with myth and metaphor, poetry and song in order to heal and whole the incompleteness and
brokenness that inevitably roil up when finite beings encounter all the tremendous
variety of needs and concerns, backgrounds and experiences of other finite beings
in this unfinished universe.
* * * * *
February, as some of you remember, is not one of my favorite months. I have sometimes
suggested that the only good thing about the month is its length. However, at one
of those ministerial gatherings to which Beverly referred, I found my evaluation
of February challenged. My colleague, Darrell Berger, minister of Fourth Universalist
Society in New York City, reminded us that this season of the year was a powerfully
important season for the ancestors of those of us who derive from northern Europe.
While it may have been obvious to priests and scholars that the winter solstice, coming
in December, marked the turn from darkness to light, for the common people that affirmation
was more a matter of faith than of observation. For the common people, the days
immediately after the solstice seemed even darker, and the weather was less hospitable,
and a long winter stretched before them.
It was in the month we call February--midway between the solstice and the vernal equinox--that
faith was validated by the evidence of the senses. Around the first of February,
the signs of change became obvious to all: One need not be a priest or a scholar to know the sun was undeniably stronger; the days were clearly longer. Everyone
could see that small creatures began to stir out of their burrows (a fact we still
honor with our observance of Groundhog day); and most importantly of all, the spring
lambs were being born and the ewes had begun to lactate. What this meant to people whose
lives depended upon the natural cycles was a promise that they and their children
would live through another winter. There would be cold and storm and blizzard before
spring established dominion, but now it was clear that there would milk from the ewes
to nourish the children. Now it was possible to estimate how much grain would be
needed to make it through to spring. Now it was possible to think ahead to a new
time of planting and to plan for another season of growth. Now, around the fire on the cold
winter nights, with survival assured, energy could be devoted to planning for the
new season. Now attention turned from the season of scarcity to embrace the promise
of abundance.
For the ancient Kelts, February was the festival of Imbolc, the celebration of the
lactating of the ewes, the time when the Mother Goddess was thanked for the promise
of new life and new hope and people began to plan for the time of planting. In the
British Isles, the Great Triple Goddess was Brigid, whose hold on the people was so strong
and powerful that Christianity could not abolish it. And so, Brigid was baptized
and the great mother became Saint Brigid, a virginal nun and her celebration became
Candlemas a time for observing the purification of the Virgin after the birth of Jesus.
But the original reason for celebration lodged deep in our souls, and in cultures
heavily influenced by the Kelts, we still respond in subtle ways to Imbolc the season
of the lactating of the ewes.
Our obvious response to the season is to be found in the foolishness of television
crews trucking out to Pennsylvania or down to Georgia to record for the nation the
vision of a befuddled marmot stirred from his lair on the second of February so some
commentator can make trite and predictable remarks about the fact that spring will or will
not come early this year. But there are deeper more subtle responses. Walking with
a couple of friends down the street the other evening, one of them said,"I cannot
tell you how much better I feel now that there is still some daylight when I leave work
in the evening." My other companion responded, "For me, it's the light in the morning.
I don't wake up to a dark world any more." Those are reactions many of us feel,
whether or not we have put them into words. We feel a weight lifted from our souls.
We give thanks for the visible promise of spring-time to come. We observe Imbolc.
There are other signs, too: In the drugstore the other day, I found myself wandering
through acres of Valentine candy and cards and decorations. At the end of the aisle,
I turned a corner and confronted a small rack filled with packets of seeds. I spoke to my brother-in-law the other week. He is busy pouring over the new seed catalogs,
planning his spring planting. And, I opened the church newsletter the other day
to find an article inviting members and friends of the church to engage in a plant
swap or exchange as they plan their gardens. We may no longer be aware of the coming of
the spring lambs and the lactating of the ewes and the promise they once symbolized
of survival to another spring. We may no longer need to husband the stores of grain
through the dark, short, cold days of winter, calculating how much we will need and what
we must save for planting. But we respond to the season, and we, too, rejoice when
the signs of promise are too obvious to require a calendar, and we, too, turn to
thinking of the season of growth and renewal. The season of the lactating of the ewes
stirs something deep in our souls and turns us toward the future.
As I listened to my colleague, Darrell Berger, it suddenly struck me that perhaps
it is not coincidental that February is the month for our annual pledge drive. Institutionally,
February is the month when it becomes obvious that we will make it through another year. It is the time when we turn to plan for the year beyond. It is the time
when ideas are sowed, when hopes are voiced, when dreams are shared. It is the time
when the Nominating Committee moves into high gear, seeking out the women and men
who will provide leadership to our community over the next year. And it is a time when
we are all asked to think deeply about this community we share, this precious world
of discourse which is the Unitarian Church in Summit and decide what we shall do
to support this community, to enable our dreams, to realize our visions, to incarnate our
hopes.
Nor is it coincidental that the theme of the pledge drive this year is "Here, we grow!"
Most of us are generations away from the farm; we do our foraging in supermarkets
and consider it something of a return to nature when we can buy a few vegetables
from a road-side stand occasionally. For most of us our attachment to the soil takes
the form of recreational gardening at best. But the fact is that we are all of us
engaged in growing something. A. Powell Davies once said that life is just "an opportunity to grow a soul." And this church exists to assist us as we grow our souls. We seek
here to establish a climate which allows people to explore the outer limits of what
is possible, to discover what it means to be human, to live with deep appreciation
for the world in which we find ourselves and for our brothers and sisters who share that
world, to discover the sacred, deep in our beings and to recognize the holy in the
eyes of others. This church exists to call us to moral and ethical living; in short
it exists to encourage us as we seek to become the best that we can be.
It is important for us to understand that we are none of us here to serve the church.
The church is here to serve us--each one of us--as we seek to discover who we are
and what is the meaning of our venture through time and space. But here is the irony--one cannot grow a soul without planting something. One does not grow a soul without
risking something. One does not grow a soul without investing something. For many
people the church fails because they stay on the periphery, interested observers,
but never really commit themselves to the institution. Focused on a culture of scarcity,
they fail to grasp the abundance which is open to them. We are not here to serve
the church, but we cannot serve ourselves, we cannot grow our souls unless we are
willing to invest ourselves in the process. No matter how beautiful the picture in the catalog
or on the packet, the seed that is not planted will not grow.
What we are asking you to do this month, is to give careful and critical thought to
how you wish to invest your time and your resources in the process by which your
own spirit will be nourished and what you are prepared to do to support a new season
of growth for yourself and for this community of which you are apart. What kind of commitment
of time and money and energy will you give to further your own spiritual and moral
growth? Every one of us must find his or her own answer to that question. But I
can offer you a gauge by which to measure the appropriateness of your response. On
the back of the pledge drive brochure you are encouraged to "give until you are proud."
When, out of your own abundance, you have given to the community the resources of
time and money and energy which make you feel good, the odds are that your commitment
will reflect the investment necessary for growing a soul and the odds are that the
church will have the resources to maintain the kind of community in which soul-growing
best happens. And together, Here, we shall grow!
* * * * *
Remember the story of the lamps with which we started? Of course, we here enjoy the
modern amenities of heat and electricity which means we do not need to bring lanterns
with us each time we meet. But this season of returning light and planning for the
growth that follows offers the opportunity to regard our contributions of money, energy
and interaction as the lamps that lighten and enlighten this special religious community
as it seeks to facilitate the development of those who would search for truth, serve humankind and live together in peace.
The sermon in a Unitarian Universalist setting is never the last word
on any subject, but rather an invitation to further dialog.
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comments on Beverly and David Bumbaugh's "The Lactating of the Ewes"
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