The Unitarian Fellowship of Peterborough

 

Love cannot remain by itself – it has no meaning.
Love has to be put into action and that action is service.
Whatever form we are, able or disabled, rich or poor,
it is not how much we do,
But how much love we put in the doing;
A lifelong sharing of love with others. 

 

I’ve heard recently, from people who work at the Health Unit here in Peterborough, that they are on a very short leash, and that vacations are on hold, because of the threat of a possible H1N1 or swine flu pandemic. I have to admit that I am not someone who has a proclivity for disaster preparedness....but I am really, really glad that there are some people who do this work. I admire their forward-thinking...and their willingness to be on call, for all of us, just in case.

 

I was walking Tillie the other night, and thinking about this...about the sense of obligation and sense of duty the Health Unit feels. They are responsible for responding to a public health crisis, and so they are preparing, and in so doing, they are living up to the mandate given to them by the government and by the people.

 

That got me wondering. We already experience, we are already in the presence of, a pandemic of poverty, a pandemic of hunger, a pandemic of psychological pain, a pandemic of homelessness. Who, or what agency, is prepared to respond to these outbreaks of injustice and oppression? Who, or what agency, fell down on the job while these pandemics were spiralling out of control? Who is responsible for finding ways to counter and to heal these societal ills? 

I guess, to take a much longer view, injustices based in strength and position began as soon as there was more than one of us. At least, if we are to believe a creation myth like that found in Genesis, one being came first, with all of the ensuing privileges... and one being, nearly from the start, was associated with a fall from favour that haunts us to this very day. Inequities have always been with us. 

 

Jim Wallis of Sojourners, a progressive Christian voice in the US, has written a book called God’s Politics. In it, he talks about the spiritual values taught by Jesus, and examines the verse in Mark where Jesus begins, “For you always have the poor with you, and you can show kindness to them whenever you wish...” Wallis critiques the way that this verse has often been interpreted to mean, “there is nothing we can do about poverty; the poor will always be here.” Wallis interprets it differently by looking at the context. Jesus and his disciples were in the home of a poor person, Simon the leper, eating a meal with him. Jesus is reacting to the disciples’ distain for a woman who came in to honour Jesus by pouring expensive ointment on him; they thought this was a waste of good resources...that the oil could have been sold and the money given to the poor.

 

In Wallis’ opinion, Jesus is saying, “Look. You’re good people. You’re my disciples. And because you care, you will always be in the presence of the poor. This does not, should not, preclude you from being generous in contributing to other things you value. But, because you are always with the poor, you will always have the opportunity to be kind to them.” Jesus was not saying there will always be poor; he was saying, those who care will always see the reality of injustice, wherever it exists.   Wallis says that to discover the forgotten is more than the work of “social action”. Rather, he says this is the work of restoring, or building up, the kingdom of love and justice, in our lives, in our congregation, in our community, in our world. 

 

I think we can all agree on this...that we do care, that we are committed to seeing injustice...that we aspire to be disciples of the work of building up a world of love. We are willing to see poverty... oppression, discrimination, marginalization...for the cancers they are...threatening the health and even the possibility of that kingdom. They have been part of human society from day one, and they continue to destroy the soul of our communities. 

 

I suppose, as usual, I need to do some language clarification. There will be some resistance to any use of language that groups people and the realities of their lives into impersonal categories. Rightfully so. But given the limited time we have, language shortcuts are necessary.

 

When I say ‘marginalized’, I mean those that are excluded or ignored, and who are pushed to the outer edge of society. They are the ones whose voices are not heard and who are prevented from getting attention or having power. 

 

And while there are many ways of defining poor based on income, that doesn’t begin to take into account the way poverty affects lives. So, when I say poor, I mean those who don’t have, and can’t get access to, the basic necessities of life... (food, shelter, clothing, health care, education, personal care, essential furnishings, transportation and communication, laundry, home insurance, etc.) And, when I say privileged, I mean those who, for the most part, do have and can get access to, those same basic necessities. 

 

Someone told me recently that they think Unitarians get hung up on language because it’s an exercise that distracts us, or excuses us, from getting serious about the underlying issues. So I implore you to trust your personal picture and understanding of who are the marginalized and who are the privileged.   Trust that you know what it means, and don’t allow my words to get in the way of the message. 

 

So back to the real question. While I titled this service ‘stewardship of the marginalized’, more correctly I want to address the call to be stewards of social justice, or stewards of a beloved human community. Just how are we to be stewards of the marginalized by being stewards of justice? 

 

I am reminded of a sentence in the book “Man’s Search for Meaning” which the book group is now reading. Frankl talks about the concentration camp work assignment of cleaning up the filth and shit between the barracks. He says, “the more you care about cleaning it up, the more you have to come into contact with it.” 

 

There’s the rub, eh? If we care about poverty, about oppression...if we care about those at the edges of society, we have to make contact...we have to make it matter to us. I’m not saying that you aren’t making that contact; some of us make contact by living the reality of marginalization every day, and others are in active contact every day, at work, where you live, in your altruistic endeavours.   We do see it, yet the problems persist, and the injustices continue, and we wonder if anything that we do makes any difference at all. 

 

How are we to be good stewards of a just society? How are we to go about this work? I have recently been attending meetings of the Community Food Action Network which is one of the subcommittees of the Mayor’s Poverty Reduction Task Force. We have been talking at those meetings about a three-tiered strategy...one in which there is emergency relief to provide for those who need food and need it now; but more than emergency relief, there is capacity building, to make it more possible for everyone to access and eat healthy food consistently; but more than capacity building, there is systems change, to ensure food security into the future. And all of these things...emergency relief, capacity building, and systems change...have to happen. In other words, in the case of ending hunger, you can make contact on many levels...from bringing food here on Sunday to help stock local food shelves, to advocating for governmental policy change. 

 

You might be the one who rescues the lost lamb and takes it home to feed. Or, you might be the one who does research to decrease the rate of death of ewes when lambing. Or, you might design a new and improved shepherd’s hook, or builder protective fences. There are many ways to save a lamb.

 

I don’t expect I’m the only person here who feels like she is not doing enough, not doing what she should, not engaged enough with the issues. It doesn’t seem to matter what I do, when I see something I’m not doing, or not able to fix, I feel guilt and shame. Guilt that I’m not doing more. Shame that I generally am blessed to have everything I need. This morning I want to assure you, assure myself, that whatever we do in love, large or small, is making a difference. 

After carefully examining our heartstrings and our purse strings, whatever we decide is the best we can do, is enough. The true measure is the amount of love we put into the doing. We often talk about this in terms of giving to this Fellowship, and giving outside of this Fellowship is no different. Offering baskets pass us everyday, almost relentlessly. They simply express a need, an ask. Our personal job is to determine what our answer will be...where our best ability is to meet those needs, and then to lovingly do what we can do. The presence of the basket, in and of itself, is no reflection on your generosity. Only you can determine that, although I sincerely believe that one of the benefits of this liberal religious community is our commitment to challenge each other to live our values to the best of our ability. 

 

Ben told me the other day about something he’d read, perhaps by Jack Kornfield, a Buddhist author, addressing exactly this. It involved the inner struggle that I think you can all identify with; when asked for some change, when sitting at an intersection and being asked for money by someone who holds a sign saying “God Bless”. In my position, I’m confronted with this often.... calls for assistance from people who are apparently calling through all the church listings in the yellow pages; some sincerely desperate and hungry; others who perhaps make a fair living at this practice. I’ve tried to understand my own reactions...how sometimes I want to avoid eye contact, how other times it’s easy to extend a few dollars. Anyway, Kornfield relates the story of a person in a similar position, feeling guilty and conflicted about any action or lack of action. He says, “I guess I feel like if I give that person a dollar, the next thing you know, they’ll be sleeping on my couch.” 

 

It’s like the scene in “Life of Brian”, which I know several of you watched here last month, where a man offers to help a convict carry his cross up the hill, and when that ‘good Samaritan’ shoulders the heavy burden, the convict runs away, leaving him to be the one who is crucified instead. Is this what we’re afraid of? That we will not simply be scammed, but that we will lose literally everything?

 

Some might advocate that this is what is needed. To open our service, I read the words of Mother Teresa. She gave everything in the service of others. I happen to think that, while some may choose that kind of selfless life, what we need is a something more balanced. I believe that in an equalization of resources, surely some will experience a reduction in their privilege, but certainly need not experience a loss of everything. Rather, equalization would result in more fullness of life for us all – a gain in love, a gain in justice – that is impossible given our current unfair distribution of resources and privileges.

 

So, if we are not all to be Mother Teresas, what shall we do? Simply put, do what you can. Do what you’re able. Respond to that which calls to you. Amy Dixon-Kolar wrote a beautiful song in celebration of Barack Obama’s election...the words say, "Rosa sat, so Martin could walk. Martin walked so Barack could run. Barack ran so all our children could fly.” The dream of flight can begin with something as simple as sitting. Just as wings evolved from earthbound creatures, you can begin with something as private as thinking, as simple as challenging your choices, as safe as writing a cheque. If this is what you’re able to do, do it. But if you can walk, do that. If you can run, do that. If you can fly, fly. 

 

This afternoon at 1pm, at Millennium Park, Peterborough joins towns and countries around the world in affirming a Mother’s Day dream that someday our children will fly. There, those present, and I encourage you to join them, will stand in silence together for five minutes. I ask you to take a stand now, for just three minutes. I’ll read the statement and then we’ll join in silence. You may stand, or you may sit; during this time, I encourage you to consider what you individually, and we collectively, can do to be stewards of justice. At the end of the three minutes, I will again ring the bell and once again read the statement. Please rise. 

We are standing for the world's children and grandchildren, and for the seven generations beyond them.

We dream of a world where all of our children have safe drinking water, clean air to breathe, and enough food to eat.

A world where they have access to a basic education to develop their minds, and health care to nurture their growing bodies.

A world where they have a warm, safe, and loving place to call home.

A world where they don't live in fear of violence - in their home, in their neighbourhood, in their school, or in their world.

This is the world of which we dream.

This is the cause for which we stand.

 

Is not this the fast that I choose:

To loose the bonds of injustice, to undo the thongs of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke?

Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see them naked to cover them, and not to hide yourself from your own kin?