The Rev. Sally Hamlin speaking.
In The Wind in the Willows, Mole has just returned to his cozy home underground. Soon he lays his head contentedly on his pillow. Before he closes his eyes he lets them wander around his room, “mellow in the glow of the firelight. . . on familiar friendly things.” How good it is to be back! Yet he would not want to abandon the splendid spaces above ground; he has no intention of turning his back on sun and air and creeping home and staying there. “The upper world was too strong, it called to him still, even down there, and he knew he must return to the larger stage.”
Welcome, everyone! I am the Reverend Sally Hamlin, Minister of the First Universalist Church of Rochester.
Welcome to this service, to this beautiful house of worship.
In another couple weeks we will celebrate the hundredth anniversary of the first service in this building on October 4, 1908. When the merger of our two faith traditions occurred in 1961, each church in Rochester kept a name reflective of its theological origin, one Unitarian, and one Universalist. Thus, we have our historical First Universalist Church of Rochester, and we have First Unitarian, both of which are Unitarian AND Universalist. This can be a bit confusing at times, especially to a new visitor or guest today, so I thought I would mention that fact here, today, to clear up any confusion.
You may have found your way here today from another faith tradition or traditions. For those of you called ‘come-outers’, you have chosen this church as your religious home. You have decided to make this place, these people, your people.
Or you may be here today as a birthright Unitarian Universalist – a ‘born-inner’, as we say. Perhaps you were raised Unitarian or Universalist, and can claim a lifetime in this religious home.
Or perhaps, as many before you have, found your way to us, not having come from any particular tradition, but out of a deep personal yearning for a religious home. You came looking for a community involved in religious search, one that does not give up on the dream, the vision of what is possible in the world. You longed to be part of something greater than yourself, looked for a place to consider those questions sourced deep in your heart: what is the meaning of my life, why is there so much suffering in the world, how can I grow to be the best person I am capable of becoming? What is my understanding of the Divine, and what do I call that understanding? Is it God? Is it Ground of Being? Is it Nature? Is it Love?
And once here, you felt at home. Perhaps you cannot explain what it was that happened to you at the first few services you attended. Perhaps, what happens for many, happened to you? Did tears fall from your eyes? The relief, along with an intense feeling of joy, is what many experience at first here. The relief that, finally, once and for all, you found your religious home.
Here, the scope and breadth of what is possible in a beloved community gradually becomes known, and unfolds in ways previously only imagined. What feelings grow here are never achievable as a result of individual endeavor alone, but rather, come into being as a result of the natural affinity sparks of humanity have for one another, and like tiny stars, we leap toward one another in the search for light in the darkness, illuminating and expanding the fires of the Spirit of Life, the power of that combined combustion, fueling one another’s search for understanding the mystery that is called Life.
For this process of finding a religious home is best done as a collective process, undertaken with the efforts of many, with the understanding that we do not, we cannot, act alone, in the building of a religious home.
Yet despite being called a pilgrim people, our bodies and souls fill with longing and desire for roots that ground us, and a place to stretch our wings and explore all the mysteries that abound within a sanctuary of trust and respect. It is a wholly human longing to have such a religious home to call our own.
And I find myself very grateful lately that I have found my way back home. This time, I am not speaking of the metaphor of home, but actually, now, I am literally home. Home to my beloved western New York, to loving family members and friends, to the great lakes of Erie and Ontario, and the rolling hills of the Finger Lakes and of Allegany and the Adirondacks. Back to four seasons and the excitement of lake effect snowstorms, back to the land of my home. I love this part of the world. It is part of what defines home for me.
Yet it would be remiss of me in a sermon titled Coming Home, not to consider the meaning of having a religious home, or any home for that matter, without speaking of the homelessness that occurs daily, all around us. Global migrations of human beings are now seen in unprecedented numbers; millions of people displaced from their homelands, as a result of wars and conflicts and global warming, in places such as Darfur, Sudan, and in Iraq and Afghanistan, millions live in temporary shelters, moving, moving, always moving.
Most recently we heard that those displaced to Houston after Katrina, are homeless once again after the ravages of Hurricane Ike.
Unfortunately, the need for emergency shelter is not unusual in Rochester. We are, in this regard, too like many other places around the country. It is estimated that in any given week in the U.S., at least 200,000 children are homeless, with forty-two percent of those children under the age of five. In the San Francisco area, over 45,000 homeless live on the streets. An unimaginable number, really. Like a small town, the homeless roam the hills of the Bay area.
So what can we do about this? How do we reconcile the situation of our own relative privilege and the needs of so many? As a religious community, we possess what many in our country and around the world, dream of, clamor for, yet, in all likelihood will never have. We live in a community that is mostly safe from natural disaster. Many of us have inherited privilege as descendents of mostly European ancestors, and/or have had the advantages of good education and health care.
I recognize that we are not a completely homogeneous congregation, that some among us claim other identities, have known paths of struggle with class or race or gender which may be hidden from obvious view. So when I speak of our privilege as Unitarian Universalists, and as residents of this country, I want to make it clear that I understand that our struggles as individuals are often not acknowledged, and I do not diminish the depths of these struggles in any way.
But if the advantages we experience as Unitarian Universalists can be used to work for justice in the creation of better world, our work must be based upon the acknowledgement of our privilege. It behooves us to acknowledge it, not hide who we are or where we come from. Power and privilege, not acknowledged, or misunderstood, can unintentionally be used for harm, rather than for good. When we understand power and the sources of it, we may move forward more clearly, and use what we know and have and claim, to change the world for the better.
And from what I have observed, that is exactly what you have done at First Universalist. That is who you are. You have chosen to stand with those who are experiencing something most of you have never experienced. Yet, you have taken the time to learn, to study the issue of homelessness, and have, as a congregation, and in many cases, as individuals, decided to work with RAIHN.
Right here in this building, every few months, we meet face to face with those affected by the problem of homelessness, when we offer hospitality as part of First Universalist’s commitment to house those served by the Rochester Area Interfaith Hospitality Network, or RAIHN.
This deep commitment you make to others, shown with your time and with your devotion, demonstrates that you know that the devastating effects of homelessness for people in this very community, is profound. And your commitment is inspirational.
And this says a lot about your spiritual journey as individuals and as a religious community. You have decided to live our first principle which speaks of each person’s inherent worth and dignity. You recognize in your pledge to live by these guidelines that it could be you who is homeless, who has lost the job that led to a loss of health care, that led to a loss of a prescription plan, which led to not taking medications that keep a chronic illness in check, which led to an expensive hospitalization, which led to huge bills left unpaid, which led to a loss of a home, which led, ultimately, to being homeless. In another disturbing twist on the six degrees of separation theory, this scenario I just described could be true for any one of us.
The alienation and frustrations of the middle class are no joke. As the costs of just maintaining a roof over one’s head continue to rise, and, in the light of the past weeks national financial crash of banks and investment companies, along with our government’s bailout at our future expense, we are held in suspense as our retirement accounts diminish right before our eyes. We cannot predict what the future holds for any of us.
A few days ago, I attended the annual Symposium on Hunger and Homelessness at a hotel just a few blocks from here. I attended the workshop offered by Donna Ecker, co-director of Bethany House, the Catholic Worker house of hospitality for women and children in Rochester. As I listened to Donna speak of the philosophy and mission of Bethany House and the services it has provided for over forty years, I realized once again that the basic need of each human being to have shelter and food and a safe place to rest, is the same the world over, despite the circumstances which caused one’s homelessness.
And meeting that basic need is what RAIHN is all about. But it is also about much more than that.
Because when you volunteer to take a shift at RAIHN, what you offer to our guests, who are temporarily homeless, is much more than a bed and a few meals. It is about offering a message of hope, that there are people who care in the world, and that you are one of them. It proves that there are still those whose faith and belief in the inherent worth and dignity and goodness of all, calls them into service with compassion.
And the learning does not stop there.
As a RAIHN volunteer, you have the opportunity to find out that you are important as a human being. That, just by being you, you can make a difference in another human being’s life. The guests who stay here, bring their children here, sleeping in this very building, offer you a unique opportunity to see in the face of the other, what it is that is truly important about life.
As a volunteer for RAIHN, you can begin to remember what it feels like to matter in the world. You begin to recall that you are important. That the gift of your personhood is all you are asked to be. All you are asked to be, whether in the world or here at First Universalist, as a seeker or as a member, is yourself. The only one who can be you, is you.
And that, my friends, is enough. You are enough.
It is said that the definition of home is that it is the place that, when you go there, they have to take you in.
Well, whether it is a religious home you seek, or a temporary home in which to rest your head for a night to be safe and warm from the elements, with your children sleeping soundly nearby, may it be here that we find one and the same.
I would like to share a poem I wrote a few years ago with you now, titled “Coming Into the Home Stretch Now”.
Coming into the home stretch now
It was no less than everything that it took to get you where you are this very moment.
Like an athlete in the Religious Olympics this time.
You have trained for this event your whole life.
The focus- everyday, for what has seemed like forever;
the hold- of the dreams, of the hopes, of the “I know I can do this”
the release- of family, of friends, of belongings, of home
the persistence, the showing up everyday, without wavering
- to come here.
To the event of your life. It is no less than that. No less than everything.
What did you think? Did you think that it would be easy?
For some of you it is like coming home. Finally, home.
For some of you, it is like entering a new home. Familiar, and beckoning.
For others, it remains less strange than it was one short week ago.
Your journey, all your journeys, have brought you to this place.
Now I say:
Let it be no less than everything that you bring here.
Let it be all that you have carried and sorted and held and released.
All the good-byes, the letting go, the falling away, the separating wheat from chaff.
The separating.
You belong here.
And isn’t that a relief to know?
Your whole life’s journeys have deposited you in this place now.
Here is my advice to you: let it be like this, exactly.
Like the naked athletes who stripped away all non-essentials to hasten their arrival at the finish:
Come.
Coming into.
Coming into the home. The home.
Coming into the home stretch.
Stretch.
Claim now the wreath of olive branches and let it circle your heart.
You. Spiritual athletes all. Come into the home stretch. Claim your prize.
May we continue to give thanks for the many ways in which we have already made it home.
BATTER……UP!!!
May it be so. Amen.
©This sermon was written by Reverend Sally Hamlin for the congregation of the First Universalist Church of Rochester, New York and was delivered on September 21, 2008. No part of this sermon may be copied without permission of the author.
