"4-F" - the Reverend Alison Hyder

July 16, 2000 - the Unitarian Universalist Meeting House of Provincetown

You’ll do it. What you really want. You’ll start counting. You’ll feel everything direct as rain on your skin in mild May twilight. You’ll start chewing every moment like fresh corn on the cob, hot buttered, and actually enjoy it as soon as you grow up, leave home, after you’ve got your diploma, when you’ve passed your orals, when you finish psychoanalysis; as soon as you meet the one woman for you, when Mr. Right comes charging along, after you pay off the mortgage, as soon as the children are in school, when you finally get the divorce, after the children finish college, when you’re promoted as you deserve, when you’re a complete success at last, when you retire to Florida [or Provincetown!], when you die and go to heaven. You’ll have considerable practice at being dead by then.

Sermon: “4-F” the Reverend Alison Hyder

One cannot be a Unitarian Universalist for very long before one is asked the big question. And no matter how often it comes up, how many times one has thought deeply and hard about it, there is always that moment of hesitation when you hear, “Just what do Unitarian Universalists believe, anyway?
Well, there’s the wrong answer, of course. Unitarian Universalists can’t “Believe anything we want to.” Granted, the parameters are pretty wide, but we have an insistence upon reason and tolerance and religious freedom that precludes any kind of fascism or fundamentalist doctrine. Unitarian Universalism discourages idolatry, whether of persons or of dogma. We would put no authority, no creed, between you and your soul’s own truth.
Still, that allows for a pretty broad spectrum, and Unitarian Universalists tend to use all of it, from infra-red to the most rarified violet. In this room are practicing Buddhists, atheists, and theists, people for whom Jesus is the highest inspiration and greatest comfort. There are U Us who celebrate the solstices and honor Gaia, the living presence of Earth. And there are U Us who have renewed their Jewish roots in our pews. There are humanists and even the occasional Muslim. Sometimes in the same person. Our Unitarian Universalist Principles and Purposes are not a creed, but a blueprint to guide our actions. They concentrate less on theology and more on relationships, affirming the inherent worth of every person and the right of conscience and promoting justice, equity and compassion in human relations. We encourage and celebrate the free and responsible search for meaning, even when it takes people out of these doors and into a different practice.
Because I think we recognize something essential. What really distinguishes us as individuals is not so much what we believe, but what we do with these beliefs, and how they have us act. We agree with the apostle James, who said, “Faith without works is dead.”
Somebody – and I wish I knew who, since I’ve based this entire sermon around it - said that each person is defined by four things: we are shaped, as individuals, by what we
• flee from
• follow after
• fight for, and
• are faithful to.
It is these motivations that make us who we are.
What does that mean – we’re shaped by what we flee from?
Our culture certainly encourages us to be goal-oriented – to get good grades, work toward a career, save for that vacation home, lose 20 lbs, reduce our cholesterol levels by 17. But it is as much the things we fear and hate and reject that influence our actions. Our lives are often guided not so much by our well-laid plans, as by just plain avoidance. I’m not just talking about closing our ears to those in need, or staying out of areas where “those people” – those different and dangerous and unfortunate people - supposedly live. Fear very often separates us from others, from the stirrings of our own hearts.
But in addition, we often spend our energies fleeing from the truth about ourselves. How many times have we been in denial about something, whether an addiction or a bad habit, or our own unhappiness? We would rather stay in the same safe job, afraid to admit that it is sapping our soul. We blame our families for our problems, complain about stress or guilt, we would rather wrap ourselves in lies rather than admit that we’ve made a mistake. We cannot, just cannot believe that we deserve anything better. And we will run ourselves into the ground trying to avoid change.
Listen, there’s an awful lot of pressure on us to stay the same. Even to keep drinking, staying continually wrecked. Our families may fear us, but they know what to expect. They don’t want to have to change, either. And it’s very scary to be different, to challenge people’s expectations.
A lot of people in this room know what it is like to be the odd one in their families, to have a different way of life or set of beliefs. So very often, just the act of being yourself can feel like a betrayal of everyone that you love. In a memoir [A Darker Shade of Crimson – Odyssey of a Harvard Chicano], Ruben Navarrette, Jr, talks about being a Mexican American at Harvard, the grandson of immigrants. No matter how proud his parents were of him for going, how insistent that their son make something of himself, he says, every term moved him further and further apart from them, and alienated him from his family. He learned and experienced things that they would never know, got new values and different expectations.
Many people reject growth rather than separate from their families. They repudiate their intelligence or talent, squelch their creativity, they crash and burn, make themselves fail rather than achieve a success that would alienate them from their parents or earn the resentment of siblings or friends. They flee from themselves, from discovering who or what they are, and back to the comfort of familiar relationships. We have all done it, to some degree. Worn different clothes on trips home, avoided discussing politics, hid our interest in country music or poetry. But the relationship suffers anyway. We can’t help wondering if they’d still love us if they only knew… but we’re afraid to give them a chance. Our lives are a compromise, a balance, between our needs and others’ expectations. And to some extent they should be. We are neither so omniscient or so narcissistic as to be indifferent to other people. But it is the ratio of influence to independence that determines our path.
Of course, we can also flee in a good direction – from repeating patterns of abuse, from a culture of bigotry or jealousy or from a habit of despair. Our fears can oppress us as much as any schoolyard bully.
We define ourselves not only by what we flee from, but what we follow after, long for, worship. The idols of our lives, whether fame, or possessions, or spiritual enlightenment influence who we are in our relationships with others, and with ourselves. Our priorities can get between us and the people we love, the possibility of friendship - or can lead to greater depth and wholeness.
Despite a culture of individualism, we are also taught to look for answers outside of ourselves, to experts, to people who are more cool or intelligent or powerful. We idolize Judy Garland, James Dean, think Bruce Springsteen is the boss, believe what the experts tell us about Iraq, the stock market, what makes us happy. We read that self-help book, look for gurus to revere, sure that someone else can show us the way to inner peace or a more confident you. We follow after them, often ignoring the promptings of our own hearts.
There is a fable from the Zen tradition.
A Zen teacher had a dog who loved to play fetch. He could spend hours retrieving sticks, and wagged his tail waiting for the next throw. One evening the teacher invited one of his brightest students to join them – an intelligent boy who had become troubled by the contradictions in Buddhist doctrine.
“You must understand,” said the teacher, “that the words are only guideposts. Never let the words or symbols get in the way of truth. Here – I’ll show you.” With that, the teacher called his happy dog. “Fetch me the moon,” he said, and pointed to the full moon.
“Where is my dog looking?” asked the teacher.
“He’s looking at your finger,” said the student.
“Exactly. Don’t be like my dog. Don’t confuse the pointing finger with the thing that is being pointed at. All our Buddhist words – [all religious teachings] – are only guideposts. Every person fights their way through other’s teachings to find their own truth.” From Zen Fables for Today by Richard McLean, pp 62-63.
Whether it’s the Bible, or the Course in Miracles, or the words of your minister, others can only point the way, give occasional directions. You must look ahead with your own eyes to discern your path, whose end is still just a glimmer ahead.
Just this week, during our Thursday afternoon theological discussion group one of our summer visitors talked about his conscious decision to flee from the competitive life. Rather than worry about how much others have compared to him, or pursue some impressive career, he instead concentrates on being in harmony with the world, with the flow of life. He has made this into a practice and even avoids any kind of competitive game, where there are winners and losers. While others are oriented to advancement and achievement, he discerns abundance and cooperation and is affirmed in his search. His flight is forward.

Alice Walker writes,

We alone can devalue gold
by not caring
if it falls or rises
in the marketplace.
Wherever there is gold
there is a chain, you know,
and if your chain
is gold
so much the worse
for you.

Feathers, shells
and sea-shaped stones
are all as rare.

This could be our revolution:
To love what is plentiful
as much as
what is scarce.

Similarly, only we can live our own dreams by creating truth in our words and actions.
We do so in part by understanding what it is we are willing to fight for – where we decide to take a stand – the bottom line of our values, despite opposition, whatever the hardships. Sometimes it takes a crisis to crystallize our stance – the Vietnam war, or the events at Stonewall, when all of a sudden those beleaguered trans and prostitutes and gays said, “no more!” It took courage and passion, and no small amount of fatalism to fight at that moment. But the daily discipline - the choice to come out every day with integrity and pride, or to avoid eating meat, or to practice forgiveness - can be just as hard. Without the glamour and the obvious need for courage, we still must decide, every day, who we are as ethical people. Do we just give in to the ease of hedonism, the seduction - well, the sheer and overwhelming exhaustion - of our routine daily existence – or do we live more intentionally? It’s hard work to live purposefully, whether it’s being environmentally careful – limiting your water usage, avoiding toxins and lots of packaging, and buying organic foods – or committing yourself to children, tutoring or raising foster kids or lobbying for welfare coverage for poor children – or overcoming your own bigotry. But it is this ongoing struggle that describes our real beliefs, our theology. What is so important to you that it changes your life? Inconveniences you? Inspires you? Grounds you with conviction?
What in the world do you fight for, every day, through the power of your living?
And finally, to what are you faithful? I think this question is asking us about loyalty and persistence, about bringing the values of the past into the world of the future, whether they are the lessons gained by your own hard-won experience or the family traditions and identity that guide your decisions, the wisdom of elders or a beloved culture. What are your ideals and how do you live them out so that they become a constant factor in your life, integral to your sense of integrity and honor? How do your spiritual beliefs come alive? How do you make them assume a practical presence in your relationship to the world?
Perhaps you strive for a life of compassion. Maybe you have managed to maintain a generous civility no matter how vengeful or provocative your ex-partner gets. Maybe you recreate your grandparents’ cooking lessons and the sweet memory of family holidays with your family of friends, gathering people to you with the comfort of a warm and generous kitchen.
Unless they are lived, our beliefs are no more than an intellectual exercise, a kind of palliative care designed to make us feel better, but with no real hope of cure.
Faith must go beyond mere conviction and into action, into the application of our deepest beliefs. Jean Shinoda Bolen says,
To know what really is important to you, to have a real sense of who you are and what would be deeply satisfying and archetypically true is not enough. You must also have the courage to act.
Our word courage comes from the French word coeur, “heart.” Courage is a willingness to act from the heart, to let your heart lead the way, not knowing what it will require of you next, or if you can do it.
These four Fs – the things we Flee from, Follow after, Fight for, and have Faith in – are the proof of our real values, as we live them. As you sit in quiet reflection for the next few minutes, ask yourself if you like what they indicate about you. What do you want to change? Be honest. Have courage. And let your heart lead the way.

Closing Words: by W.E.B. DuBois:

The prayer of our souls is a petition for persistence; not for the one good deed, or single thought, but deed on deed, and thought on thought, until day calling unto day shall make a life worth living.

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