Sermon given by Rev. Frank Clarkson, October 3, 2021

Back in the old days, before GPS and cell phones, if you were driving and got lost, what would you do? You’d pull over, at a gas station or a convenience store, and ask directions, right? Or maybe you wouldn’t. My wife thinks there’s a gender difference here, and she’s usually right, but can I get a show of hands—who among us really doesn’t like to ask for directions? Who would rather muddle around, saying, “I can figure it out.”

I don’t like to ask for directions. I don’t like to acknowledge that I’m lost. Because it feels like weakness, somehow. It feels vulnerable. Which may sound silly to some of you, who don’t suffer from this affliction. But there are other things that make you feel vulnerable, right?

The pandemic we’ve been living through for a year and a half now, hasn’t that made each of us feel vulnerable? We’ve had to learn new ways of living, taking precautions in order to do simple things like go grocery shopping or meet with a friend. Even now, how many times a day are we quietly asking ourselves, “Is it safe to do this?”

The pandemic has shown us how vulnerable we are, as individuals and as a society. Which is why we made this month’s worship theme “The Way of Vulnerability.” Because most of us want to avoid being vulnerable, right? We're taught from an early age to be independent and self-reliant. We’re told, “Big kids don’t cry,” and “Never let them see you sweat.” It feels risky and scary to be vulnerable; like you’ve lost control. Like you’ve lost your way. 

Even before the pandemic, we were living in a time of heated and even hateful rhetoric in our land, a time when lots of people were feeling threatened, feeling uneasy, worried about the future. From climate change to our nation’s struggle for racial equity and justice, if there was a vulnerability index, my guess is that it’s been pretty high for a while now.

We like to fix things. We want to leave the world better than we found it. A month ago, I preached about how simple chores like pulling weeds and doing the dishes were helping to ground and calm me in these anxious times. I mentioned a former minister who loved washing dishes because, he said, it was one thing he could control; one place in his life where he could bring some order out of chaos. And we each need some of that, don’t we? We each need some ways to find peace in our lives, that are a balm to our souls. And I hope being part of this church helps you to get in touch with that.

I will keep on seeking little tasks that bring pleasure and joy. I will keep doing things that satisfy my soul, and I hope and trust that you will too. Because we need to be strong-souled, especially these days!

But as much as we might wish otherwise, there’s so much that’s beyond our control. Bad things happen.There’s a temptation to tune out that which makes us scared or uncomfortable, and there is real wisdom in knowing how much you can take. In our fast-paced, hyper-connected world, it makes sense to do some filtering. To turn off the news and the internet sometimes, because no one can take in all the noise that’s out there.

But that doesn’t mean checking out or sleepwalking through your days. The invitation is to be awake to life, to stay engaged, to keep on caring, even and especially when things are hard, or you’re scared, or your heart’s been broken. 

The writer and minister Frederick Buechner put it this way. He wrote, “Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid.” This is the kind of heart and soul I am trying to cultivate, and that I expect you are too. And it takes some effort, this inner work. It may not come naturally. But it’s worth it.

So I’m grateful for guides like David Whyte. Let’s hear some of his words about vulnerability again:

“Vulnerability is not a weakness, a passing indisposition, or something we can arrange to do without, vulnerability is not a choice, vulnerability is the underlying, ever present and abiding undercurrent of our natural state. To run from vulnerability is to run from the essence of our nature, the attempt to be invulnerable is the vain attempt to become something we are not and most especially, to close off our understanding of the grief of others. More seriously, in refusing our vulnerability we refuse the help needed at every turn of our existence and immobilize the essential, tidal and conversational foundations of our identity.”

I like the illusion that I am in control! But it’s an illusion! If nothing else, the past eighteen months have shown us that. And maybe that’s an unexpected gift, if it helps us to acknowledge and embrace the fact that we are vulnerable because we are human. That it’s the essence of our nature, so we might as well embrace that reality. Though it’s also part of our nature to seek control and sureness in this changeable and uncertain world.

Franz Kafka spoke to this struggle when he wrote, “You can hold yourself back from the sufferings of the world, that is something you are free to do and it accords with your nature, but perhaps this very holding back is the one suffering you could avoid.”

There is this invitation to a deeper and more engaged life that travels the way of vulnerability. It’s why we are here, isn’t it?  It’s seeking after what is true and real, and not turning away when things are painful or unpleasant. Because this is the way of a deeper, more connected, more committed, more joyful life. Which is what we want, right?

Let’s hear David Whyte again:

“The only choice we have as we mature is how we inhabit our vulnerability, how we become larger and more courageous and more compassionate through our intimacy with disappearance, our choice is to inhabit vulnerability as generous citizens of loss, robustly and fully, or conversely, as misers and complainers, reluctant and fearful, always at the gates of existence, but never bravely and completely attempting to enter, never wanting to risk ourselves, never walking fully through the door.”

A few nights ago I  had a dream. I was standing at our church’s back door, just about to cross the threshold, and I felt this grip of fear and panic, that was so strong it woke me with a start, my heart pounding. In the dream it was like there was a voice shouting, “Don’t go in there! It’s not safe!”

At first I thought this dream was about the challenge of coming back here after COVID. Anyone else feeling that sometimes? Anyone wondering, asking, “Is it safe?” But after a conversation with my wife Tracey, who’s really good at working with dreams, I started to see it in a deeper way. She lifted up the image of threshold, and reminded me of the Van Morrison song, “I’m a Dweller on the Threshold,” and this made me wonder if what I’m really fearing is what David Whyte calls “standing at the gates of existence, but never bravely and completely attempting to enter.” Wanting to crossing over into a deeper way of being, but also being afraid, because it involves surrender, which is a vulnerable thing to do!

I'm a dweller on the threshold, Van Morrison sings,
And I'm waiting at the door
And I'm standing in the darkness
I don't want to wait no more.

My spiritual companions, will you join me this month in opening yourself up to these vulnerable places, which are also where we will touch the depths and the heights of life? Which is why we are here, isn’t it?

Maybe it’s not safe to come in here if you don’t want to be changed. If you don’t want to have your heart expanded, if you don’t want to laugh, and cry, and give your hands to struggle. 

Are you ready to take the risk of passing through that door that leads to liberation, connection, and a more abundant life? Can you trust that we are surrounded by a great and wondrous Mystery, that we have these companions, and these lives, and this grand invitation: to open the door that is before us, to put ourselves in the way of that amazing grace that is just waiting for us, that is longing for us, that reminds us, in Fred Buechner’s words:

“Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don't be afraid. I am with you.” 

Now and forever, 

Amen.