Sermon given by Rev. Frank Clarkson, May 15, 2022.

The other day Tori and I were talking, and she looked up and smiled and said, “Isn’t it wonderful? Through the pandemic winter, people here have been quietly working on all these things—the capital campaign and building project, the land acknowledgment, the ministry of arts, and the journey of belonging. And now we can see each of these coming to fruition!”

In her lovely way, Tori reminded me to look up, and look around, and see what is unfolding in our midst—these good things that folks have been quietly and steadily working on. And it is good. I was at a meeting at our denominational offices in Boston on Thursday, and I told them how grateful I am for you good people here—for the heart and soul you have shown through these times of challenge and upheaval, for how wonderfully you have carried on, and helped us to even thrive in these days.

Do you know that, being here, puts you in a minority? Participation in faith communities has been declining for some time now. The future of the church is uncertain. And yet, there is a spiritual hunger in our culture these days that online spirituality programs and gurus just can’t satisfy. A few years ago, I met someone on her first Sunday here, we were standing at coffee hour talking. And with tears in her eyes, this person said, “I’m tired to trying to pray all on my own.” That really touched me, and I told her I hoped we might be a place she could find a spiritual home. I’m not sure what happened—she didn’t stay here, but I hope she did find a community somewhere, a place where she belongs. Where she has friends and companions to pray with.

Isn’t this why you are here? Because you want and need a place where you belong? Maybe a place where your children know they belong, just as they are? Belonging is not the same for everyone, it takes all kinds of forms and shapes. Some of you want companions to work with, teaching our children or striving for social justice. Others of you want a place to share your joys and sorrows, your questions and longings, some friends for the journey. Some of you want and need a quiet hour on Sunday morning when you can be renewed and restored. 

We live in a time of disruption and dislocation; when fear and distrust of those outside our own circles can make everyday life seem like a challenge. In March I flew down to North Carolina to see my mom; it had been almost a year since I’d been able to visit her. The airports were crowded, and that felt strange, and a bit scary, you know? Waiting for my plane home, there were a number of flights departing around the same time so there was this sea of humanity around gates, so many people that I took a panoramic photo and texted it to my wife. She wrote back, “Eew.” 

But as I stood there, and looked at my fellow travelers, I saw that they were just people like me. Parents, siblings, children, young and old, just trying to get from one place to another. Taking it all in, I actually felt my heart soften. The thought came, “I still like people.” And this made me glad.

Brené Brown defines belonging as “the innate human desire to be part of something larger than us.” We have within us this desire, this longing, to be part of something larger, something more. And when we find it, when we find a place where we feel at home, where we can be ourselves, that feels so good and encouraging and liberating, doesn’t it?

And you know belonging is a two-way street. For it to continue and deepen, you have to show up, and be part of the exchange and flow. This is an act of creation, isn’t it? And it can feel risky, because you don’t know how it’s going to turn out!

I wonder how Taffy and Leslie felt as they set out to paint this beautiful piece that’s now before us. It must have been rather daunting to start on a painting for a whole church community. On such a large canvas! I was part of a rather long e-mail thread that attempted to offer helpful feedback to Leslie and Taffy as they proceeded, and I can only imagine how all of our opinions about the project may have landed with them. It was a lot, I know! 

You don’t know what’s going to happen when you start something new—whether that’s stepping across the threshold of a church for the first time, or approaching someone to say, “I don’t think we’ve met,” or coming up here and lighting a candle to share something close to your heart. What I love about you all here is your openheartedness, your willingness to risk reaching out. The good news is, this reaching out offers its own reward, it’s key to deeper belonging. As Rumi said, “Open your hands if you want to be held.”

I so love Shelly’s poem that she shared a few minutes ago, and how it traces belonging as our birthright, as something nurtured within us from the start: 

Belonging
Ebbs and flows
A creative journey of the soul
No singular beginning nor triumphant end

Belonging
In this life, this spiritual body
Carried by our mothers
We grow, safe and protected

Belonging
Expands within ourselves
First cries
Out into the world
Wild eyed and full of wonder

Belonging
Nurtured through play, community, faith, and love
Embraced exactly as you are
Wherever you are (“Belonging,” by Shelly Lyons)

Thank you, dear Shelly, for this gift. And we can take your poem home with us today! And if you’re on Zoom, Tom can share it in the chat so you can have it too. 

As we grow, belonging is something we are invited to participate in and be part of creating. And you hear this in the second half of Shelly’s poem:

Belonging
Experienced through art, prayer, song, and service
Felt in smiles and kind words
Shared over cups of tea and hot coffee

Belonging
Creates a center from which we can grow
Learning and unlearning
Exchanging bias and discomfort for curiosity and compassion

Belonging
Sparks of connection and reflection
Igniting new growth, new ways of being
Mindful and respectful of each unique journey

Belonging
Speaks to us
You are safe here
You are loved, wild eyed and full of wonder

This morning our choir sang “This hope that we make, together.” Isn’t belonging something we also make together? It asks us to each do our work. Brené Brown says “Because true belonging only happens when we present our authentic, imperfect selves to the world, our sense of belonging can never be greater than our level of self-acceptance.”

To belong here, or anywhere, you have to be able to hear and trust that voice that speaks so clearly in Shelly’s poem: “You are safe here. You are loved.” This trust can be hard. I imagine each of us has a fearful voice within us that wonders, “Am I worthy? Am I enough?” Doesn’t that voice want and need to hear these  words?: “Yes—you are! You are safe here, you are loved. Now and always.”

We have come through these past two years as well as we have, because we have continued to find ways to connect, we have continued to create spaces for belonging. Which is central to our wellbeing, as individuals, as families, as a church, as a community. People are hungry, these days, for ways to belong. For a place at the table, for an open door, for an outreached hand, for an unconditional welcome. Isn’t holding open this kind of space central to why we are here?

I hope you’ll check out what our Journey of Belonging team is offering at coffee hour today. This is just the beginning of what we hope will be ongoing and deepening ways to connect and belong here. In this month when we’re reflecting on the way of creativity, is there anything more worthy of our efforts than creating communities of belonging? Don’t we need this where we live, where we work, where we worship—to know that we belong? And if you’re interested in being part of this good work, please speak to Cindy, Shelly or me.

And let’s acknowledge that we are human, we make mistakes, we will disappoint each other. It’s necessary and healthy to able to admit our mistakes, name our disappointments, offer constructive criticism, and ask for forgiveness from one another. Because we are in this together—and isn’t that good? I hope we are creating the kind of spiritual home John O’Donohue describes, where “we have eyes to see that no one arrives without a gift and no one leaves without a blessing.”

One of our beloved hymns here has a couple of lines that always move me, and I expect move many of you too, because they describe this way of belonging:

Drifting here with my ship’s companions, all we kindred pilgrim souls,
Making our way by the lights of the heavens, in our beautiful blue boat home.
(“Blue Boat Home,” by Peter Mayer)

We are in this boat together, and we are a work in progress, creating a community of belonging, all we kindred, pilgrim souls. May it always be so.

Amen.