Sermon given by Rev. Frank Clarkson, November 10, 2024.

I really don’t want to talk about the election, or politics today. You can find plenty of that from sources that are smarter than I am. But how can we not be mindful of the state of our nation in these days? How can we not be troubled and concerned, especially for those who are most vulnerable? How many of us gathered here have reason to worry, for ourselves, and for those we love? Our faith and our politics are inseparably intertwined; it was Gandhi who said, “Those who say religion has nothing to do with politics do not know what religion is.”

Eight years ago, on the morning after the election, I was stunned. I just couldn’t have imagined that outcome; I didn’t allow for that possibility, and I was dismayed that almost half of American voters wanted that. I was sitting over there, in my office, feeling dismayed, but trying to do something useful, when I got an email from my friend Rev. Sue Phillips, who was then the lead of our New England Region staff. She was writing to UU clergy in New England, simply to say “We see you, and we are in this together.” When I read those words, I put my head down on my desk and cried.

Because I felt so alone, I guess, and here was someone I love and respect telling me “You’re not alone, and we’re going to get though this.” After a few minutes I picked my head up, and wiped my tears, because Sue also reminded us that there was work to be done.

I have seen this movie, and didn’t like it the first time. So I have little hope for the sequel. Like lots of sequels, it’s likely to be worse than the original. There will be plenty of good work for us to do in the days ahead. 

This is a good day to come to church, and I’m glad that you’re here. And grateful. If nothing else, faith communities like this one are places where we see one another. Where we notice and acknowledge each other’s presence; our gifts and our limitations. Church is one place that reminds us that we need one another, and that we are in this together.

Religion has gotten a bad name, and is no longer something most people want to be part of. And I understand why. But I wonder about people who don’t have a community like this one, and I hope they have something that helps them hold on to what is good.

I’m not on X, formerly knows as Twitter, but my wife is. One of the people she follows is God. The handle is called @TheTweetOfGod. And on Tuesday Tracey showed me what God tweeted: “I’ve never received so many prayers from atheists.”

It’s obvious, isn’t it, especially at a time like this, that we need something more than the internet, more than inspirational quotes and pithy memes; more than the ubiquitous Facebook response to trouble: “thoughts and prayers." We need something like religion, good religion, don’t we? 

And so I remind you of something that our society seems to have forgotten. That the word “religion” does not mean buildings or doctrine or institutions trying not to change. No, that word “religion” comes from the Latin words “re” and “ligio.” “Ligio” means connect, like how ligaments in the body which connect muscle to bone, and help hold us  together; and “re” means again, so that religion is meant to help reconnect what has been disconnected, to bring back together what has been lost or forgotten, to hold together that which is so easily torn asunder. Don’t we need some of that in these days?

This month we’re reflecting on “Modern Day Saints,” and do you know where the word “saint” comes from? It’s from another Latin word, “sanctus,” which means holy. A sanctuary is a place where you can expect to experience the holy, whether that’s a church or a wildlife sanctuary. A saint is thought to be a holy person. 

But too often the church has implied and taught that what is holy is set apart; like holy is up there somewhere, and not down here, where we live. You know, don’t you, that there are sanctuaries all around? What about saints? Don’t you know some?

What if we saw holy simply as whole? Not set apart, or split apart, but integrated? Holiness as wholeness. 

My vision of the church is as a place and a community that helps people integrate their light and their shadow; a path that invites us on the journey toward greater wholeness, that equips us with the practices and tools and companions to live more deeply and fully and wholly these lives we have been given.

And who among us isn’t called toward that? In a dualistic culture that wants to divide us, that promotes heroic individualism, don’t you long to lead a more integrated, connected, and committed life?

I know things look like a mess right now. And it is still a beautiful world. It is still a blessing simply to be alive, where one can so easily be brought to tears, or to your knees, by the voice of a child, or the touch of a friend, or a moment of peace, out under the sky, or in any kind of sanctuary.

Yes, there is so much that is broken.

And yet… (the poet reminds us)
there comes a time when you stop hoping for
One American Hero
and realize there is only you—
picking trash from the neighbor’s yard,
hauling jars to the recycle bin,
calling your great-aunt Susan even though
she is not just your aunt Susan
and this is not just your godforsaken earth.

It is depressing to know a war is coming.
Worse to know the war will always be in you.

Little cauldron, little tender loon.
Take comfort in your bold heart
where hope and fear are mingling. (Kate J. Baer)

How’s this for a new definition of saint? Someone who can, in hard times, hold their stuff together. Who can hold on, and hold the hope and the fear that’s always within. Who can put these seemingly oppositional forces in conversation, and live in the tension between them.

Maybe you don’t like the word “saint,” maybe it has too much baggage; sounds too churchy or too pious for you. I’m not suggesting that any of us start going around calling each other saints; certainly don’t start calling yourself that if you want to have any friends! 

But whatever you call it, I commend to this calling: to take seriously what you are doing with your life, and whether that is congruent with your values and aspirations. To open yourself to deeper spiritual and theological work, seeking after the source or sources that will help you to live abundantly, and even joyfully, in these days. To come into greater connection with your companions, even the ones who annoy you. And I don’t know how you do this without being grounded in some kind of community and practice.

Marge Piercy reminded us that

The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.

Pictures of saints are put into books; are made into icons and hung in churches, but you know, any saint worthy of the name would tell you that they found their holiness by getting their hands dirty, that they found their wholeness by living among God’s people, oftentimes working toward an end they never got to see realized in their lifetime. That if they met the Holy anywhere, it was in the struggle for goodness and for justice, that work which is never done.

Anyone would agree that Archbishop Desmond Tutu was a modern day saint. He witnessed the worst of people’s inhumanity to one another, and still, he had a joyful heart and an infectious laugh. Archbishop Tutu led his people through the darkest days of the struggle against apartheid, when the South African government was jailing and killing people just because they were trying to be free. In those days Tutu would say say in his prayers, “God, we know you are in charge. But why don’t you make it more obvious?”

Dear spiritual companions, the invitation and the imperative of these days is to do our own work, and to join hands with one another, remembering that we are part of a long and unbroken line of faithful people, trusting that we are held by a great and abiding Love, whose mission is for justice, compassion, and reconciliation. We can rightly praise and give thanks for those saints who have gone before us, who from their labors rest. But right now we need all the saints we can get, ones who aren’t resting yet! We are needed and we are called, in these days, to live lives of wholeness and goodness, to give our hands to struggle and to one another. To keep on moving forward, singing as we go.

Amen.