Sermon given by Rev. Frank Clarkson, May 12, 2024

I love that hymn. It’s just beautiful, isn’t it? Hear again the words of the last verse:

For the world we raise our voices, for the home that gives us birth;
in our joy we sing returning home to our bluegreen hills of earth.

Do you hear how it puts together the work of caring for this world with the experience of joy?

There’s a refrain that echoes through the Hebrew prophets, calling the people to return, to remember who they are and whose they are. The prophet Malachi quotes God saying, “Return to me, and I will return to you.” You could translate that as, “Come to your senses, come home to your true nature, and your life will be renewed and richly blessed.” What if we, like the hymn we just sang, combine this idea of return with joy? That paying attention to what matters, giving your hands to that good work, will bring goodness and gladness.

Our worship theme this month is “Repair.” And there are so many ways to think about, and engage with, and practice the art of repair! And there are so many things and situations that need to be repaired, aren’t there? So I wonder, what you might be called to mend. I hope some ideas might come to you this morning, and in these days.

There’s a Hebrew phrase, “tikkun olam.” It translates, “repair the world.” Isn’t this central to what we are called to do, as humans, and as people of faith? To find our own particular ways of helping and healing what’s been broken. To join with others to do what we can’t accomplish alone. To leave the world better than we found it.

Repairing what people have broken is challenging. Because being human is complicated: our particular natures, our thoughts and feelings and histories. It can be messy, trying to fix things after a conflict or disagreement. And it’s worth doing, and and necessary, if you believe in healing and justice and reconciliation.

Maybe it’s because of the messiness of human relationships that I like to, and enjoy, fixing things. Tangible things. There’s a satisfaction in being able to stand back, and look at something you’ve done, and think, “That’s better.” This spring I’ve been doing some repair projects, and I’m loving getting my hands dirty, plugging along, trying not to hurry, and slowly seeing some progress.

I love showing folks around this sturdy and beautiful building that our Universalist forebears built back in 1894. And now I particularly love bringing them into our new elevator and our renovated upstairs space, which still seems like a miracle to me. Look at what we did! Talk about repair!

There’s an English TV show called “Repair Shop,” which is satisfying to watch. People bring their treasured objects to this place where skilled craftspeople help to fix these old beloved things. Each object has a story, of course, that makes it precious to the owner. Tears are often shed when the item works again, or is restored to its former beauty. And I think people love this show because we want and need evidence that things can be mended.

There’s a kind of soul repair that I believe almost everyone needs these days. It can come from solitude, from community, from spiritual practice, from something as simple as being out in the natural world. These days, just being outdoors on a cool spring day, listening to the birds singing and watching the grass grow, feeds me. Like that song we sing: “return to the home of your soul.” What is your soul is hungry for?

I don’t mean to make repair sound easy or simple. Especially when it’s conflict or hurt between people, healing is hard and complicated. And it’s possible. Time can help, but it does’t happen magically, or all by itself. It takes time and attention and effort.

Almost twenty years ago, a difficult relationship between the minister and music director here threatened to split the congregation. Those two staff members had to leave, that was necessary, but it was hard. Hurtful things were said and done, trust was broken. Some people got angry and left; others got uncomfortable and left. It took time and effort to heal wounds and restore trust. And you did it—you did that work. And out of that pain and discomfort, came some healing and a commitment to healthier practices, articulated in a covenant we created. None of you who went through those days want to return to them, but wouldn’t you say that a healthier, happier, more connected and welcoming church came out of that time of struggle? Repair is possible, and people and communities can become stronger in the broken places.

Let me introduce you to a brilliant young rabbi named Danya Ruttenberg. She’s written a book about repair as a  process that requires repentance, making amends, and accountability. She says that too often in our culture there’s a pressure to rush to forgiveness and reconciliation, to letting of grudges, and forgiving those who have done harm. What Dietrich Bonhoeffer called “cheap grace.” Hence the need for this clear-eyed, deliberate, and slow process Rabbi Ruttenberg articulates in her book On Repentance and Repair: Making Amends in an Unapologetic World. 

We do live in a time when too many people seem to have lost the ability or the will to apologize. When some people, rather than apologizing, turn the situation upside down and deny wrongdoing, go one the attack, and reverse the victim and offender. Which any of us, when we do something wrong, and get called out for it, can find ourselves doing. It’s easy to rush to defend ourselves, deny the injury, criticize the one saying they’ve been harmed, and make ourselves the victim. It takes grounding, self-awareness, humility, and courage to say, “I’m sorry. I was wrong. How can I help to fix what I’ve broken?”

Our country is roiled up right now, and we’ve been this way for a while. The horror that’s happening in Gaza, and our nation’s material support of it, have rightfully called many people to rise up in protest. And when authorities have responded with force, that’s led to violence, which has only inflamed the situation and caused more harm. 

The Israel/Palestine situation is complicated, and has been for a long time. Our nation seems incapable these days looking at hard things with care and nuance; being part of the solution, instead of creating new problems. At least that what you’ll think if you only watch the headline news. But you know, don’t you, that is not the whole story. There are still people and places that offer what’s like a repair shop for what’s been broken.  

As John O’Donohue put it,

Where healing and growth are loved,
Where dignity and forgiveness prevail;
…where patience of spirit is prized,
And the sight of the destination is never lost

We are trying to be such a place, and such a people as this. And they are all around, once you start looking for them. Blessed are the peacemakers. Blessed are those who practice tikkun olam. Clare and I are going to offer a space when we can gather to talk about Gaza, and the complexities of these days,. We’re not going to fix what’s happening in Palestine, but who knows how we might be changed as we listen to one another. We’ll let you know when we set a date. 

Repair can be hard, and it is possible, and so needed. And we have opportunities all around to practice this sacred art of mending. We heard some examples in our reading this morning; what Julia Kasdorf learned from her mother:

I learned that whatever we say means nothing,
what anyone will remember is that we came.
I learned to believe I had the power to ease
awful pains materially like an angel.
Like a doctor, I learned to create
from another’s suffering my own usefulness, and once
you know how to do this, you can never refuse.
To every house you enter, you must offer
healing: a chocolate cake you baked yourself,
the blessing of your voice, your chaste touch.

Dear spiritual companions, how much usefulness do we each have, how many opportunities to help mend and bless our broken world? How much is our presence, our witness, our courage, needed these days? All around us are these signs that say, ”Needs Repair.” Where do you want to begin?

Amen.