Faith, Trust, and Pixie Dust

By Rev. Terry Davis

Delivered to Northwest Unitarian Universalist Congregation, September 23, 2012

They don’t make theaters like The Plaza on Ponce anymore. A few miles from my home in Morningside, this Atlanta landmark has been spared the wrecking ball perhaps countless times. After several changes in ownership, it seems to have finally found its niche as an Indie movie house . . . and as host to the long-running, every-Friday-at midnight showing of the cult classic The Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Like the fabulous Fox Theater downtown, The Plaza is indeed historic, opening about ten years later than the Fox in 1939. But that’s probably where the similarities end. The tan cushioned seats in The Plaza are very old. The black wooden stage in front of the screen is probably even older. And, the curtains that hang over the screen and drape in folds have a cheap gold-and-polyester shimmer. They open with awkward, slow drama at the start of the featured film . . . a touching tribute to the former elegance of a bygone era in entertainment.

The other day, Gail and I decided on the spur of the moment to go to The Plaza to catch a matinee. We paid for our tickets, skipped the popcorn that my friend Kent swears is the best in town, and slid into a row in the cool, dimly-lit theater. There were only about six other persons in the place besides us . . . and I couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for this shabby, but courageous venue as the lights went down, the curtains went up, and the movie began.

I enjoy movies for probably many of the same reasons that other people do. They can move me, distract me, disturb me, and comfort me. They make me think, make me cry, and make me hopeful. And, while I probably watch way more films at home on my couch than I do in the theater these days, an afternoon at The Plaza reminded me of another reason I like to go to the movies. The experience reconnects me with a time in my childhood when such outings were healing moments in the life of my family.

Back then, a night at the movies was a source of cheap entertainment for my young parents, who were stretching every dollar for our family of five. When peace on the home front was challenged by marital arguments, an evening out with my family watching a good G-rated Disney movie helped me believe that all would be well in the end . . . just like it was on the big screen.

These Disney movies, their stories of determination and optimism, and the bonding effect they had on my family, have made deep and lasting impressions on me. And, one of these movies features a line that inspired my sermon this morning and reminded me about an important element in the journey of faith.

It’s from the animated film Peter Pan, which was based on the novel entitled Peter Pan and Wendy by J.M. Barrie. As you probably recall, Peter Pan was the mischievous elf-like boy who lived in Never Land and refused to grow up. Peter accidentally meets the children of a wealthy London family, and invites them to fly with him to meet the Lost Boys in Never Land. When the children attempt to fly out of their bedroom window but clearly aren’t getting the hang of it, Peter encourages them saying that all they need is “Faith, trust and a little pixie dust.”

Now it’s true that pixie dust exists only in fairy tales and Disney movies. Faith and trust, on the other hand, are serious, real-life matters. I believe faith can help us find meaning in our lives and sustain our hope for a transformed world . . . whether it’s faith in a loving community, faith in human wisdom, creativity and goodness, or faith in a positive force or mysterious and benevolent entity. And, I believe that a willingness to trust . . . to cast aside our doubts and fears and believe that a good outcome is possible . . . is at the heart of a faith that works.

Elton Trueblood, a 20^th century Quaker and author, wrote, “Faith is not belief without proof, but trust without reservation.” Trust is the element of faith that must be present in order for us to risk confronting our fears and making a change. Trust is what leads us to engage in dialogue and partnership with persons we don’t know and who seem so different from us. Trust is what nudges us to act in new ways or to persevere when it seems as though the odds are against us. One might say that faith must be present in order to trust, but I believe that trust in a greater good is what emboldens our spirit and strengthens our faith.

In this history of our own Unitarian Universalist tradition, there were numerous men and women who trusted their ability to use reason to interpret the Bible and other sacred texts. This trust in the individual experience and personal interpretation eventually led them to a faith that didn’t require adherence to the Christian doctrines of the trinity or atonement. Later, continued trust in one’s ability to forge a personal interpretation of what is most sacred led some of our Unitarian ancestors to make room for humanist, agnostic, and atheist beliefs. Our inclusive Unitarian Universalist faith today is built on this foundation of trust . . . trust in each person’s ability to form their own credo and trust that our collective theological diversity is our greatest asset.

Laura’s personal reflection is another example of the foundational role that trust plays in building one’s faith. Her trust in a loving God that would never condemn anyone to eternal punishment was what made it possible for her to seek a community of others who affirmed her understanding of what is holy and good.

My guess is that many of us have stories of how trust emboldened our spirits and strengthened our faith. For me, an example in my own life of this partnership of trust and faith can be found in the story of my Italian ancestors and their immigration to America.

My great-grandparents were Ellis Island immigrants who came to the U.S. from Italy at the turn of the 20^th century. They arrived barely able to speak English. They worked dangerous and low-paying jobs in the Pennsylvania coal mines. And, they became part of a tight-knit neighborhood that provided mutual support and retained their cherished Italian traditions.

My father recently sent me a YouTube link that celebrated the traditions in Italian-American communities like the one he grew up in – traditions that included small stores and peddlers who kept the fragile economy going by selling bread, olive oil, ice, and clothing to hard-bargaining Italian wives.

In those days, Italian immigrants were often referred to as “wops,” a pejorative term which some etymologists believe may have been an abbreviation that stood for “without papers.”[1] Between 1880 and 1920, more than 4 million Italians immigrated to the U.S., with the majority of them – like my relatives – coming from southern Italy, a region that was largely agricultural and overpopulated.[2]

Many Italian immigrants began their lives in America as unskilled, manual laborers working in Eastern cities, mining camps, and agriculture.[3] It took two generations following the arrival of my great-grandparents before their descendants began achieving greater financial security.

My father was one of those who moved away from his Italian-American community in order to find better employment opportunities. He tells the story of going to work one day with my grandmother after he finished high school. Grandma, who left school as a young girl to clean houses and help support her family, was now working in the local shoe manufacturing plant and had helped my father get a position there.

Dad says it didn’t take him long to decide that cutting leather soles in a hot and windowless factory for a living wasn’t for him. And, so, he left Pennsylvania and moved to Washington, DC, where he eventually found a job with IBM as a junior programmer and began a new chapter in his family’s evolving story.

For me, my family’s immigration to the U.S. is an inspiring story of trust and faith. My ancestors came to this country trusting in the promise of America. They trusted their capacity for hard work and they trusted the strength and support of their families. This trust, I believe, helped them build a faith that nurtured hope and enabled them to survive personal and economic difficulties.

Whether it was a faith in God or faith in each other, there was something special about that northeastern Pennsylvania coal mining town. Looking back on my childhood visits, I think that faith, trust, and perhaps even a little pixie dust could be found there. They showed up in all sorts of ways. The people seemed nicer. The food tasted better. The church bells on top of Mt. Carmel rang more clearly.

Okay, I recognize that childhood memories sometimes have a way of making things appear rosier than they actually are. Still, I do believe that this community of Italian immigrants managed to keep their hope alive by trusting one another and having faith in the possibility of a better life.

Interestingly, I see many parallels between my Italian-American family’s immigration story and the Latinos who immigrate to our country today. Like my relatives, they are seeking a better way of life. And, like many of my Italian ancestors, many of them live on the bottom rung of our country’s economic ladder.

The unwillingness of some to see the overwhelming similarities between European immigration and Latino immigration is something that I find deeply disturbing.  To those who would argue, “Well, the immigration issue today is different. They’re here illegally,” I would respond that this declaration misses the point. Cracking down on undocumented immigrants – particularly families and young persons who have never known any other home – does not solve our country’s problem of rising healthcare costs, low wages, and persistent unemployment. Fear about a struggling economy is not a valid reason for criminalizing a vulnerable population.

I believe that the controversy over undocumented immigrants presents a perfect opportunity, in the words of Rev. Trueblood, to exercise trust without reservation. I believe we have an opportunity to reform our laws and invite people out of the shadows . . . out of the shadows and into the light towards unity and peace. I believe we have a chance for healing and growth, not by criminalizing the marginalized, but by welcoming them to the table. It’s a lesson about inclusion that seems to repeat itself in human history over and over.

In my own life, I’m hopeful that I’ll find the courage to exercise trust to make changes needed to help me grow closer to my ideals . . . ideals that include being more compassionate with myself and others and more willing to make bold decisions. And, by doing so, I hope to enliven my spirit and enlarge my faith in the greater good and the perfect timing of life’s unfolding.

I do believe that trusting myself and others is the path to experiencing greater joy and connection in life. I’m counting on this . . . I’m counting on it perhaps as much as I counted on those family outings and those wonderful movies that strengthened my faith and restored my hope.

As we go from here, may we each take the time to consider where we may be lacking in trust. Where might trust make a difference in our lives? How might trust change the way we think and act? How might it lead to more faith? These are questions we will explore in our Second Hour conversation following the service . . . and questions I hope you’ll continue to examine after today.

May we find the courage to trust without reservation in our lives. May we recognize that our spiritual journey depends upon this very thing. And, may we experience the connection and peace that comes with our willingness to step out of our fears and boldly into the light. May it be so. Amen.

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