by Rev. Terry Davis
Delivered at Northwest Unitarian Universalist Congregation
on November 2, 2014
When the Beatles recorded their last new song together more than four decades ago, the wildly popular British band was on the verge of splitting up for good. After 10 years and a fair amount of fighting, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, George Harrison and Ringo Starr decided that the gig was over and it was time to move on.
The new song, which was written by Harrison, reflected his anger and frustration with his bandmates Lennon and McCartney. He thought that the two were very selfish and cared only about their own music. The lyrics went like this:
All through the day,
I me mine, I me mine, I me mine
All through the night,I me mine, I me mine, I me mine
Now they’re frightened of leaving it
Everyone’s weaving it
Coming on strong all the time
All through the day I me mine.
Harrison, who practiced Hinduism, intentionally selected “I, me and mine” for the title and refrain because, in the Hindu context, these pronouns are references to the ego, that part of our self which controls our thinking and feeling. In the Hindu scripture the Bhagavad Gita, the deity Krishna tells Prince Arjuna that releasing the ego and all of its cravings is what makes a person steadfast in wisdom. Rejecting the demands of I Me Mine ultimately enables one to connect with a sense of the Holy and be at peace.
The undisciplined have no wisdom,
no one-pointed concentration; [says Krishna]
with no concentration, no peace;
with no peace, where can joy be?
[He continues] And so, when someone
is able to withdraw his senses
from every object of sensation,
that man is a man of firm wisdom.
Abandoning all desires, acting without craving,
free from all thoughts of “I” and “mine,”
that man finds utter peace.
This is the divine state.[ref]Stephen Mitchell, Bhagavad Gita: A New Translation (Three Rivers Press, New York, NY: 2000), 58 – 60.[/ref]
As we gather this morning . . . and as we consider November’s invitation to prepare ourselves for the holidays and holy days ahead . . . I believe this is a good time to examine what it might mean to live a life free from the relentlessness of I Me Mine.
In my sermon today, I’d like to explore two questions with you. First, how might we move away from interests that keep us bound to self towards a way of living that brings us more peace and more joy? And, how might we adopt a way of being that encourages us to think and act while letting go of outcomes?
To begin, we might recall the simple, but important reminder found in today’s Story Wisdom – that is, a life focused exclusively on ourselves and our own material needs can actually be the source of misery, not happiness.
A stunning example of this can be found among people who win the lottery. A USA Today article reports that 70 percent of persons who win the lottery wind up broke again in just a couple of years. In addition to losing all their money, the lottery winners are worse off in other ways. Their friends take advantage of them, their relationships fall apart, long-lost family members come out of the woodwork pleading for financial help, and they become the target of lawsuits and scams.
While these dreary statistics may not stop us from occasionally trying our luck on Georgia’s Powerball or Mega Millions lottery games, they do seem to confirm the message in that other Beatles’ tune “Money Can’t Buy Me Love.”
Assuming that most of us here don’t have over-the-top material desires, what then are some of the less detectable ways we may be self-centered and me-focused? In my own life, I will confess that I’m someone who likes to get her way most of the time. That may sound like a very unflattering thing to reveal about myself, so I’d like to clarify.
By saying I want to get my way most of the time, I’m not suggesting that I actually expect that it will happen – only that I want it to happen. I want other people to like my ideas. I want them to agree with my recommendations. I want to do the things I like to do when I like to do them, and I don’t particularly want unexpected circumstances to interfere with my plans. Am I alone on this? I don’t imagine so.
And what about when things don’t go my way? Well, my disappointment can range from barely to enormous, depending on what seems to be at stake for me. I’m aware that when feel fear about not getting my way, it’s usually because I have mistakenly assigned my self-worth to the outcome.
A painful example of this from my own life occurred when my first marriage was starting to come apart. We were having communication problems, as many couples do, but neither of us had the skills at the time to break through our regular impasses. For my part, I thought that the best way to get my point across was to say it over and over again, with more and more volume . . . which of course had the opposite effect. My spouse would often clam up and retreat behind his Wall Street Journal. Or, he would leave the house altogether and head to the gym.
By the time we made it to couples counseling, it was clear that we were both feeling pretty discouraged. And, yet, I wanted the marriage to work out . . . and I just knew that therapy would be the answer.
So, when my spouse asked me for a divorce after our third counseling session and a three-month separation, I was first stunned, then angry . . . then heartbroken. For several years afterwards, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was a failure. Not only had I not gotten my way, I had pinned a big chunk of my self-worth to the success of my fragile marriage. In other words, my well-being was attached to a particular outcome.
And when we’re attached to outcomes, writes psychologist Gail Brenner, it means that we’ve placed our happiness outside of ourselves and in people and circumstances that are essentially beyond our control. And that’s a precarious way to live.
The way to find inner peace and joy, suggests Brenner, is to let go of the false belief that we can change another’s thinking or behavior. “Unfathomable peace and unexpected clarity are available when we give up wanting our own way,” she writes. “By letting go of the fruitless activity of trying to control the uncontrollable, we realize happiness and fulfillment are available here, right in this very moment.”
Brenner’s advice strikes me as replacing self-centered thinking with an approach to life that reflects an attitude of humility. One understanding of humility is that it’s an admission that I don’t always know what’s best for me and others. There have been plenty of times in my life, for example, when I’ve looked back on a situation, saw the flaws in my thinking, and said to myself “Well, I’m glad that didn’t turn out the way that I wanted.”
Humility is also recognizing that my wants are oftentimes disguised as needs. For instance, I may have wanted my marriage to work out, but I didn’t need for it to work out in order to be okay. And, while I naturally grieved the end of the relationship, I also believe that my lack of humility made it difficult for me to hold on to a healthy dose of self-esteem. I alternated between feeling angry and betrayed . . . and depressed and unlovable. Neither state of mind moved me towards becoming a person who Krishna characterized as being “firm in wisdom . . . untroubled by misfortune . . . unattached to all things . . . neither grieving nor rejoicing if good or bad things happen.”[ref]Stephen Mitchell, Bhagavad Gita: A New Translation, 56 – 57.[/ref]
It took the passage of time for me to eventually gain perspective and wisdom about myself and my marriage. Which makes me wonder about poor George Harrison . . . if he had cared less about whether John and Paul liked rehearsing his songs, could he have found more peace? Would he have even needed to write “I Me Mine”? Maybe not.
Assuming that most of us agree that there’s value in abandoning I Me Mine thinking in exchange for an attitude where we let go of outcomes and expectations, does this mean we should take a more passive approach to life? Will our words and deeds really make that much of a difference? How much energy should we invest in people and circumstances if we can’t ultimately control what happens?
Our reading this morning makes the case that, while we may no longer be the center of things, this shouldn’t be a reason to quit the band. Weak, watery and jellified as we are, we mustn’t be apathetic about engaging in life’s hard work. Like the drops of water that eventually carved the Grand Canyon, what we do – however small – has impact.
“Persistence depends on patience, keeping at it when there is little to reassure us,” Unitarian Universalist minister Gordon McKeeman writes.
It would be too bad to give up, to sit back, bemoan the sorry state of the world and wonder why somebody, anybody, everybody (but not me, thank you) doesn’t do something about “it.”[ref]Gordon B. McKeeman, “A Drop in the Bucket,” Singing in the Night: Collected Meditations, Vol. Five, Mary Benard, ed. (Skinner House Books, New York, NY: 2004), 92.[/ref]
McKeeman suggests that, if we believe our efforts to change things for the better are inadequate or futile, it could be that don’t have the right bucket for the job . . . or that we’ve made the wrong assumptions about how much water we need to put in it.
While no outcomes are guaranteed, it’s pretty well understood that a successful relationship takes hard work. My first marriage may have ended in divorce, but my second one is proving to be the right bucket, as we are approaching 20 years together.
Beyond the realm of personal relationships, Rev. McKeeman observes there are many empty buckets that are inviting us to move away from I Me Mine and to a spirit of community. Racism, sexism, ableism, oppression, environmental degradation – these are just some of the buckets that depend not just on our effort, but on the participation of many.
“Remember how many there are who share your concern,” he writes. “We may feel daunted, but we are one drop. A sense of isolation is the parent of the drop-in-the-bucket feeling.”[ref]Ibid.[/ref]
As we think about Northwest, are there times when we exhibit a spirit of community . . . and times when it seems that we’re acting in isolation? My guess is that you can think of examples of both. The way you create a sense of welcome on Sundays . . . your volunteer commitment to facilitate Second Hour learning for our children, teens and adults . . . the great turnout we had at the Pride parade last month . . . as well as at the Moral Monday protests at the state capitol earlier this year . . . these are all ways that your many drops are creating a vibrant community and advancing justice.
More challenging to consider may be those times when Northwest may feel as though its efforts to change are drops in the bucket that don’t seem to be going anywhere. Opportunities that surfaced once before may be arising again, and it may be difficult to know whether things can or should be different.
For instance, what will it mean to continue to offer a warm welcome to the Newcomer? How might Northwest creatively address the challenges that growth brings? Or, what are some ways this community might join with neighboring Unitarian Universalist congregations . . . and even with other religious communities . . . to work towards a common goal of justice and peace?
My sense is that, by being a part of this community and intentionally committing ourselves to a spiritual journey, we will sort these questions out.
As we engage with the thoughtful and diverse people we find here . . . and as we open our hearts and our minds to new ways of thinking and acting, I believe we can’t help but be transformed. May we find the courage to abandon our I Me Mine approach to life and trust that utter peace will be ours . . . even if the outcome isn’t.
May it be so . . . for you and for me. Amen.