by Rev. Terry Davis
Delivered at Northwest Unitarian Universalist Congregation
on November 10, 2013
When Lynne and I met for lunch over a month ago, it was the first time we had a chance to really connect since I returned from my summer break. I didn’t know at that time that I was going to ask her if she wanted to write a reflection about faith and deliver it today. And, I wonder if she knew that her heart would prompt her to answer “yes.”
But, she did act on both her heart’s prompting and her heart’s truth . . . and I believe what we heard this morning was a powerful testimony to the ever-present companionship of faith.
Lynne’s moving reflection is a reminder that those times in life when it may seem absolutely impossible to have a deep and abiding faith, faith is, in fact, right there waiting for us to recognize that it still exists . . . perhaps in an altogether new form.
Like a knob of glass that is blown, bent and twisted into a new shape when it is thrust by a skilled glassblower into an intense torch flame, our faith can go through a similar transformation when it meets the fire of some of life’s most brutal realities.
If we have weathered a painful life challenge, I imagine we have relied on something greater than ourselves to get us through. We may have relied on the support of our family, the kindness of friends or affection from our pets. We may have depended upon the beauty of music, poetry or Nature to soothe us. Or, we may have leaned on our faith in mystery or our inner wisdom to guide us through our difficulties.
Even during those moments when it seems that all we can do is put one foot in front of the other, our actions are saying that, in spite of our suffering, we believe that life has inherent worthiness.
Whatever it is that gives us comfort, clarity and strength, ultimately it seems that to have faith is to trust that our sense of well-being will eventually be restored.
When I read Lynne’s reflection earlier this week, it made me think back to the first and only time I met her daughter Summer. As some of you know, that was in April of 2012 during the week that I was interviewing for the ministry position here at Northwest. I met Summer and the rest of the Northwest Youth Group on a Saturday afternoon for pizza and conversation.
The Northwest Youth were essentially interviewing me that day, and I was probably more anxious about this meeting than any of the others I had had all week. The reason why is because – to put it bluntly – it’s been my limited experience that teens can detect a load of crap in a matter of minutes. And, I was feeling insecure enough to know that I might try to win the approval of the Northwest Youth that day rather than gain their trust.
I knew that Summer had been battling cancer, but I really didn’t know much else about her. When she arrived at Northwest, I remember noticing how statuesque she was and that her large hoop earrings seemed to give her an air of confidence. She was weak enough that she had to be carried back to the car after our meeting, and I remember thinking that the Youth Group must clearly be an important part of Summer’s life if she was willing to show up on a day when she didn’t feel well at all.
One of the things that impressed me most about Summer during our brief interaction was her brutal honesty. At one point during our meeting, I asked the youth what they wanted from their new minister. We went around the table and when it was Summer’s turn to answer the question, she simply responded, “I want a reason to get out of bed on Sunday morning.”
A reason to get out of bed in the morning . . . okay, now here’s someone who doesn’t beat around the bush, I remember thinking to myself. I found myself appreciating Summer’s frankness even as I was a bit surprised by it.
I’ve reflected many times since then on Summer’s comment and what she was inviting me to do here at Northwest. What I’ve concluded I think has everything to do with this morning’s topic on how we keep the faith. I think that in that uncensored moment, Summer was inviting me to be real. She was asking me not to preach lofty ideals or worn-out platitudes, but to have faith in myself and my real-life experience. She was inviting me to speak from my heart.
I don’t think that it mattered to Summer that I was a new minister without years of experience under my belt. I don’t think that it mattered to her where I was from, where I went to school, or where I worked before. I think what mattered to Summer is that I cared about connecting with her.
Today, I realize that to truly connect with another begins with being unafraid of revealing the persons we really are. For me, this means letting you know that I’m someone who cares about deeply about getting this thing called ministry right because I care deeply about having a relationship with you.
As we go from here, may we help one another find a faith that’s real and sustaining – one that compels us to get out of bed on a Sunday morning and every day and share the best of who we are with each other. May we find that our faith in life’s inherent worthiness leads us to dwell less on our own difficulties and more on how we might help someone else who is struggling.
And, as Lynne and Summer have done . . . as we peer into the unknown places in our lives . . . may we keep the faith that we have not be abandoned by life’s goodness. Let us know that hundreds of billions of stars are there for us and let us have faith that they will eventually, but assuredly, come into view.
May it be so for you and for me. Amen.