by Rev. Terry Davis
Delivered at Northwest Unitarian Universalist Congregation on June 8, 2014
The news this past week has been filled with stories about D-Day. It was on June 6, 1944, that more than 160,000 Allied troops landed along a 50-mile stretch of heavily-fortified French coastline to fight Nazi Germany on the beaches of Normandy, France.
Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower, who was in charge of the operation, was described as a “bundle of nerves, smoking four packs [of cigarettes] a day and drinking gallons of coffee.” The military undertaking involved moving nearly 150,000 military personnel over the stormy English Channel to attempt the first successful opposed landing in eight centuries. General Eisenhower also had to coordinate the air attack for the largest amphibious landing ever.[ref]Ann McFeatters, “D-Day Sacrifices Will Never be Forgotten,” The Atlanta-Journal Constitution, June 6, 2014.[/ref]
More than 5,000 ships and 13,000 aircraft supported the D-Day invasion, and by day’s end, the Allies gained a foothold in continental Europe. More than 9,000 Allied soldiers were killed or wounded on that day, but their sacrifice allowed more than 100,000 soldiers to begin the slow, hard trek across Europe, to defeat Adolph Hitler’s troops.
The 70th anniversary events were held this week at the cemeteries, beaches and stone-walled villages of Normandy. They were attended by world leaders, as well as some of the few remaining survivors. D-Day veteran Clair Martin, who is 93 years old, was one of those there. He has been back to Omaha Beach in Normandy three times since the end of World War II and is still in disbelief that he survived the horrors of it. “I praise God I made it and that we’ve never had another world war,” he said.[ref]Greg Keller, “Veterans, Visitors Flock to Normandy,” The Atlanta-Journal Constitution, June 6, 2014.[/ref]
The courage displayed by those hundreds of thousands of American men and women who served our country at a time when the evils of Nazism and war were rampant is what led journalist Tom Brokaw to call them “The Greatest Generation.” He argued that these men and women fought not for fame and recognition, but because it was the right thing to do.
The heroic actions of these World War II veterans strike me as an example of what it means to serve from the heart, which is the topic of my sermon today. Serving from the heart is about being compelled to do the right thing for someone or something else in spite of our fears or discomforts.
Acts of altruism, such as those displayed by war soldiers who risk their own lives for the welfare of others, are, perhaps, the highest form of service to one’s fellow human being. And, yet, while taking physical risks can certainly be a component of serving from the heart, it seems that subordinating one’s own needs for the welfare of others almost always involves taking emotional risks. When doing the right thing – when we engage in some activity that we perceive as contributing to some larger good – it seems that we almost always risk being changed.
Being willing to undergo a change in our self-perception, values and priorities is no small matter. Opening ourselves up to these kinds of changes takes courage and a willingness to tolerate the ambiguity that comes with transitioning from one understanding of one’s self and the world to another. So, as we examine together today what it means to serve from the heart, I’d like to suggest that whatever it is that we do to be of service to someone or something else, we have an opportunity to be changed by it. And, it seems, the higher the emotional risk, the more profound our transformation is likely to be. Therefore, I am proposing to you that any service that moves us involves engaging with our own vulnerabilities.
When I read Letitia’s reflection earlier this week, I was struck by how emotionally transformative her experience of service was for her. As a writer who is telling stories of despair and hope that are the outcomes of addiction, Letitia is encountering some of the most harrowing personal journeys a human being can take. Allowing herself to be opened up by another’s pain and be changed by it takes a certain degree of emotional courage. It also strikes me as an act of sympathy, as her dedication to writing thoughtful and well-composed stories is a reflection of the compassion she feels for these young men and their families.
As people who are seeking lives of meaning and purpose, I imagine we’ve heard a lot about the spiritual and emotional benefits of service. Many of us are likely already engaged in regular forms of service to others, either through our work or our volunteerism. Those of you who volunteer your time and energy at Northwest know what some of the benefits are – you’ve indicated you experience more enjoyment, a greater sense of belonging, and a feeling of accomplishment and purpose.
Letitia said in her reflection that service is not just doing, it is a feeling. If serving from the heart feels so good, then why is it that we struggle sometimes with saying “yes” when someone asks us to volunteer? It’s true that being of service is oftentimes inconvenient. It takes away from family time and leisure time. It can be involve long hours or tasks that we might find unpleasant. It can engage us in interactions with others whose personalities and points of view are very different from our own.
But perhaps this is as it should be. These discomforts are what I call the “little sufferings” that often go along with the process of transformation. And I believe that a little personal suffering isn’t always a bad thing. In fact, it can be a very good thing if I have the courage to allow myself to be changed by it.
And so, perhaps, in this age where we are encouraged to minimize life’s pains with entertainment, recreation, iced mocha frapuccinos and other distractions, it seems like one of the opportunities I have – and, perhaps you do, too – is to discern when avoiding emotional pain is in our best interest and when it isn’t.
Our Unitarian Universalist heritage is one that includes countless examples of men and women who have served from the heart by plunging right into situations that were physically demanding, emotionally challenging, or both. Our liberal religion, in fact, encourages us to come together around deeds, not creeds. We are encouraged to live our faith and our principles by doing good works in the world. And so, as you think about the ways you currently give service to this community and in other places, I’d like for you to think about what it might be like if you upped the ante. In other words, what would it be like if you took action that increased your emotional risk with the understanding that it might possibly lead to greater personal growth?
As a faith community, it seems that you just completed an act of service that challenged you in just this way. From February to the end of May, this congregation experimented with holding two worship services instead of one. While I’m aware that the actions that led to this decision to experiment were not met with unanimous approval, this congregation nevertheless moved forward with the trial.
The experiment, as I understand it, was undertaken with the goal to be of service to the newcomer. When I was interviewing for my position at Northwest two years ago, this congregation had just completed a survey that indicated it was open to growth and change. A crowded Sanctuary can send a message to the newcomer that says “we don’t have room for you,” which is obviously something that runs counter to this desire to be welcoming and grow.
Pulling off the two-service experiment took a lot of work on the part of staff and volunteers. It wasn’t easy and I’m aware that it was, at times, painful. Sundays now were a much longer time commitment for some. It required extra coordination for others. It meant a loss of fellowship and a feeling of togetherness for yet others. It exposed some gaps in programming and planning.
The bottom line is that, in Northwest’s attempt to be of service to the newcomer – to serve from the heart with the intention of being welcoming – things got messy. Of course they did! Northwest tried something new and risky and of course it was going to be messy, difficult and uncomfortable. That is the nature of change. Ultimately, I believe that if I approach my spiritual and emotional journey expecting to feel good all of the time, then I’m not really growing. I imagine that none of us here can point to a significant life event that changed us for the good and not also recall that it was accompanied by fear, loss and pain.
It’s wonderful that a place like Northwest can offer us a peaceful refuge from life’s storms and be a community of joy and fellowship. We all need a place like that. However, to be a true faith community, Northwest needs also to be a place that challenges us. We need not be afraid to try new things, to make room for different points of view. We have an opportunity to see how our personal growth also depends upon unity, and that means we may sometimes need to give up something in order to find the common good.
And, so I commend you for your willingness to go through the experiment. I believe it’s a sign of health that this congregation was willing to do something new and emotionally risky in service of a larger good. And, if Northwest can continue in this spirit of service as it decides where to go from here, I think that this community will be in for great emotional growth and a renewed sense of purpose.
However we choose to be of service to someone or something, my hope is that we will recognize that feeling vulnerable is sometimes a sign that a significant emotional or spiritual payoff is in store for us. May we find the courage to give ourselves to the little sufferings that may be part of the journey and know that we are resilient enough to bear them.
And, may we allow our service from the heart to change us . . .change us into persons that are more sympathetic to the needs of others, more forgiving of their mistakes and our own, and ultimately more able to find peace and well-being regardless of what life may bring.
May it so. Amen.