“The Best and the Worst of Times”

April 5, 2009

Reverend Carol Rosine

The First Universalist Society in Franklin, MA

My routine every morning when I tumble out of bed is to open the front door, pad out to the end of my sidewalk, bleary-eyed in slippers and nightgown, where I spend a moment listening to the birds before picking up the Boston Globe. I then pad back into the house and put on the kettle so that I can make a pot of fresh coffee. A cup of coffee and the Boston Globe—that’s how I begin each day. So you can imagine the dismay I felt yesterday when the headline at the top of Page 1 screamed: “Times Co. threatens to shut Globe!” I shouldn’t have been surprised. I’d seen it coming years ago when the Times bought out the Globe & changed the format, eliminated whole sections, fired some of my favorite columnists. I knew that readership was down, that revenues were plummeting—and yet my heart sank when I read the headline. What would I do without the daily Globe to begin my day?

Seems like every day there’s more and more bad news trickling out on the economic front. It’s true that there’s been a month-long rally on Wall Street but during the same month an additional 663,000 jobs were lost with the unemployment rate standing right now at 8.5 percent, a rate that would be almost twice that if those who’d dropped out of the job market or had settled for a part-time job were included.

Most of us probably know people who’ve been directly affected by lay-offs, reductions in hours or benefits, projects delayed or cancelled, services suspended. Some of those directly affected may even be you.

Charles Dickens begins A Tale of Two Cities with these words: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way—in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.”

There was California and then, Lo and Behold, there’s Iowa. Who would have thought? The worst and the best of times!

I admit that if a new President had not been sworn into office in January, I would be wallowing in a deep well of despair. But he was and as a result I feel mostly gratitude and relief when I hear his careful analyses of the pickle we’re in and the solutions he’s proposing. I feel mostly gratitude and relief when I witness the bills he’s signing and the reception he’s receiving overseas. I don’t agree with everything he’s saying and doing, of course, that wouldn’t be the American way, but when we consider “the superlative degree of comparison only” it does, indeed, feel like the best of times.

And yet there is an element of fear that seems to permeate the air we breathe and the water we drink. I confess that I feel a little fear as well as I watch the drastic shrinkage of my pension and the disappearance of my savings into a new furnace and hot water heater. And I worry whether the church will be able to meet its budget for yet another year.

However, I also must tell you that in addition to a little nagging fear, I am feeling almost exhilarated. It is the worst of times and the best of times. And the best of times for me came every time one of our recent Focus Groups drew to a close. There were 117 people who participated in one of these conversations during the month of March: almost half of the adults in the congregation which is really good. What we did was to have people reflect on what they wanted from our congregation, some of the feelings they hoped to experience, the talents they were willing to share, and what they wanted our congregation to mean in the larger world. We then asked them to share a specific time when they felt really good about this congregation. I want to give you a thumbnail sketch of what we heard as folks shared.

Many of you participating talked about wanting a spiritual community where you are accepted and respected for who you are, for what you think and believe, where you can find some support and friends. A spiritual community in which you feel like you really belong. Some of you want an opportunity to deepen your spiritual experiences, to explore new ideas, to ponder the meaning of life. A place where you can grow into a deeper understanding of who you are and what you’re to be doing in life. Some of you want a place where your children will be safe and loved and where they can grow into youths and adults with solid ethics and morals. Some of you want to put your beliefs into action in the larger community and to contribute to something bigger than just yourself.

The feeling that was talked about most frequently was the feeling of being accepted, that you want to feel like you belong here, that this is a safe place that you can call your spiritual home. That this is a place where you can experience peace, kindness, comfort, hope, joy, even love. That this is a place that will remind you to feel gratitude for the wonders of life.

Some want to be inspired and challenged by thought-provoking ideas and to feel that things make sense and life has meaning. Some want to reach out to others with compassion and respect. And some feel pride in who we are and what we stand for. But the overwhelming response when we asked what you were hoping to find here was the experience of belonging to an authentic spiritual community where you are valued for who you are.

This is different from what we would have heard a generation or two ago. Back then there were so many that we called the walking wounded, who were fleeing an oppressive childhood religion, who had rejected the doctrines & creeds they’d memorized, who were in rebellion against the authority of scripture, of tradition, and those who would impose conformity. It was freedom that was longed for. The freedom to believe that which was consistent with experience and knowledge. The freedom to explore new ideas, to ask questions. There was relief in finding a church filled with skeptics, with heretics even. This is what so many were looking for a generation or two ago.

There were a few who talked about these things during our most recent Focus Groups. But the overwhelming response, I repeat, was this focus on the community-aspect of congregational life. On the spiritual dimension which, once again, is very different from what it was a generation or two ago, and reflects, I believe, the spiritual void that so many have been feeling in recent decades. That there must be something deeper and more meaningful in life than the treadmill that so many find themselves on. That it’s not freedom that’s longed for, but close relationships in which you can tell your stories and be heard, in which you can express your fears and shortcomings and still be accepted. An authentic community is what so many long for, a community that will be there when the going gets tough.

When we asked you to think about one time when you felt really good about this congregation so many of you talked about the support you either received or were able to offer during those tough times. It was the death of Kristin Poole and little Jake Flannery that some of you remembered, and Tom’s death as well. It was the support received when parents or other loved ones died, when there was serious illness in the family, when tragedy struck.

But there was more, of course. Quite a few of you, when asked what you felt really good about, talked about the ways in which we have worked side-by-side over the years: building the labyrinth; the move out of Marvin Chapel; chipping ice out of our roofless sanctuary; the groundbreaking for this meetinghouse when we all helped dig, even the children with their spoons; the vote that happened so long ago when we took that Leap of Faith and decided to build; and lots of you named Miracle Sunday, that day we threatened to lock the doors until you’d coughed up enough cash to put up the religious education wing. It’s been hard work but what fun we’ve had as we’ve worked together to build this community. I might add, however, that not one person mentioned as a high point being assigned to one of the weekly cleaning crews.

Instead it was some of those more meaningful moments, many of which have happened right here during worship: the rituals & the rites of passage like the Bridging Ceremony & the Coming of Age credos; the sharing that’s happened during Lay-led services & being moved by the music, like the Sunday that Tom played the theme from Shindler’s List on the violin. Some of you even mentioned the times you were moved by the sermons.

A few of you talked about the fun times we’ve had together: Ferry Beach and the Chestnut Street Review. A high point for others was when we bore witness to our values in the larger community: the candle light vigil in support of No Place for Hate following a murder perpetrated by a group of skinheads; our presence at Boston’s Gay Pride Parade; the work we did in supporting marriage equality; the teams of FUSF folks who’ve been helping in the restoration of New Orleans.

There were so many nods of recognition as people shared their memories of things that happened years ago or as recently as the week before. There were bursts of laughter and so many tears shed that sometimes we had to pass a box of tissues around. As I listened to your thoughtful (and sometimes irreverent and outrageous) responses, I felt awed and humbled by having been your minister for so long. And proud, oh so proud of what we have created here together. But challenged, also, by the vision of what we want to become.

Because it was when we started talking about what we want to be 5 years from now that the rubber hit the road. We talked about having completed all the interior space in this meetinghouse: not only the walls on the first floor of the RE wing and the second floor as well, but even the addition of an office wing. We envisioned the outdoor space being fully developed with a sustainable landscape in which there would walking trails and a peace garden, a memorial garden, an organic garden. And more parking. We want more parking as well.

And then there was the recognition of how understaffed we’ve become for an active congregation of this size. People talked about wanting to pay our music director, wanting a bookkeeper, a volunteer coordinator, a program director, but at the top of the list was the desire for a custodian who would take care of the cleaning, the routine maintenance, and even the yard work. One person fantasized that we purchase a robot who could do all of that for us. And the need was also expressed to have not only our current staff and ministers receive fair compensation but that these new positions would be fairly compensated as well.

The reality is that this congregation is heavily dependent on volunteers to do most of the tasks that in other congregations of our size and activity level are being done by paid personnel. Which is fine as long as our cheerful volunteers don’t start running out of steam and collapse in a puddle on the floor—which happens from time to time I might add.

You probably know where I’m headed with this and you’re right. Every group that gathered talked about the need for more financial stability in this congregation. It probably seems to most of you who come here on Sunday mornings that things are fine. There’s fabulous music every Sunday morning, our children are well-cared for and guided over in the RE wing, there’s literature in the pamphlet rack, coffee waiting in the foyer, and ministers circulating among you. But the reality is that our annual operating budget is bare-bones.

It is today that our annual Stewardship Drive begins. It is today that we ask each of you who participate in the life of this congregation to make a pledge of financial support. I know that the state of our economy has many of you worried. I know that some of you have already been laid off, have had your hours reduced, or are trying to make ends meet with a pension that’s shrinking. But this is not so for most of us. So what I’m going to ask is that if you still have a steady source of income, that you consider increasing your pledge in order to help out those who will have to reduce their pledges of support this year. You must know that if your situation changes in the coming months, your pledge of support can be adjusted, either reduced if your income becomes less or increased if you find that your financial situation becomes more stable. My pledge of support is $3120/ year which works out to about 5% of my income. I would challenge those of you with a steady income to do something similar. And if you can’t match that 5%, perhaps you could consider half that. I challenge you to do this in the faith that you really care about this spiritual community you’ve found here in Franklin and want it to not only to survive, but to thrive.

We’re living in a mixed bag right now—the worst of times and the best of times. And we’re in it together. We are not alone.

And now let’s sing: “When Our Heart is in a Holy Place” #1008