October 1, 2017
Rev. Emily Wright-Magoon
Audio:
When I’m preparing for a sermon, and I find that I’m getting bored, I know that the boredom means I need to dig a bit deeper.
Preparing for this sermon on the topic of “hospitality,” I was getting bored.
It may have been because I preached a sermon to you all two years ago on “Radical Hospitality.” I talked about going out of our way to welcome the stranger by decentering ourselves and embracing difference. Welcoming diversity is such a basic tenet of Unitarian Universalism.
And maybe that’s why I was getting bored: it’s basic. It’s UU 101. We say: “Come, Come Whoever You Are.” We say: “Cast the Circle Wide.” We say: “We need not think alike to love alike.”
And all of this is true, and basic – fundamental to who we are.
AND yet, if we go deeper, we see that the way we make sure that this radical hospitality truly remains open to all is, paradoxically, to set limits.
The limits are called our covenant: we agree with one another on certain kinds of behavior, certain boundaries for how we relate to one another.
I say this in our Newcomers’ Drop-In Circle all the time:
that it is a misconception that to be a Unitarian Universalist you can believe whatever you want.
It’s correct that we are not a creedal faith: we do not all have to believe the same thing.
But we are a covenantal faith:
So if a person’s beliefs cause them to relate to others in a way that falls outside our covenant, it ends up creating an unwelcoming environment for all.
There’s the paradox: in order to maintain a space that is open and welcoming to all, there are some times we have to place limits not on certain people, and not even on certain beliefs, but on certain behaviors.
The philosopher Karl Popper defined this paradox in 1945 as the paradox of tolerance. He said:
Unlimited tolerance must lead to the disappearance of tolerance. If we extend unlimited tolerance even to those who are intolerant, if we are not prepared to defend a tolerant society against the onslaught of the intolerant, then the tolerant will be destroyed, and tolerance with them. — In this formulation, I do not imply, for instance, that we should always suppress the utterance of intolerant philosophies. As long as we can counter them by rational argument and keep them in check by public opinion, suppression would certainly be unwise. But we should claim the right to suppress them if necessary …; for it may easily turn out that they are not prepared to meet us on the level of rational argument, but begin by denouncing all argument; they may forbid their followers to listen to rational argument, because it is deceptive, and teach them to answer arguments by the use of their fists or pistols. We should therefore claim, in the name of tolerance, the right not to tolerate the intolerant.
A more modern way of putting this paradox of tolerance, often repeated these days by those on the margins of our society, comes from the young black gay writer Robert Jones Jr, who says:
We can disagree and still love each other, unless your disagreement is rooted in my oppression and denial of my humanity and right to exist.
It may sound harsh – and, frankly, against our religion – when he says that in this case he need no longer love them. Personally, I believe in the spiritual practice of nurturing love for all.
But I imagine that by this statement he means he doesn’t have a laissez faire attitude toward those who believe he doesn’t have a right to exist.
As UUs, we do believe that the young black gay man has a right not only to exist, but to thrive, just as we do the poor Latina transgender woman, and the white straight male. All have inherent worth and dignity, as we say each Sunday in our covenant.
We also covenant each week to promote justice, equity, compassion in all aspects of life and living…to recognize the interdependent web of all existence…We then have the beautiful and important task of struggling together to figure out what those commitments mean, and how to live them out in the world.
Another thing I say in our Newcomers Drop-In Circle each month is that we Unitarian Universalists are trying to do something pretty unique: trying to create as wide a space as we can, while still standing for something.
So, the paradox is that if we create a space that is too wide, too laissez faire, then we don’t stand for anything. Well, that’s not quite true – because neutrality in fact doesn’t exist.
What ends up happening instead is, like the philosopher Karl Popper argued: the intolerant voices end up holding court, and before we know it, we have become hospitable to only a select few and inhospitable to most.
So our covenantal agreements are essential to our capacity to be a faith of hospitality.
Again: covenant doesn’t set limits on who we are, but on how we can be with one another.
But, boy oh boy, sometimes those of us who believe in love and peace and kindness have a hard time understanding limits – understanding the word “No” – as part of our work of creating that love and peace and kindness.
Take, for example: the book The Giving Tree. And I apologize in advance if I’m about to ruin this book for you.
To be fair to Shel Silverstein, many literary critics think that the world has mostly totally misunderstood his book.
If you have never seen this book, or need a refresher: it’s the story of a boy and a tree, as the boy grows up to an old man. It starts out well, with the boy and the tree enjoying playing together, and the tree providing the boy with shade and apples. And the boy loved the tree and the tree loved the boy, it says. And the tree was happy.
But then the boy grows up and says to the tree: I am too big to climb and play. I want to buy things and have fun. I want some money. Can you give me some money?” The tree offers all of her apples – oh, yeah, did I mention the tree is female? – so that the boy can go sell the apples and make money and be happy. But it doesn’t end there, she keeps asking him to come and play, but he keeps needing more to be happy, and the tree keeps offering, and he keeps taking.
He cuts off all of her branches to build a house. He cuts down her entire trunk to make a boat. In the end, she is only a stump, and the book closes with him sitting on her stump. And it says, “the tree is happy.” …But literary critics say Shel Silverstein never wrote happy endings, that he always had some mischief up his sleeve. Who knows…?
But as I interpret it, I see a parable about a skewed view of hospitality, of love, of kindness. Was the tree really happy? …Seemed like she wanted the boy to play, to rest in her shade, eat a few apples. After giving so much to the boy, was she then able to provide for any other children or people or purpose, or only exist for this one boy? And was the boy or grown man even really happy? Was it really in his best interest for the tree to provide for him in this way?
So here is a re-telling of the story, by my colleague Rev. Dr. Victoria Weinstein ((Some adaptations/deletions made in order to shorten the story slightly.))
(“With apologies to Shel Silverstein,” she says.)
Once there was a tree. And she loved a little boy.
And every day the boy would come, and he would gather her leaves
and make them into crowns and play king of the forest.
Time went by, and the boy grew older, and the tree was often alone, which was nice and quiet, but she missed the boy.
Then one day the boy came to the tree and the tree called out to him, “Come, Boy, come and climb up my trunk and swing from my branches and eat my apples and play in my shade and be happy.”
“I am too big to climb and play,” said the boy. I want to buy things and have fun. I want some money. Can you give me some money?”
“No chance,” said the tree. “I have only leaves and apples. Why don’t you go get a job if money’s so important to you? I hear that the Nature Conservancy is looking for clerical staff. Why don’t you apply?”
And so the boy applied for the job and stuffed many envelopes and processed many donations to the Nature Conservancy, and the tree was happy.
But the boy stayed away for a long time, and the tree was sad. And then one day the boy came back and the tree shook with joy and she said, “What took you so long? You don’t call, you don’t write, how’s the job? And tell me, who do you think really has the better record on environmental issues, Jill Stein or Bernie Sanders?”
“I am too busy to talk politics with you,” said the boy. “I want a house to keep me warm. I want a wife and I want children, so I need a house. Can you give me a house?”
“Of course I can’t give you a house,” replied the tree. “The forest is my house. But you’re certainly welcome to pitch a tent on the ground here, and we’ll have a great time.”
“Thanks but no thanks, Tree,” said the boy. “Maybe I’ll start an intentional community with some of my friends.”
“That’s the ticket,” cheered the tree. “You Americans already have far too many houses. Why build another?”
So the boy went off to start a co-op”
And the tree was happy. And the boy was happy.
But the boy stayed away a very long time, and when he came back the tree was so happy to see him, but all he wanted was a boat…
“Whoa,” said the tree. “I don’t like the way you’re looking at my trunk there, buddy. You want to travel? You’ve got legs. Walk. And on the way, why don’t you take some of these seeds and plant some more trees? Make like Johnny Appleseed. It’ll do us all good.”
So the boy embraced the tree, took the seeds and started on his journey. And the tree was happy. Really.
After a long, long time, the boy came back again. “I’m sorry, Boy,” said the tree. You have no more teeth to sink into my apples. You’re too fragile to swing in my branches. Your friends are long gone, and your old legs can’t take you around as they used to. We both know that you are at the end of your story, and that I will long outlast you. I just wish that I could give you something to comfort you. . . .”
“I don’t need very much,” said the boy. “Just a quiet place to swing and rest.”
“Well,” said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could. “Well, this old tree is good for swinging and resting! Come, Boy, tie your hammock on these branches. Come, Boy, swing from my arms, and rest.”
And the boy did.
And the tree was very happy.
Saying “No,” keeping agreements with ourselves and with our communities, is really about saying yes to what we know is worth affirming. It’s about knowing what our principles are, and knowing what kinds of beliefs and behaviors encourage or inhibit our ability to live out those principles.
Hospitality is welcoming all into our covenant; it’s about the radical kindness of telling one another when we need to get back into covenant. Sometimes, it may not feel “nice” but it is kind, because we all need help learning how to live, and the better we can relate to one another, the more healthier the communities we will be able to be a part of and help create, and the more mutually nourishing relationships we can enjoy.
The first hymn in our hymnbook speaks of the boundaries we must make to create a space of hospitality:
Peace shall walk softly through these rooms, touching our lips with holy wine, till ev’ry casual corner blooms into a shrine. With laughter drown the racuous shout, and, though these sheltering walls are thin, may they be strong to keep hate out and hold love in.
May it be so.
– Rev. Emily