Journey and Transformation

"Askewity - a time when you feel out of control, when the earth tilts just a little more than usual, enough to throw you off balance, and you wander outside your comfort zone."

Barbara Dunbar Morgan

(printed as quotation in order of service)

Why did Dante call his great story of the inner journey a comedy - no, not a comedy, The Comedy? We use the word comedy loosely to express something amusing, but in its specific literary sense, as opposed to tragedy, it means a work that has a happy ending. In a great comedy we are always made aware of the darkness in life, but the ending must be happy or it is not a comedy. An individual's journey to wholeness is therefore most rightly named The Comedy, for the end is the final awareness of that love which is the joy of the universe. Fairy stories usually have happy endings, not because of a childish wishful thinking, but because they are true to life itself.

Helen Luke (adapted)

On Friday I had a long talk with a new colleague on the phone. We were exchanging bits of autobiographical material. She is fostering a 14 year old boy, learning about parenting a teenager without the usual 14 years of preparation. I was fascinated with her story. Listening to her I thought of this sermon, still in process at the time of our conversation.

It was not her life, but the boy's life that was askew. He had become a ward of the state, and the state of Florida doesn't deal all that well with children who are within one year of their fifteenth birthdays. At fifteen a young man or woman is eligible to become an emancipated minor. My colleague had gone to court to support the boy during a hearing, and came home his guardian because of her outrage at the system.

She asked me what was happening in my life. I told her I am about to become a grandmother. My granddaughter is due to be born next month, I said, and her name is Lilly Brooklyn McDonald.

Why Brooklyn? my colleague asked.

Well, I said, that's a long story. Jesse, my son, and Sarah, his wife, were living in Portland, Oregon. Jesse was cooking in a restaurant and, after one year as a touring puppeteer, Sarah was acting for small theatre companies in the Portland area. They decided they wanted to move from the big city to a rural setting. I suggested they talk to my friend, Sandra Jo Palm who owned a cabin near Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood.

Sandra Jo agreed to rent her cabin to Jesse and Sarah in return for their winterizing the structure. Jesse had the necessary skills, and Sarah had the willingness to put up with the lack of inside plumbing until the repairs were made, so they made plans to move.

Sandra Jo's cabin came with a lot of furniture, so Sarah and Jesse put the furniture Jesse had made from scrapped wooden pallets out on their sidewalk with "free" signs taped on them. Students from Reed College happily walked off with them.

Jesse got himself a job as Assistant Baker at Timberline and Sarah found out she could get to her rehearsals and other obligations in Portland by bus.

They spent one weekend up at the cabin installing a fireplace insert to heat the cabin more efficiently. They ordered their utilities in Portland turned off and the cabin utilities turned on. They also ordered a phone for the cabin, something Sandra Jo had never done.

The phone company needed a physical address. Sarah and Jesse had the legal address, but not that, so Sarah called the Forest Service to get the necessary information.

The Forest Service Ranger asked, "You're not planning to live in that cabin year-round and commute to work, are you?" Sarah, most honest than actress, missed the cue. She said that was exactly what they were planning. "Well," said the ranger, "then your landlady is in danger of losing her lease. That Forest Service land is to be used only for recreation - not for year-round domiciles."

Sarah was stunned. Their plans were knocked into a cocked hat - thrown totally askew. It was Thursday. They planned to move on Sunday. She and Jesse spent all night Thursday talking. They talked more on Friday, and all day and night Saturday. In the end they decided to pare down to what they could carry in their ancient Ford pickup truck with a canopy on the back, lovingly called "Creamsicle" for its weird paint job. They would seek their fame and fortune in the Big Apple, New York City.

Sarah hasn't found her fame as an actress, but she graduates this month with a Master's in Education from the Bank Street School, and consults at The Touchstone Center, an interdisciplinary arts organization directed by Richard Lewis, a contributing editor to Parabola. As a proud mother-in-law I call that fame.

Jesse broke a habit of changing jobs two and three times a year and worked three years for a furniture designer with a studio in the Brooklyn Navy Yard. Now he is a foreman on home remodeling projects for a Mnahattan contractor. This month his crew starts on talk show host Ricki Lake's apartment. Perhaps that's more fortune than fame. Or maybe it's both.

The change in Jesse and Sarah's life, like my colleague's, was abrupt. Theirs was a physical journey, from one side of the continent to another, from the promise of rural solitude to the hectic hubbub of Brooklyn. Not all journeys are physical, and not all changes are abrupt.

All of us are engaged in life journeys and each of us has experienced both psychological as well as physical transformation. Otto Rank in speaking of the physical reminds us that once we were all little water creatures, like Lilly Brooklyn, living in curled up postures in amniotic fluid. Through the birth process we were transformed into air-breathing mammals who spend a great deal of our lives in vertical postures - exposed to wind and fire, was well as water - most of us with our feet standing on the earth.

Life itself is a journey, taking us from birth through a series of trials or stages to death. This one big journey that we travel is made up of many smaller journeys, some of them made with great intention and some of them made, as William Least Heat Moon put it, while our thinking and our world is askew. He writes:

Beware thoughts that come in the night. They arent turned properly; they come in askew, free of sense and restriction, driving from the most remote of sources. Take the idea of February 17, a day of canceled expectations, the day I learned my job teaching English was finished because of declining enrollment at the college, the day I called my wife from whom Id been separated for nine months to give her the news, the day she let slip about her "friend" Rick or Dick or Chick. Something like that.  

That morning, before all the news started hitting the fan, Eddie Short Leaf, who worked a bottomland section of the Missouri River and plowed snow off campus sidewalks, told me if the deep cold didnt break soon the trees would freeze straight through and explode. Indeed. That night, as I lay wondering whether I would get sleep or explosion, I got the idea instead. A man who couldn't make things go right could at least go. He could quit trying to get out of the way of life. Chuck routine. Live the real jeopardy of circumstance. It was a question of dignity.

So Moon chose to increase his peril by hitting the road. His thoughts, told him to skedaddle. Cut off from his job, cut off from his life partner, he cut himself off even further, from all that was comfortable and familiar, to become a stranger wondering a labyrinth path in a big circle around the United States. He describes the journey he planned.

[O]n March 19, the last night of winter, I again lay awake in the tangled bed, this time doubting the madness of just walking out on things, doubting the whole plan that would begin at daybreak to set out on a long (equivalent to half the circumference of the earth), circular trip over the back roads of the United States. Following a circle would give a purpose to come around again where taking a straight line would not.

Some would say that Moon was running away. That's one possible interpretation. But he was clearly engaging in a process, a journey which would bring him back to where he started, making of the ends in his life, beginnings.

So it is for all who would be transformed - ends become beginnings. In between the end and the new beginning is a time of askewity, that state of being when things are cockeyed, out of line, or twisted.

Just a little over two years ago this congregation had its beginning. Six people - Jean Akers, Audrey Barcelo, Charley Barcelo, Gretchen Bremer-Hosken, Julie Smith Dary, and Lee Dary - met to discuss the possibility of forming a Unitarian Universalist congregation in South Volusia County.

And you know what? That meeting would never have happened if something hadn't gone askew at the Ormond Beach congregation. How difficult must have been the decision to leave the Unitarian Universalist Society in Ormond Beach. Three of you served that congregation as Board President. Many of you raised your children there. Some of you cut your civil rights teeth in that congregation. Others of you were significant contributors to the music program and to the religious education program. At least two of you met, fell in love, and were married there!

It is a fact of life that a call to transformation - a feeling of askewity - has a way of compelling us to do the groundwork which pulls us into the journey which will change us. Often we begin our journeys not wanting to be changed, resisting change, yet the groundwork we do is as transformative for our lives as barre exercises for a beginning dancer. We become both stronger and more flexible. Our groundwork reveals to us meaning for our lives we had never before considered, weaving our lives into new opportunities and patterns we had never before dreamed possible.

So today, right here in Daytona Beach we are growing an inclusive liberal religious community for all ages - a community which has attracted Dustin, and Howard, and Scott to visit us today to find out what is happening here, whether this is the religious community they are seeking.

Without all the events at Ormond Beach which led to the May, 1996 meeting, without all the sadness, contention and doubt, without the askewity Community Unitarian Universalist Church would not exist. And think of all you've accomplished in the last two years:

welcomed 93 people beyond the original 6 to become members;

enrolled 46 children and youth in your religious education program;

found attractive temporary meeting space;

held two successful financial canvasses;

applied for and received four monetary grants;

held regular worship services for fifteen months;

retained a full time minister and half time director of religious education;

started an Amnesty International community chapter;

supported Halifax Urban Ministries with donations of food; and

become a respected congregational member of the Unitarian Universalist Association.

That's a lot to accomplish in just a little over two years! But it's not everything. It may not even be the most important. Let's go deeper into the changes and opportunities provided by the establishment of this community.

Note to readers: I went off script for the following paragraph. So this just gives an idea of some of the things I said. It isn't what I actually said. Gretchen Bremer-Hosken would probably not know Bob Engborg. Joe Lennartz and Lloyd Dunham would not be serving on the board. Connie Hart wouldn't be playing the piano here. This piano wouldn't be here! Joyce Natalie wouldn't be leading Full Moon Circles every month. June Gallagher might not be a travel agent and active church volunteer. Don and Betsy Johnson wouldn't have their minister to go along with their cemetery plots. Alison Nordstrom wouldn't be biking to church.

If we were to take the time we might plum another depth - discover deeper ways in which this journey has transformed the people who are making it.

I, too, am on a journey. In the same month you held your Charter Sunday service and met with Margaret Beard to discuss your application to the New Congregation program of the Unitarian Universalist Association, something was going askew at Northlake Unitarian Universalist Church, where I used to be minister. My relationship with Northlake was unusual. I had been a member there for fifteen years before I was called to be their settled minister. The congregation had a history of being ambivalent about supporting a professional minister. It turned out I was no more successful as a prophet in my own community, than had been a more gifted prophet in another era in his home community. I September, 1997 Northlake was struggling to pay my stipend and other obligations.

This askewity prompted me to talk with Margaret Beard, who just happened to travel from Daytona to Seattle, a distance of 3,500 miles, shortly after she met with you. She had come to the Pacific Northwest to meet with the organizing minister of another potentially new Unitarian Universalist congregation. I met with Margaret to find out about the possibility of a placement this month - August, 1998. As we sat talking, she said to me, "I have January, 1998 placements, you know." "No," I said, "I didn't know." And she went on to describe this congregation and others which might be ready for an early 1998 placement.

Two nights before my partner Patricia and I had sat up talking into the wee small hours of the morning. I had already I made a decision to resign from Northlake, effective the end of November. Now the decision didn't seem so foolhardy. Margaret's news was a hint of a happy ending. I would apply for one of Margaret's January placements. The idea of moving from the Northwest had never entered my mind previous to things going askew at Northlake. The idea of moving to Florida had never entered my mind, period!

Because of askewity we were called on journeys which will change us. Our journeys often begin with sadness, contention and doubt. I know mine did. I suspect yours did, too.

In a great comedy we are made aware of the darkness in life, but as the story unfolds, we have hints that the ending will be happy. That's what marks the story as a comedy. That's why Dante's masterwork, as Helen Luke says, is called The Divine Comedy. It is written in three parts: Hell or the Inferno, Purgatory, and Heaven. For the next three weeks I will be using The Divine Comedy, and Helen Luke's commentary as texts for my sermons. I will be asking, and trying to answer, what it is an Italian 14th century writer has to say to us here in Florida on the eve of the 21st century.

The poet T.S. Eliot writes:

What we call the beginning is often the end And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.

T.S. Eliot reminds us that life is a series of journeys, a series of endings, a series of beginnings. We think of this congregation as having begun in 1996, but really, it is beginning today. We think of my ministry here as having begun in February of this year, but really, it, too, is beginning today. This is a time of transformation for this community, a time of becoming what it is we are called to be by "that love which is the joy of the universe," by our own inner knowing of life as comedy, as having a happy ending, however circuitous the way, however dark the wood, however fearful the travelers, however great the debt, however cautious the journeyers, however doubtful the Thomases - we can be sure that there will continue to be endings which are beginnings, as we create a growing inclusive liberal religious community in South Volusia County. As we continue our journey of transformation.

"The Little Turtle and the Wolf"

from Legends of the Seminoles

as told by Betty Mae Jumper

Once upon a time a little box turtle was eating the fresh leaves of the green grass which had just popped out that morning. A wolf was out walking and came upon the little turtle. Wolf asked: "What are you doing, turtle?"

"What do you think I'm doing? I'm eating," said the little turtle.

After talking for a while, the wolf came up with an idea. He asked the little turtle, "Do you want to race?"

"What?" said the little turtle. "You know I can't run fast."

After standing for a while the wolf tries again: "Tell you what, little turtle. I'll let you start ahead first. Then I will come running after you."

But the little turtle said, "What's wrong with you, wolf? You know I don't run fast."

But the wolf kept it up until the turtle said okay.

The wolf point to a hill in the distance. "See that hill over there. I'll let you start off there before I come after you."

A date was set and the wolf left.

Little turtle said to himself, "Well, I'll teach that wolf. He thinks he's going to make me look like a fool and be laughed at. I'll show him."

Little turtle went and checked on where they would race. There were four hills until the end. "So I need four friends," said little turtle, who went off to find four of his friends to help him out.

On the date of the contest, after sunrise, the wolf appeared underneath the big tree where the little turtle was sitting. "Are you ready?" asked the big wolf, laughing. "When I catch up wit you I am going to stand on you. Ha ha."

Without a word the little turtle left to go stand on the first hill to start off. The wolf yelled at him, "I'll sleep awhile till you get on top of the hill and say you are ready."

Finally, the little turtle made it to the top of the hill and yelled, "I am ready!"

"Ha ha," laughed the wolf. "Let's have fun!"

Down the hill the little turtle went and the wolf came running. When he reached the top, the little turtle was going over the second hill. When the wolf got to the second, the little turtle was going over the third hill. When the wolf reached the third, the little turtle was already on the fourth hill.

At last the wolf reached the fourth hill and couldn't find the little turtle. The wolf looked and looked but there was no little turtle so he returned to the big tree and lay down. The little turtle was on top of the hill again, singing.

"Well, well, you bone will be quivering and the flies will be buzzing and buzzing around you."

At this the wolf jumped up and chased the little turtle again. Same as before, the little turtle kept a hill ahead of him. Second hill, third hill, fourth hill, and then the turtle disappeared. So after the wolf was finished, he returned to his resting place under the tree again.

Wolf heard the little turtle again, standing on top of the hill, singing, "Wolf, wolf, your bones will be quivering and the flies will be buzzing and buzzing around you."

Once again the wolf became made and ran, chasing the little turtle. But when the wolf reached each hill, the little turtle was always ahead of him disappearing again after the last hill. Once again the wolf returned to lie down under the tree, very hot and tired and made from all the running.

But there stood the little turtle singing again, "Wolf, wolf, your bones will be quivering and the flies will be buzzing and buzzing around you."

The wolf was so made to think that this little turtle was still up on the hill singing about him. The wolf was tired, but he jumped up and yelled: "I'll get you this time, and when I do, you will be under my foot."

The wolf ran and got to the first hill. The turtle was on the second. When the wolf got to the second, the little turtle was on the third. And the same the fourth. The little turtle stayed a hill ahead of the wolf and then disappeared.

Wolf looked and looked down the hills and up the hills. Still no little turtle. The wolf returned to the big tree, hot, tired and exhausted. He dropped to the ground under the tree and just lay there. Again, the little turtle began to sing from the hilltop. But, this time the wolf never moved.

Finally the little turtle came down the hill, got to where the wolf was lying and kicked him a little. The turtle said, "Hi, wake up." But the wolf never moved, so the little turtle began to sing, "Wolf, wolf your bones will be quivering, the flies will be buzzing and buzzing around you."

All the little turtles came from their holes on the hillside where they were hiding when the wolf was hopping over them. Little turtle sang again to the wolf, "I told you I was little and can't run fast, but I can outsmart you."

Little turtle started singing again, as all the little turtles went off on their own, leaving the wolf alone, lying beneath the big tree, with the flies buzzing and buzzing around him.

Sunday, August 9, 1998

Written by the Reverend A.C. Fitzpatrick on the occasion of the Oklahoma City federal building bombing in April, 1995 - adapted slightly.

Dear God, Great Mystery incarnate in every person, transcending personal beings, and dwelling among us in the midst of our relationships, we need your help.

In a world torn again this week by violence and fear, in Kenya and Tanzania do not let our hearts be hardened. Let us embrace those who are in need of our support, especially the families and friends of Sherry Lynn Olds of Panama City and Jesse N. Aliganga of Tallahassee, both killed in the bombings. Let us find ways to relieve the suffering of all the others impacted by this week's terror, whomever they may be.

Help us to move beyond seeking justice to seek a world governed by grace. Help us to know what needs to be done and do it.

We are truly thankful for the fellowship of this community, which girds up our strength to respond to tragedy.

We are thankful for those who reach out to us in our pain.

Where we find suffering, may we bring compassion. Where we find hate, may we bring love. Where we find fear, may we bring courage.

Amen.