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Wings Unfurled and Headed for Home The Reverend Dr. Becky Edmiston-Lange, September 24, 2006 “Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on… Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—over and over announcing your place in the family of things.” Oh, I know, the geese are flying south this time of year, toward their winter nesting grounds. But no matter in what direction, when I spy wild geese flying overhead, it feels to me like a moment of grace. Whenever I catch sight of one of those unmistakable formations, I have to stop whatever I am doing and follow them with my eyes until they disappear from sight. Have you noticed the wild geese flying overhead these past few weeks? Perhaps like me you’ve even been favored to see them fly when moonlight silvers their wings. Or maybe you’ve had the opportunity to observe large flocks of geese as they stop to rest along a major flyway during their migration. When I lived in Virginia one of my favorite spots was Blackwater National Wildlife Refuge on Maryland’s Eastern Shore. Blackwater is a major wintering place for Canada geese but some merely stop there in the fall before they fly south to the Carolinas and Georgia. And, in the spring, Blackwater is a stopping place on their way north to home. Not only Canada geese but blue geese and snow geese stop at Blackwater as well. During peak migration times, one can see literally tens of thousands of geese flying overhead in formation. At twilight, as they settle in for the night, they fill the sky with their wings; the air with their harsh honking. You think there couldn’t possibly be more. And yet still they come, formation after formation, blanketing the earth as they land. Over and over again. It is an arresting sight, an unforgettable vision. But, of course, you don’t have to go to Maryland to observe such a profusion of wild geese. Here in this part of Texas, Brazoria and Anahuac wildlife refuges can be hosts to similar visitations in the fall and spring. The sight of the wild geese flying overhead is not only a harbinger of the change in seasons but can feel, as Mary Oliver so deftly captures, like a blessing, a benediction. Whatever my preoccupation of the moment, the sight of those tenacious travelers does have the power to pull me out of myself and restore me to a larger perspective. If I am struggling with some private sorrow, wild geese flying overhead can lift me out of my singular despair. And if I am grieving for the state of the world, the vision of those faithful flyers can restore hope to my soul. When I am obsessing over some personal failure or weakness, the wild geese overhead elevate my eyes, help me view my situation from a wider, more forgiving, vista. And when I am at peace, such a sight magnifies my contentment; when I am joyous, the wild geese echo my delight. Why does that sight have such power, I wonder? It think it is because there is something so reliable and consistent about the migration of the wild geese. Every spring and every fall they make their way unfailingly across the miles and always in that same V formation. Our human lives can be so fraught with confusion and disarray. We are so often the seeming victims of transitory and fickle fates. And yet there they fly, “high in the clean blue air,” resolute in their instinctual purpose. The wild geese speak of a constancy beneath the ephemeral flux, a trustworthiness below the changing tides. The sight of wild geese does feel like an epiphany—one of those rare shining moments when one is arrested by a sense of rightness, blessed with a feeling of being at home in the universe. And with the sight comes the assurance that the universe is not inimical to our desire. The call of the wild geese proclaims that we have a right to be here. We don’t have to prove our worth, or atone for our nature. Simply because we are, we belong in this glorious world. The wild geese call to us, over and over again, a nnouncing our place in the family of things. It is no wonder that Mary Oliver’s poem Wild Geese has become such a favorite to Unitarian Universalists. It seems to me that her poem captures in the language of metaphor a kind of experience central to our theology, a kind of experience central to our vision of community. As Unitarian Universalists we affirm that this earth is our rightful abode. We love and respect the natural world and see ourselves as a worthy part of that natural order. We do not believe that human beings are somehow alien to this world or that there is something inherently flawed about human nature. We affirm human aspiration and human reason, trust the human capacity for good. We believe that every person has unique gifts to discover and cultivate; that everyone should have the freedom to unfold the unique trajectory of his or her life, to become who he or she was meant to be. Another way of putting that might be to say that we believe each and every one of us has a right to discover for ourselves our place in the family of things, what it means to be at home with ourselves. And our congregations aspire to be the types of places where that kind of authentic living is encouraged, where that kind of integrity and bravery become possible. Again, the image of the wild geese can be instructive. Do you know why geese consistently fly in a ‘V’ formation? Scientists have long speculated that the birds derived some aerodynamic benefit from such formations and recent experiments have confirmed that to be so. The bird that flies in front essentially creates an up-wash for the bird behind and at an angle to it, reducing the drag on this second bird's wings. And so the second bird doesn’t need to flap its wings as hard or as often to generate the thrust needed for forward flight. As a result the bird doesn’t tire as quickly and is able to fly farther and longer. Researchers have found that birds that fly in ‘V’ formation can fly as much as 70% further than a solo bird using the same amount of energy. Since the bird in the front has to work the hardest, geese periodically rotate the lead position. When the leader gets tired, another bird from within the middle of the flock moves up to take the lead. Perhaps it’s not surprising then that the flight of geese has become a popular image for the benefits of cooperative teamwork and so it would seem an appropriate image for religious community. Here at Emerson, so much of what is accomplished is borne by volunteers, people freely giving their individual time and talents to benefit the whole. While I wouldn’t minimize what Mark and I and our paid staff do, we know that this church is carried by the efforts of volunteers. When Mark or I take our place in front of you on Sunday morning, for example, we are able to do so because a whole flock of volunteers support the worship service in a myriad of ways—ushers, greeters, sound people, the choir. And think of all the other activities we read or hear about on any given Sunday—none of which would be possible without dedicated members of our community taking their turn at leading the way, sharing the load. But there are other aspects of avian behavior that are even more suggestive of the virtues of religious community. Did you know that during their migration, if one goose becomes ill or is injured and must land to rest, two others will land with it and stay with the disabled goose until it can rejoin the flock, so that it will not have to fly alone. And, further, do you know why geese honk so during flight? Scientists believe they are honking encouragement to each other for their long journey home. Certainly for any one of us life is easier when we have faithful companions—those who will help lead the way and help carry the load; those who will stay with us and stand by our side when we are in trouble or hurting. And that kind of caring presence is something we try to embody here. We do care for and a bout one another. It is perhaps easiest to see when people are facing life-threatening illness or debilitating sorrow. At times like that this community steps in to offer support, through the Lay Pastoral Ministry team, but also through less formal networks, to say “I may not be able to take your pain away, but I can stand with you; you don't have to suffer through this alone.” We all need that kind of loving support and we can be proud of the ways in which this church is there for us in the hard times. But if we would truly be the kind of place that encourages authentic living, that enables us each to discover who we are and what we are meant to be, we need to be there for one another in still other ways. Our religious community needs to be a place where we can acknowledge our failings and still be affirmed, a place where we can make mistakes and find forgiveness, a place where we can ask questions, acknowledge our confusion, and not be chastened because we don’t have the answers—a place, in short, where it is okay to be fallible and vulnerable. And what’s more, and what is perhaps even harder, if this community would truly be the kind of environment where we each can discover our unique place in the family of things—and not only discover it, but own it for ourselves, and truly unfurl our wings, then this needs to be a place where we can experiment with roles and behaviors without others rushing to judgment, a place where we try out singing our song, dancing our dance, without fear of someone censuring our expression. And this needs to be a place where one person’s accomplishments do not diminish another’s, where we can truly be glad for one another’s joy, revel in one another's triumphs without diminishment or resentment. It needs to be a place where we feel free to reveal our passion, speak our truth, without the words catching in our throats. It needs to be a place where we honk encouragement to one another, over and over, for the long journey home. That is the kind of community we are trying to build here at Emerson; that is the kind of community envisioned in our Unitarian Universalist principles. And, oh, I know, we are far from reaching perfection in embodying our vision. But just as assuredly, there are times when we do come close, times when we taste of what true beloved community could be like. Those moments arrest us with a sense of rightness—with those feelings of “this is how people are meant to be together,” “this is how life is meant to lived”; times when we see, “yes, this is how justice might be forged,” “this is what hope is for” and “this is what love can do.” Those moments, like the sight of wild geese in flight, are uplifting, sustaining. And don’t we sometimes use the language of home to give expression to those epiphanous moments? When people describe their first discovery of a Unitarian Universalist church they often say, “I had the feeling I had come home.” I said it myself when I first walked into a UU church—when I first sensed that powerful feeling of radical affirmation, the possibility that here I might find the freedom to be who I was meant to be. And I am forever grateful for those who were already at home in Unitarian Universalism—those who built and extended our faith so that this safe harbor would welcome me in its embrace. Home is an evocative metaphor for religious community because it captures something of that feeling of belonging, of warmth and acceptance that we aspire to extend here in this church. And yet, if we are really to reap the power of this metaphor, we need to recognize, that home, as well as sheltering and nurturing us, also demands something of us. Home is where you settle in, where you invest your energies and your desires. Home is where your commitment lies, where relationships get real. The people you are at home with are the people who deserve and need your honest, genuine engagement. And you know as well as I that negotiating the demands of real, reciprocal relationship is not easy—for everything that we want for ourselves, we must also want for our companions. Affirmation, freedom to become, abundant nurture and support, respect for differences and variant points of view, encouragement to flourish and blossom—all these and more we are called upon to extend to others and not just cherish for ourselves. Building a true home, creating the kind of community we aspire to be is hard work. So hard that I am sometimes amazed that people sign on and stay for the long haul. But that is the kind of steadfast commitment we ask of one another here. And we ask it not just for ourselves but for the sake of others to come. We must not forget that we come together, not simply to be together, but to forge, out of our disparate lives, the kind of community that makes authentic living possible. And in forging that community we are witnessing to our dream of how the world should be—witnessing to it and helping to bring that dream closer to fruition. The community we build here is both a model of our vision of what the world could be and a foreshadowing of that future to come—a community where all are welcome, all are worthy; where all are free to unfurl their wings and fly; a future of abundance and rightness for all. When we work for justice, we say “this is the way the world should be” and we help bring the day of that future closer. When we work for tolerance and inclusion, we say this is the way the future should be colored and we bring that rainbow world closer to being. Make no mistake—creating beloved community is hard work, the hardest work we will ever do. But whether we realize it or not, we have all signed on for this journey, simply by virtue of our birth. Oh, we can pretend the challenge doesn’t exist. We can act as if the point of our living is to acquire the most toys before we die; but all of us, the entire human race, need to learn how to live in harmony with one another, to accommodate each others desires in ways that are just and true, to afford everyone the freedom and the resources to flourish. For there simply is no other home to escape to; there is no Rapture coming to beam us up and out. What we are up to here is hard work, serious work—no less serious than creating a future worth living. But the grace of it us, none of us has to do that work alone. For here we do find companions for the journey, companions who will share the lead, help carry the load, who will stand with us and bolster us when we falter. Companions who will call out to us, not in harsh but in excited, affirming voices, announcing our place in the family of things, honking encouragement for the long journey home to that future day when all will know the blessings of beloved community. Would you join in singing of that day when all will know that kind of welcome, that kind of affirming embrace? |
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