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The Law of the Garbage Truck
April 15
The topic of forgiveness has been very much on my mind lately, with the conclusion of our 5-week adult ed class “Facilitating Forgiveness” and my sermon on forgiveness last Sunday. I think forgiveness, particularly of major offenses, intimate betrayals, and deep hurts, is difficult. But I have learned that one thing I can do to facilitate the process of my forgiving someone is to work on my self-awareness -- to become clear about what belongs to me and what belongs to the other person. When I can recognize that someone’s behavior says more about them than me, then I don’t take their misbehavior so personally.
Recently, I ran across a story that says this much better than I:
“One day I hopped in a taxi and we took off for the airport. We were driving in the right lane when suddenly a black car jumped out of a parking space right in front of us. My taxi driver slammed on his breaks, skidded, and missed the other car by just inches! The driver of the other car whipped his head around and started yelling at us. My taxi driver just smiled and waved at the guy. And I mean he was really friendly.
So I asked, ‘Why did you just do that? This guy almost ruined your car and sent us to the hospital!’ This is when my taxi driver taught me what I now call, ‘The Law of the Garbage Truck.’
He explained that many people are like garbage trucks. They run around full of garbage, full of frustration, full of anger, and full of disappointment. As their garbage piles up, they need a place to dump it and sometimes they'll dump it on you. Don't take it personally. Just smile, wave, wish them well, and move on. Don't take their garbage and spread it to other people at work, at home, or on the streets.”
The bottom line is that self-aware people do not let garbage trucks take over their day.
Neal
A Costly War
April 1
March 19th marked the 5th anniversary of the U.S. invasion and occupation of Iraq. This war has cost us dearly. Just a few days after the anniversary, the 4000th American soldier was killed. Rarely covered in the media are the 60,000 American wounded, many of whom will be disfigured and disabled for the rest of their lives. Never counted are the 1 million Iraqis who have been killed directly and indirectly by our war -- most of whom are children.
Before the war, Paul Wolfowitz predicted that the postwar reconstruction of Iraq would pay for itself through increased oil revenues. Instead, Congress has written checks for nearly $700 billion to pay for the war. That's approximately $12 billion a month, $400 million a day, and $4800 a second. For this amount, we could have hired 10 million elementary school teachers, enrolled 70 million children in Head Start, and provided health care for 300 million children. What does it say about our national priorities that we are willing to spend $700 billion on warfare rather than on the welfare of our people? Forty years ago, Martin Luther King said during another unnecessary and unjust war of aggression, “A nation that continues year after year to spend more on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death.” The choice between life or death could not have been made more stark than last month when President Bush vetoed a bill that would have expanded health insurance for 10 million children. He said that we didn't have the money, yet at the very same time, he asked Congress to appropriate another $172 billion for the war.
$700 billion is just the tip of the iceberg. Noble prize-winning economist Joseph Stiglitz estimates that the longterm cost of the war – future borrowing for war expenses, interest on the debt, rebuilding the military to its previous strength, and lifetime healthcare and disability benefits for veterans – will run at least $3 trillion.
And what does this war cost our national soul ... when thousands of civilians are rounded up and sent to prisons beyond the reach of law, where they are held indefinitely without formal charges, without seeing their accusers or the evidence against them, without legal counsel, and without trial?
What does this war cost our national soul ... when mercenaries gun down civilians in broad daylight with no fear of prosecution ... when American soldiers abuse, sexually humiliate, torture, and murder prisoners ... when a few are punished while their leaders are never called to account for their crimes ... and when Congress confirms an Attorney General who refuses to repudiate these crimes?
What does this war cost our national soul ... when our President, sworn to defend the Constitution, turns the power of his office against his own citizens, authorizing the government to spy on Americans, wiretapping phones and intercepting emails without a warrant?
What does this war cost our national soul ... when our elected officials arrogantly sweep aside international institutions and treaties, many of which the United States originally supported ... when our President lies to us and calls us unpatriotic when we demand he tell the truth ... and when our Vice President, told that 2/3 of the American people believe that this war is not worth the cost, replies dismissively, “So?”
We have paid dearly for this war, and I fear that we will be paying for it for a long time to come.
Neal
Waving Our Endorphins Up
March 4
Back when I was a grad student at Baylor University, passers-by would be greeted at a busy intersection near campus by the “Waver,” a scrawny, toothless man with both hands over his head waving at passing cars. It’s what he did every day of the week, from morning until dark. It was as if waving was his job, and it was obvious that he loved his job because his broad smile got even broader when cars honked approvingly and when people waved back. I often waved back. I couldn’t help myself. His waving was infectious. And sometimes I smiled. The Waver may not have gotten paid for his job, but he was definitely offering his community a much needed service – spreading joy, making us feel warmer, helping us to feel a little more connected.
Now I know that he was also raising our endorphin levels. I recently read a study that found that when a person greets someone with a positive greeting, the greeter’s endorphins increase, making him or her feel better. In addition, the greeted person’s endorphins go up, too. And here’s a kicker – anyone who witnesses a warm greeting also experiences an increase in endorphins. That busy intersection around the Waver must have been awash in a sea of endorphins.
It looks like the endorphin level at our Fellowship must be pretty high these days. I notice that more and more people are standing outside the front door and in the foyer before our services, jawing (as we used to say back home). I notice that the social hall is packed with jawers after our services. I notice that the congregation can’t stop talking to one another and sit back down during our greet-one-another segment of our morning service, even after the Board member rings the chime. It’s quite a din, but what a lovely din it is – the sound of joy spreading and people making connections. It reminds me of those lines from the Louis Armstrong song, “What a Wonderful World”:
I see friends shaking hands
Saying how do you do
They’re really saying
I love you
A fellow Unitarian has observed that we come to church for two reasons – for ultimacy and for intimacy. I think that the two are closely related. When I am genuinely open to the mystery and wonder of life, I am drawn closer to you; and when I allow myself to get close to you, I am close to the ultimate in life. I realize that a wave, a smile, and a handshake are small gestures, but they mean so much in this increasingly cold, lonely, impersonal world of our own making. I’m thankful that we’re making our little corner of the world a little warmer. I’m grateful for each of you and for the opportunity to serve as your minister. You release my endorphins.
Neal
Forgiving Sam
February 19
I had never liked Sam very much. He was something of a judgmental know-it-all, quick to dispense his advice whether you asked for it or not. Plus, he had a self-righteous streak, matter-of-factly dropping in conversation that he said his prayers every night – on his knees -- and that he was reading the Bible through from cover to cover for the third time. I have always been suspicious of piety that had to advertise itself. Nevertheless, he was the man my mother wanted to marry three years after my father’s death, so as long as she was happy, it was fine with me. After all, just because I wouldn’t marry Sam didn’t mean that she shouldn’t.
I was a seminary student at the time and would come home for occasional visits. Sam had some definite opinions about religion and about ministers, and I clearly did not measure up to his ideals. My beliefs were off-base, my appearance was inappropriate (hair too long, clothes too casual), and my very demeanor was wrong (too relaxed and laid-back). The worst part, however, were his reminders that I was now a guest in his home (didn’t my mother live there too?). “Neal, could you park your car beside the street instead of the driveway?”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
I hadn’t heard that since I was nine-years-old. Yet I could endure his periodic put-downs. After all, I didn’t have to live with him, only tolerate him during my sporadic visits (which were becoming more sporadic).
The straw that broke the camel’s back occurred during the first Gulf War. I was visiting my mother and Sam, and we were watching the evening news report of the war. I remarked, “I think we’re making a mistake. We shouldn’t be killing people for oil.” It was like a switch went off inside Sam. He leaped out of his chair, shook his finger in my face, and shouted, “How dare you criticize our country while we’re at war. Those men are giving their lives for you. They and our President need your support. Don’t you ever talk that way again in this house!” I was stunned, too stunned to respond. I was also afraid. He was so angry I actually thought he might hit me. Inside I morphed into a frightened little boy who had said something inappropriate and was being reprimanded by his father, or in this case, his step-father. Fortunately, a lifelong friend, who found out that I was in town, rang the doorbell. His entry gave us all an excuse to change the subject.
I left later that evening without speaking to Sam. I was incredibly angry at him, as angry as I had ever been with anyone. How dare he speak to me that way. How demeaning. How humiliating. I didn’t deserve that. No one does. But I especially didn’t deserve that given all the times I had swallowed my anger and took his put-downs without comment. I had bent over backwards to accept him into our family, and this was the thanks I got. I was also angry at myself. Why did I sit there and take it? Why didn’t I stand up for myself, literally and figuratively?
I resolved not to speak to him until he apologized. I stopped coming over. If Sam happened to answer the phone when I called my mother, I either hung up or curtly asked to speak to her without engaging him in conversation. His apology never came, and I knew it wouldn’t. Sam wasn’t the kind of person who apologized. I wrote him a letter and told him exactly what I thought of him. No response.
My cut-off continued for months, then years. When I invited my mother over, I did not invite Sam. When I resumed my visits to their house, I barely spoke to him beyond my initial “Hello.” I avoided going into the same room with him. He became invisible to me. To my mother and myself, I explained that I was not going to expose myself to verbal abuse. When I was a child, the whole family had been subject to my father’s abuse. Now that I was an adult, I no longer had to put myself at risk. While this was certainly true, I also eventually became aware that my cut-off was my passive aggressive act of revenge toward Sam, a kind of prolonged silent treatment.
I cannot begin to count the number of times I replayed that scene in my head. Seeing Sam’s redden, enraged face. Hearing his shouting voice. Feeling my heart thumping inside my chest, first with fear, then with anger. Often, I imagined different endings. Sometimes I would stand up to him, eyeball-to-eyeball, with my finger poking him in his chest, “You have no right to speak to me that way! Who do you think you are?” Sometimes I would sit there calmly and rationally respond, “You’re getting overly emotional and overreacting to a differing viewpoint. Let’s cool down and discuss this thing like adults.” Sometimes I imagined slugging him.
Long stretches of time would pass without my thinking about the incident or Sam at all, but whenever it or he would enter my mind, I would be right back in the midst of my anger. The depth of my anger surprised me. I didn’t like feeling that angry for so long. My father had been a bitter man, capable of nursing grudges forever. I didn’t want to be like him. I knew that I didn’t deserve Sam’s treatment and that I had every right to be angry, but this was no longer about Sam’s misconduct or my rights; it was about my need to heal and recover. I knew I had to let go of my anger. In other words, I would have to forgive Sam, and I would have to do it regardless of whether we reconciled or not. I had to do it for me.
I can’t say when I forgave Sam or how I forgave him. I just know that it was a process that involved many decisions over a long period of time. Like stopping myself from engaging in revenge fantasies. Like remembering that Sam was a World War II veteran whose experience of war was vastly different from Vietnam or Iraq. Like remembering that Sam had grown up with a harsh, demanding father during harsh, demanding times (the Great Depression). Like realizing how insecure it must feel being married to a woman whose first loyalty was to her sons. Like realizing that I should have stood up for myself with Sam on those occasions before his big blowup. I knew that things had shifted inside when my mother and Sam were leaving after a visit, and I shook Sam’s hand and said, “I’m glad you came.” It was a small gesture, but it represented a momentous change within.
Sam died six years ago. We never became close friends. I didn’t care to, and I don’t think he cared to, either. His personality, so different from mine, never changed. He was who he was, and I was who I was. It was enough for me to know that my mother was happy to be married to him. I was grateful for the years she had with him, and I was grateful that I was able to let go of my anger toward him. Sam taught me forgiveness.
During our Wonderful Wednesdays, beginning this Wednesday, I will be leading the class “Facilitating Forgiveness.” I will clarify what forgiveness is and what it isn’t, and I will pass along my observations of some things we can do to nurture the process of letting go. I will also invite participants to share their insights and struggles with forgiveness. As is characteristic of us UUs, we will learn from each other’s experience. So the class has two requirements: you must be willing to share personally and you must be able to maintain confidentiality. This will be a class of amateurs. When it comes to forgiveness, there are no experts.
Neal
Marriage Equality Day
February 5
The South Carolina Gay and Lesbian Pride Movement (SCGLPM) is declaring Tuesday, February 12th Marriage Equality Day in Columbia. At 9:45, same-sex couples will meet outside the Richland County Judicial Center at 1701 Main Street and then go inside to attempt to register for marriage licenses. Unfortunately, they will be turned away because the state of South Carolina affords only heterosexual couples this right.
This quiet demonstration signifies the desire of gays and lesbians for dignity and equality. By denying same-sex couples the right to marry, our state is denying them over 1,000 legal and financial benefits that we heterosexual couples take for granted, a few of which are:
Automatic inheritance
Shared health insurance
Bereavement and sick leave to care for one's partner
Hospital visitation and medical decision-making on behalf of one's partner
Child custody and adoption
Domestic violence protections
Property rights and tax breaks
Social Security, Medicare, and pension benefits
Recently, a Marriage Tax Cut bill (H. 4550) was introduced to the state legislature to reduce the income tax bracket for married couples by one percent. Since our state defines marriage as a union between a man and a woman, this bill represents yet one more act of discrimination against gays and lesbians. Jim Crow is still alive in South Carolina. We used to have a two-tiered legal system based on race. Now it’s based on sexual orientation.
SCGLPM is hoping to highlight this year’s Marriage Equality Day even more by inviting their straight allies to attend the event with their spouses as a sign of support. To use a celebrity example, Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie have said that they will not get married until everyone can get married. I plan to be there on the morning of February 12th, and I hope you will join me. If you know a same-sex couple that wishes to register that day, please contact Harriet Hancock at pridemomsc@aol.com or Ryan Wilson at prideinsc@yahoo.com.
Let’s send a message to the legislature to stop treating our gay brothers and lesbian sisters as second-class citizens.
Neal
Our Business
January 8
Management guru Peter Drucker used to say that the most important question leaders of any organization can ask is, “What business are we in?” For religious organizations, including the UUFC, my best answer would be: we’re in the business of helping people to grow spiritually. Now I recognize that “spirituality” is a loaded word, that it means different things to different people. Many of us humanist types sometimes feel uncomfortable with that word, I suspect because it is usually associated with concepts about God or with particular religious traditions, books, dogmas, or authorities.
Spirituality is too deep and too broad to be defined by any particular religion, in the same way that a bucket of sea water might give us a taste of the ocean but certainly cannot contain it. Unitarian Universalism recognizes this reality by embracing all religious paths, believing there is wisdom to be drawn from all the wells of the world’s religions. Spirituality is deeply personal, as personal as our breathing. In fact, the word “spirit” literally means “breath.” Like our breathing, our spirituality animates our lives by centering, organizing, and defining us. It is our core. It refers to the essence of our being and doing. And though spirituality is idiosyncratic, it is also universal. Every person is spiritual whether he or she is religious or not.
Rather than view spirituality as tied up with a god “out there,” I see spirituality as residing “in here.” I regard it as the capacity to experience life at its depths. In some people, this capacity, because of family background, cultural influences, and personal choices, has not been very well developed. Such people are like plants that have not received sufficient sunlight and rain. In others, like Jesus, the Buddha, Gandhi, Martin Luther King, and the Dalai Lama, we see spirituality in its most fully developed form. If I had to define a mature spirituality, I would take note of these traits:
The capacity for awe and reverence. A sense that life, despite all its tragedies and disappointments, is basically good; that we are fortunate beyond measure to be alive; that life itself is grand, awesome, and mysterious; and that we are a part of a much bigger picture than we can comprehend or imagine.
The capacity for gratitude. A sense that the universe is basically benevolent in providing us with what we need; a sense of grace; that life presents us with gifts which we have not earned or deserved; that we have stepped onto a stage that has been prepared for us, not only by forgotten generations, but by eons of evolutionary history.
The capacity for stewardship. A sense of appreciation for this beautiful home we call earth and its resources that sustain us; the ability to recognize that we are of the earth such that the survival of the human race is directly linked with the survival of the planet; a sense of responsibility for protecting and preserving the world’s resources, as well as using our own personal resources of time, talent, and treasure wisely.
The capacity for self-love. Having a positive sense of self; the ability to see through our foibles and shortcomings to our dignity and worth; the capability of feeling loved, valued, and cared about by ourselves and others; believing that our lives have purpose and meaning; seeking to fulfill whatever potential we have.
The capacity for relationship. The ability to share intimately our inner selves with significant others; the capability of making and keeping commitments to others; the capacity to give support to and receive support from others; the ability to participate in community by recognizing that the needs and desires of others are as legitimate as our own.
I know that these traits do not exhaust the full meaning of spiritual maturity, but for me they are essential. My hope is that we as a congregation, through our worship, education, stewardship, fellowship with each other, and service to others, are providing the kinds of experiences that are enabling us to develop these capacities to their fullest. After all, this is the business we’re in.
Neal
More Ways to Stay Informed
Printed Newsletter: If you are interested in learning more about UUFC, you can get our monthly newsletter, containing information about upcoming events as well as articles by the ministers and members. Come to UUFC on Sunday morning, or e-mail the UUFC office at uufc@bigfoot.com to ask to receive the newsletter.
To submit information for publication, e-mail uufc@bigfoot.com or put it in the Unigram box outside the Administrators office. The deadline is always every other Sunday at 9 PM.
tsc.uufc@bjmeallen.net