Is anyone familiar with the film, Zorba the Greek? This movie, made in 1964, was based on a novel written by Nikos Kazantzakis – a book of the same name. Zorba is quite a character – a colorful peasant, a musician. But what is most remarkable about Zorba is his zest for life – for all of life.
When asked about his domestic life, Zorba responds by saying, “Am I not a man? Of course I’ve been married. Wife, house, kids, everything…the full catastrophe!”
This is certainly a very stereotypical and rather dated world view and while this might sound like a negative commentary on domesticity – and maybe it was, I find that I rather like the phrase. To me, the full catastrophe does not imply disaster but rather is a way to capture and express the enormity of all of our life’s experience.
And that is what we attempt to do here, within this community – we attempt to lift up, to give voice to the fullness of our lives – the full catastrophe. Last week we surrendered to Joy in a multi-generational service complete with enthusiastic singing and BUBBLES!
Today, we take another route as we look at the disparities that exist in the world at large and within our own faith community.
The reading Bev shared with us was quite resonate for me.
I joined a UU community in my early 40s. At that point in time I was a homeschooling mother to two teenagers. I loved the life my family created and I was happy to finally have a spiritual home that aligned with values that spoke to the deepest parts of me. I eagerly jumped into Congregational Life, volunteering for all kinds of things, but I found that I kept a significant part of my story hidden.
I developed friendships with so many warm-hearted and caring people in that community – many of whom were the movers and shakers of the local community – teachers, professors, doctors, lawyers and judges – educated professionals.
But like the author of the reading, I was not inclined to share my status as a stay at home mom with only a high school diploma to my name. While I excelled in high school – getting tops grades, being initiated into the National Honor Society, served as a class officer and Student Council President – I was also the daughter of parents who did not finish high school – parents whose most expansive dream for me was to get a factory job with good insurance.
Once removed from the structure of a system I understood and knew how to navigate, I floundered for a time. I foundered while I tried to chart a course into the adult world. I do not have regrets for the path that my life has taken – other than the time that I spent feeling ashamed.
I find a certain irony in the fact that a community that I found so nourishing in so many important ways was also a place in which I became acutely and personally aware of some of life’s inequities and the shame I felt in thinking that I was somehow less than others because I did not have letters after my name or an income to match that of my new pew partners.
For years, I limited my participation in the annual auction to offering items for others to bid on because I could not afford to bid on many of the things that caught my eye.
I recognize that that I was the one who shamed myself. No one in that community ever put me on the spot about where I went to school or asked me to give more in financial support than I felt that I could. But there was also an unspoken assumption that everyone who was a part of that community was pretty much alike – alike in education, alike in economic status, alike in privilege and access to the world and its opportunities.
This sense of likeness is one that has been and continues to be a part of our UU history. It’s one of the ghosts that has yet to fully emerge from our collective closet.
UU minister, Mark Harris writes in his book titled – Elite – Uncovering Classism in Unitarian Universalist History: “We have long promoted ourselves as a democratic faith with a central belief that all people are welcome….We want a democratic faith that embraces all, but in our efforts to extend this liberal religion, we frequently embrace only those who are like us (pg.104)... Our yearning for diversity does not include differences of class…our practice does not always match the Principles we espouse” (pg. 112-13).
Privilege and a culture of white supremacy are topics that are rightly getting a lot of attention – topics that are intimately entwined. Let me share a story to help illustrate.
A high school teacher gave each student in his class a piece of scrap paper and asked them to crumble it into a ball. He moved the recycling bin to the front of the room – a typical classroom set up with several rows of desks lined up, one behind another– similar to the way the pews are lined up in this room.
He told his students that they represented the population of this country – reminding them that they all had a chance to become wealthy and move into the upper class. And in order to move into the upper class, all they needed to do was to throw their paper ball into the container while remaining seated where they were.
Those in the back immediately spoke up – calling out how unfair this set up was. They could see how those in the front rows had a much better chance of getting their paper balls into the container.
Everyone took their shot and as expected most, but not all, of those in the front landed their ball into the container, while only a few from the back of the room proved successful.
The closer they were to the front, the better the odds. And, not surprisingly, the ones who complained were in the back of the room – they could see the obstacles before them, while those in the front were unaware of the advantage they held – all they could see was the short distance between themselves and their goal.
Once we become aware of the privilege we have, it becomes our job to do our best to make the most of it – to do great things with the gifts that life has given us – while all the while also advocating for those behind us.
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I have another pop culture touchstone to reference. You may be familiar with a song called Breakin’ Up is Hard to Do. The chorus starts out – “They say that breaking up is hard to do, now I know, I know that it’s true….”
So why do I bring this up? I find that I’ve been substituting a word in this lyric that feels, oh, so relevant. Let me give my adaptation – “They say that WAKING up is hard to do. Now I know, I know that it’s true…”
And it is. It can be hard to wake up – hard to wake up and see those behind us, those on the margins. But that is what we are called to do. If we believe our Principles hold truth and value, each one of us is called to wake up – called to make the invisible, visible. We are called to do this work in the larger world and called to do it within this very community.
Not all questions have immediate answers, nor all problems immediate solutions. And we can only begin to change the inequities we see when we see them. Sometimes we simply need to be willing to wake up – willing to share our stories and sit with whatever arises and then be willing to find the courage to move toward action.
Part of my personal task, now that I do have a few letters behind my name, is to keep making sure that I remember my past and work to keep myself awake.
As we prepare for the season of Thanksgiving may each of us recognize much in our lives to be thankful for. And may each of us recognize that we have a part to play in building The Beloved Community.