A sermon by Jim Verschueren 11.29.2009
Last August, my older son, Ben, was away for a week on a business trip. Carlo and I offered to help out while he was gone by staying with my daughter-in-law, Kerry, and caring for Donna Catherine and Riley Grace. As is often the case, Auntie
I think of time with my granddaughters as the opportunity for “moments.” In fact, I like to anticipate my entire time with grandchildren as one joyful, continuous moment.
I am, you see, very capable of self delusion.
On this particular visit, Donna Catherine, newly minted age 3, was adept at asserting herself. Things were to be done HER way. Demands were to be made HER way. Time was to be spent HER way. Auntie Susan had other ideas.
Riley Grace, having just turned 7 months, was busy teething. And in midst of our visit, she came down with a stomach virus that resulted in some unpleasant clean-ups at, let’s say, inconvenient times.
After four days, Carlo, Susan & I returned home weary and with once again renewed appreciation and empathy for the parents of young children. Not every minute of that visit was a moment. Far from it.
But that visit is now a moment in my past.
How does the past enhance or detract from our continuously repeating points of intersection? After all, we do hold onto the past.
For me, the most important lessons from the past are those that help me stop, think, and be intentional in the NOW.
That’s easier when we are calling upon the positive experiences of the past. It is also true, though often more difficult to experience, when we reflect on past hurts, past tragedies in our lives, things we regret we’ve done, things that bring us feelings of guilt or even shame.
For years I held onto a deep hurt, a betrayal by a close colleague and friend. Earlier this year, I wrote to her. I said that I was letting go of the hurt and the anger, that I wanted to think about her in terms of all the good we had shared, and to acknowledge that I had a part in our breach. She wrote back with warmth and appreciation. That piece of the past no longer detracts from my minutes. No longer do I think of her with bitterness. When I think of her now, sometimes I have a moment. A moment of appreciation for human connections in all their muddy beauty.
Being with Susan and two grandchildren. For four days, Carlo, Susan and I simply had to let go of the past, forego thoughts of the future, and hold tight, with both hands, to turn minutes into moments.
In those moments we participated joyfully in shaping a little girl’s understanding of how to be with others. We modeled behavior, often better behavior than we practice ourselves. We joined in games and puzzles and make-believes that took us back to our earlier, younger selves. We read stories and experienced joy and wonder through fresh eyes.
In those moments we also cared for a person entirely dependent on us. We held and cradled through screams and tears, we distracted from hurting teeth, we lay on the floor and rattled toys, we cuddled and danced with babe in arms, we smiled back at joy whenever revealed.
The past is there for us to use. Many times our lessons do come from very happy, positive experiences. I think of when Donna Catherine was an infant, when she cried, when I held her, and sang to her, and danced with her. When she responded with calm and even the faintest of smiles. From that experience I know that HER moods are transitory, HER cries will end, HER smiles will come. And from MY past, I know, too, that it is not only with children that these changes come. Whatever is happening right now, if we use our past as guide, every minute has the potential to be a moment.
We can reach back and pull whatever is needed to sustain us in this minute. The past teaches us to trust life, seek out the joy in each of our minutes, and look forward to whatever life might bring next. Minutes, amidst all the cacophony of those days of childcare, miraculously, often became moments.
And what of that other infinity, what of the future? How do we reach into it and how does it enhance or detract from now?
In the novel “The Shack” the central character spends a lot of time talking with God. That’s GOD with a capital G O D, GOD in the most traditional Christian sense, and talking with Jesus as well, and with the Holy Spirit, in fact, the full-blown Trinity.
Sidebar. Many of you are familiar with my strong spiritual commitment to Humanism. I don’t believe in any supernatural entity. But as a committed UU, I do have regard for other spiritual traditions. Hard as it was for me to read this novel (and I honestly don’t recommend it), there were, as there almost always are in spiritual matters, kernels of wisdom from traditions we may not individually embrace.
In this case, whatever you or I may think God is, or whatever view we may hold of the Christian idea of the Trinity, there is one piece of advice from the Shack’s presentation of Jesus that I can embrace wholeheartedly: Here’s the exchange between the protagonist and Jesus:
Jesus: “Do you think humans were designed to live in the present or the past or the future?”
Mack: “I think the most obvious answer is that we were designed to live in the present.”
Jesus: “You are exactly correct. But now tell me, where do YOU spend most of your time in your mind, in your imagination; in the present, in the past, or in the future?”
Mack: “I suppose I would have to say that I spend very little time in the present. I spend a big piece in the past, but most of the rest of the time, I am trying to figure out the future.”
Jesus: “Not unlike most people. When I dwell with you, I do so in the present ~ I live in the present. Not the past, although much can be remembered and learned by looking back, but only for a visit, not an extended stay. And for sure, I do not dwell in the future you visualize or imagine. Mack, do you realize that your imagination of the future, which is almost always dictated by fear of some kind, rarely, if ever, pictues me there with you?”
Mack: “Why do I do that?”
Jesus: “It is your desperate attempt to get some control over something you can’t. It is impossible for you to take power over the future because it isn’t even real, nor will it ever be real. You try to play God, imagining the evil that you fear becoming reality, and then you try to make plans and contingencies to avoid what you fear.
This is a very simple idea. We have a choice about how to think about the future and what to focus on in that anticipated future.
If we choose to use a hand, or even both hands, to reach into the future with worry and concern, our minutes will never be moments. That infinity will detract from this minute. But that is our choice. After all, according to The Shack’s Jesus, and well within the precepts of Humanism, the future is NOT real. It does NOT YET exist. We CANNOT determine what it will bring. Worry and concern CANNOT bring joy.
If we choose to use a hand, or even both hands, to reach into the future with thoughts of anticipated joy, that infinity MAY enhance this minute. When we use future hopes to transcend the present minute, we MAY create moments. This ability, too, is part of our trust in life. We can choose to live with the expectation that good, joyful times WILL come.
Of course, there is risk in reaching out to the future to transcend this minute. The future is a fickle friend. And our time should be limited there. Those anticipated joys may never come. A loss, particularly of a loved one, will mean that myriad anticipated joys will never be.
So where do you live? Are you holding tightly to a past that is detracting from this minute? Are you seizing a future with joyful anticipation or fearful worry? How often do you cradle this minute in both hands, holding what is actual, transcending time and filling your life with moments?
In another recent sermon, Betsy Tabor asked, “Have I all I want in life?” I know that my immediate, gut reaction was, “of course not.” But almost as swiftly following was a realization that, in that minute, I couldn’t think of anything that I truly want and don’t have.
I am sure that many here today would not share that feeling of abundance. I know that I am especially blessed. I have not known physical want for a long time. I love and am loved in return. I am financially comfortable and I have good health. I relish my part in this magnificent spiritual community.
I also know that one or more of these blessings COULD evaporate. And I know that I would want them all if I didn’t have them.
But I also know that this feeling of abundance comes from an intentional assessment of what I need to be happy, content, fulfilled. And that I make that assessment in this minute, not with regret or despair about when in the past I didn’t have it, nor with worry or concern that it will be lost in the future.
Even in times when we are lacking, we can hold a minute in both hands and experience it as it is, perhaps to transcend, perhaps just to know that the next minute will be a new one.
The more that we are able to live in the present, the stronger the likelihood that we will sustain our sense of well-being, happiness, and peace of mind.
For me, that sense of fulfillment is directly related to always having at least one hand holding the present.
Being with Susan & Two Grandchildren was not, minute by minute, a moment. What I had anticipated when one hand reached into the future in preparing for that visit, was pretty much a cake walk of three or four experienced adults (especially Susan) happily outnumbering two very young girls. Minute by minute, most often the two young girls were staging the time.
One lesson of the visit, for me, was that when I left myself free from worry, disappointment, and anxiety over what had just happened, or what might happen in the next minute, I was able to appreciate and find joy in the present minute. A baby crying from the pain of a budding tooth is an opportunity to provide comfort and care, to bond, and to trust that the tooth will break through. ONE joy of being a grandparent is that this wisdom eases the worry and enables the joy, transforming a minute into a moment after all.
When a hand holds the past, there are moments, many joyful and some sorrowful, to recall and savor. If we choose to trust in life, we savor our past moments, accept our regrets, make amends as we are able. We are not lost in despair over what has been nor are we mired in what was. Both hands are never there.
When a hand reaches into the future, there are visions of moments to come, trusting that many will be joyful and knowing that some will be sorrowful. If we choose to trust in life, we are able to reach into the future for what we believe will bring us joy. We are able to accept that hurt will come and that it, too, will pass. Both hands are never there.
In truth, past and future are nothing more than a set of minutes, some transformed into moments. In this point of intersection, with both hands on what is actual, here and now, a moment is created, time is suspended, and joy is possible.
When we are able to be fully in the moment, we trust in life. The next minute will come. The last minute has passed. What is done is done, what will be cannot be known. THIS moment is what we have and for ALL that it contains, we can choose to be grateful.