Sermon Archives : 2006/2007

Visions of Right Relationship

The Rev. Gail Seavey and the Rev. Jason Shelton  ·  September 17, 2006

In this service, Gail and Jason made a covenant with each other as colleagues in professional ministry. They shared their different visions for our congregation and explored the ways we can bring our individual visions together into an inclusive community vision that is larger and more vital than us all.

Come Into This Place of Peace
The Rev. Gail Seavey

Come into this place of peace,
and let its silence heal your spirit;
Come into this place of memory,
and let its history warm your soul;
Come into this place of prophecy and power,
and let its vision change your heart.

Come into this place of peace, and let its silence heal your spirit…

In 1998 I found here a home for my wandering, wounded spirit. And then I found a job. Luck, providence, serendipity - call it what you will, but I was at the right place at the right time. Not long after I began working as Director of Music, the congregation began working on defining itself in terms of mission and vision. What was clear from that process, and has been clear ever since, was that the first phrase of our mission statement was really the defining characteristic of this church: “We gather in safe and compassionate community.”

As many times as I have heard the stories about the church in the early 90’s, I can’t imagine what it would have been like to be here then. To endure a case of ministerial misconduct and the breach of trust that comes with it is in and of itself an unimaginable trauma, but then to watch this beloved community rend itself in two, to experience first hand the bitter sting of betrayal by fellow sojourners in this place of refuge from the spiritual tyranny that surrounds us – I don’t know if I could have stuck it out. And I know that there are many who didn’t.

But a brave and determined few did, and because of them, we are here today worried about how we’re going to make room for our rapidly expanding membership, and what will we do with all of the kids signing up for RE, and how can we fit all of those choir people on our little platform? Because they had the vision and maturity to say, as the community that is this church was all but destroyed nearly 15 years ago, what we need to do first is create a safe and compassionate community, a place of peace, and let its silence heal our broken spirits.

Not that we have forgotten about the world outside these walls, and our track record in terms of outreach and service will certainly speak to that, but the last 15 years have, as I see them, been primarily about learning to trust again, and the healing that comes with it. And even as the majority of our members were not here for the events of those painful days, we, too, have needed and found healing and peace in this safe and compassionate community.

It is unfortunate that the phrase has been sullied in recent years, but it seems appropriate to say to this community, mission accomplished. As we embark on a journey of capturing anew the vision of this community, let us remember with gratitude those who came through the fire of that trial and rose from the ashes as a new creation, eager to learn of trust and love, vulnerable, yet imbued with the courage and insight of experience.

From the Place Where I Stand – Vision
The Rev. Jason Shelton

Come into this place of prophecy and power, and let its vision change your heart.

We stood silently in the damp, chilly, April night air for what seemed like hours, waiting to hear that he was dead. It had been 40 years since the state of Tennessee had executed a prisoner, but Robert Glen Coe’s appeals had run their course, and on that night six years ago his sentence was carried out.

A series of last-minute appeals meant that we had held several community, interfaith vigils prior to this one, a vast sea of people of many faiths who believed for different reasons that this action was wrong, immoral, sinful, unjust. After one of those early services our former minister came back quite animated in her frustration. “They just don’t get it,” she said. She was upset because the planners of the event made sure to include many of the faith traditions found in our city, but chose to sing songs that represented only one. And trust me, they weren’t singing Buddhist hymns…

So she asked if I might lend my skills to the next vigil, and I was happy to do so. We sang something Jewish, something Christian, and something that was fairly non-specific in its theology – all from our hymnal, of course. As we were planning the service, one of the planning committee folks asked if I would come out to the prison that night to lead a song after we waited in silence to hear that Coe was, in fact, dead. Again I agreed, and when I got to the prison I was inundated with suggestions as to what we should sing. Amazing Grace and How Can I Keep From Singing topped the request list, but as I looked around at the diverse mix of people who had gathered – a band of Jewish men with yarmulkes, a group of Buddhists meditating in a circle, pagans dancing in the corner, as well as a large group of Christians and who knows what else – I assured people that I knew what we were going to sing, and that it would be OK.

It was a long silence. We huddled together in the chill, each of us focused on the life that was ending just a few feet away from us, a life being ended in our names, paid for by our tax dollars. And then the word came that the deed had been carried out, and a simple nod told me it was time to sing. So I sang:

There is more love somewhere,
There is more love somewhere.
I’m gonna keep on ‘til I find it;
There is more love somewhere.

It was one of the most profound moments of my life. I heard from others who were present that night that the song had spoken to them of their own faith and experience, even though the words were not specific enough to be identified with any particular tradition. I chose the song because it transcends the theological boundaries that keep us isolated from one another by naming that which is universal, that which is central to all traditions: the personal spiritual journey in search of love, peace, hope and joy. It is an ideal example of a “Unitarian Universalist” song, and it demonstrates how our songs are an essential element in claiming our power and our prophetic voice.

You may have guessed that my vision for our church, and for our movement, has to do with singing our faith. One of the reasons our church is recognized as a national leader in terms of music in worship is because we sing from a diverse canon of music in a wide range of styles, and we do so with enthusiasm and joy. For the most part. Sometimes it may feel like you’re being stretched or pulled in ways that aren’t exactly comfortable, and I have heard from some of you when that has happened. But to your credit, you’re still here, and we’re still stretching and growing together. That says something about the integrity of this community.

It is an extraordinary challenge to find music that resonates with a group of people with such diverse beliefs. We draw from this broad palette because to do otherwise, to limit ourselves to one style, or to sing only music from one religious tradition, would be incongruous with who we claim to be. To claim to celebrate diversity without singing it would be to perpetuate a fraud, to lie both to ourselves and to the world around us.

What we sing is who we are. For the past nine years this has been my mantra, and I believe that it is key to helping our church be transformed into the wonderfully diverse, beloved community we say we want to be. My vision for this church is that singing the complexity of our faith with authenticity and integrity will be an agent of that transformation. To paraphrase Ghandi, I believe that we must sing the change we wish to see in the world.

But my vision also says we must take our music ministry beyond these walls, creating moments where our unique approach to singing the religious life can bring people together in ways this city, this nation, this world has never seen before. I first came to see this possibility standing in that prison yard, uniting the disparate, grieving crowd with a simple song that transcended our false sense of separateness. Our choir caught a glimpse of it last March at the Nashville interfaith music festival, where many said, “I don’t know what Unitarian Universalism is, but if they sing like that, there must be something happening there!” And one more barrier was broken down, one more suspicion of difference was dispelled, one more heart was changed.

Fulfilling this vision will require resources – money, people, perhaps a new fellowship hall and an expanded sanctuary – and it will require the courage of our convictions. If this is to be a place of prophecy and power, then we have to believe with all our minds and hearts that the world we seek to create is better than the one we live in today. We have to know that the change we are able to effect in the lives of our neighbors and friends is neither small nor irrelevant, even though it will never be enough. And perhaps most importantly, we must understand that success will come when the first hearts to be changed are our own.

To the degree that I am able to offer a ministry of music that is successful in being prophetic and powerful, I know that you are the inspiration and source of strength that makes it possible for me to do so. My prayer is that I am able to reciprocate some measure of that inspiration and strength for you. There is more love somewhere - let us sing on until we find it.