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Reading:  

From Christmas Friarworks, by Robert Fulghum 

I usually draw up a heavy duty Things-To-Do list about this time of year. I am a black belt at lists. I even have lists of lists. Seven pages of expectations that are in themselves enough to permanently destroy the spirit of Christmas.

But this year I started from somewhere else in my mind. New list. One page. A "Things-to-Be" list for Christmas.

Concentrating on the feelings I wanted to have, the condition of mind and spirit I yearned for, the quality of life I wanted to manifest, the vibrations I wanted to give off to other people...

A "Things-To-Be" List for Christmas.

Then I boiled the list down into one word. I wrote that word on a tiny piece of paper. And then I wrapped that tiny piece of paper around a sugar cookie.

And ate it. List and all. Shazam! Hark the Herald Angels Sing!

Oh sure, it’s a little crazy. But since when is Christmas supposed to make sense? I mean, who makes the rules and regulations about Christmas, anyway? Who says Christmas must be an orderly, organized affair? Me, that’s who.

So I ate the Christmas list. Why? Because, just like Christmas itself, if it ain’t inside you somewhere, all the lists in the world won’t make it happen.

Have a sugar cookie on me.

--Robert Fulghum "Christmas Friarworks"

 

Sermon:

            How many of you have finished up your To Do lists? How many of you are all ready for the holidays to come? Any of you? Any of you boiled your list down to the one word you can eat with your sugar cookies—once you’ve made them? Any of you spent all you’re going to spend, done all you’re going to do?

            Well, you know that I’m not one of you few. In what might be sounding like a broken record, my body still thinks it’s October, and everyone knows that’s way too early to be doing the last minute Christmas stuff. No matter how hard my brain and the calendar try to convince me, my body and psyche just can’t get with the program. I’m buying the things I need to buy, and doing the things I need to do, but I fully believe that I’m participating in folly. I’m going along, even though I know it’s only October. I mean, even the new clock in the back of Fellowship Hall tells me the date, and I can read it clearly from here—well, if the chain links weren’t in the way—and it tells me that there are only 9 days until Christmas. I’ve been to holiday concerts, I’ve received holiday cards, and I’ve prepared all the orders of service for the next three worship services, I’m getting ready to face the hell of the post office early this week, but I know that this is October. To do list? Incomplete.

            Even if you’d crossed everything off on that To Do list, how is your To Be list? How many of us have worked on those? I don’t think that Fulghum is harkening back to when we were kids—you know, the things we say we want to be when we’re six or seven. A spaceship pilot or a spy or a private eye kind of thing. Me, when I was six or seven, I knew I was going to grow up and raise horses and puppies for a Seeing Eye school. There’s a part of me that still believes in being those things. In fact, I’m right now the closest to attaining those two things as I ever have been: once a week I do filing and data entry for Guide Dogs. And this past week I got to cuddle an eight-week old pup as he was coming out of anesthesia from his eye surgery. There’s nothing quite a cute as a baby black lab with shocking pink stitches near his eyes!

            But that’s as close as I’ve come to that childhood “to be” list. Thankfully, I’ve made other lists since then, and I’m pretty successful at some of them. I wanted to “be” a minister, and I’ve gotten there. I wanted to be the Rev Doc, bespeaking education of a certain level, and a more in-depth look at my ministry and Unitarian Universalism in particular. I wanted to be good and kind and smart and funny, and most days, I’ve gotten there, too.

            Yet there is, I know, a deeper “to be” list that I carry around with me.

            I want to be a person who is more involved in global politics, who sees that as a more integral part of their life. I want to be someone who knows all the things that are going on in the world, not always feeling as if I’ve missed the beginning of something else that I should know about. I want to be the kind of person who understands all the stuff that happens in global politics and global economy and global warming. I want to be a person who does write influential and influencing letters to editors in newspapers, and to elected officials, that help them realize the folly of their ways, rather than being someone who sometimes thinks that this would be a good idea. I do subscribe to and read a daily newspaper, but in full disclosure I spend more time on the Sudoku and crossword puzzles than on in-depth analysis of global politics and economics.

I also want to be a person who cares about the shape I’m in. And not simply by affirming what I saw on a card the other day: round is a shape! I want to be someone who is committed to being as healthy as I can be. I want to be someone who eats right, who can climb to the top of Mount Tam without breaking a sweat, and who could ride a bike up the hill to this church without feeling as if I was going to die, and wishing it were so.

I want to be more deeply spiritual in my daily practice. Coming from a family that never mentioned God except in swearing, I want to feel and acknowledge more of a presence larger than myself. The way I know to get to that is by intentional daily religious reflection. But do I do it? Not very often. I’m pleased to say that I do it more often than I exercise, but that’s not saying very much.

            I want to be all of these things. I want to be more charitable in my thinking and acting. I want to be more open in my ideas and opinions. I want to think of others first. I want to work at being more patient—my favorite prayer is “God grant me patience, and give it to me now!”

            I want to be all these things. So much more than the one word that Fulghum ate with his sugar cookie. And yet, it is so hard to do. I remember years ago one of my friends wanted a different book to be written. She’d seen all the books for people who do too much. But she wanted one for people who have too much to do. I join with her, because it always seems as if there is too much to do. The insistent crowds out the essential; the urgent trumps the important. Almost every time. Sixteen tons, and what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt.

            This juggling act, this sorting out where to spend my soul, has gotten even harder since I’ve become a minister. Because now not only is it a good idea to know what I’m doing, and sort wheat from chaff, but it’s what I’m supposed to do because gosh, we all know that clergy are supposed to be more enlightened and well-balanced than others, even UU clergy! I’m supposed to be the expert who can show you the way—or at least that’s the message I’ve internalized about this whole shebang. It’s also, from time to time, your projection as well.

            But all I can tell you is something you already know. This juggling act is tougher than we think, and tougher than we want. Where do we spend our souls? Where is it that we focus our time and attention, our worry and our wonder? I’m making the assumption here that this is a struggle for many of you. As long as you have to earn a living, raise children, care for parents, clean your home, wash your clothes and dishes, become enlightened, and save the world, there are going to be choices that you have to make. Hard ones.

            So how do we get there? I’m reminded of a story that Steven Covey tells in his book First Things First. One of Covey’s associates was at a seminar where the instructor was lecturing on time and its use. At one point, he reached under the table and pulled out a wide-mouth gallon jar, and a bunch of fist-sized rocks. He asked the attendees how many they thought he could fit in the jar. Many answers came, and then he started putting the rocks in the jar. Once he had in as many rocks as could fit, he asked the question “Is that jar full?”

            Everyone said yes. Then the instructor reached under the table and brought out a bucket of gravel. He dumped some in the jar, shook it down into the cracks, and added more. Once he had in as much gravel as would fit, he asked again “Is the jar full?”

            Some people said yes, most said probably not. And of course, he proved that it wasn’t full. He reached under the table and brought out a bucket of sand, and proceeded to pour that in between the gravel and the big rocks. He asked again, “Is the jar full?”

            Everyone answered no. Good, he said, as he grabbed a pitcher of water and began to pour that in, getting about a quart in while they all watched. He then stopped and asked them “What’s the point?”

            One of the people said, “Well, there are gaps, and if you really work at it, you can always fit more into your life.”

            The instructor replied “No, that’s not the point. The point is this: if you hadn’t put the big rocks in first, would you ever have gotten any of them in?”

            I love this story, even as I so often don’t follow its wisdom. Because it is wise. None of us can get big rocks—big things—into our lives unless we put them there first. On this we can all agree. It’s simple, and elegant in its design and wisdom. But there is a big question that precedes the filling of the jar: which are the big rocks?

            Which are the big rocks? What are the things that are most important to us? What are the things that should be most important to us? Where do those two lists vary?

            For many of us, we say that our families come first. That is a good thing. Truly. You won’t find me arguing against that. But you might find me asking you questions about that. For example, many might decide that this means making sure that we spend quality time with our family members. That’s a good answer. But it’s not the only answer. It could also be spending the time and energy to take care of their needs—things like cooking and cleaning and shopping and teaching and the like. It could be by working hard at our jobs to provide the financial resources that are necessary to put the family first, or going to school to get more skills to do that better. It could be by living in the right neighborhood to provide good schools, or the right place to provide good services or medical care. It could be by putting our own wellbeing, emotional, physical and spiritual, first so that we have more of ourselves free to give to our families. It could be by working hard for justice in the world, to end global warming, to eradicate hate and war, that we put our families first. And most likely, it’s a blend of these things—practicality mixed with desire.

            It could be our relationships that we put first—those with our chosen family (which can include people we are also related to by blood, marriage or law!). But what does that mean? Is it tending them by physical presence? Email? Letters? Doing things together? Or taking care of ourselves so that we have our best to give to them? Is it working to make the world a better place, with social justice our key motivator?

            It could be that we put working for justice as the big rocks—knowing that the work that we do to increase justice, save the planet, and love each other will pay off best for not only ourselves but other people.

            It could be lots of other things that are our big rocks—it could be that raising horses and fostering puppies for guide dogs are the biggest rocks. It could be that following a spiritual practice, or tending our bodies by proper diet and exercise are the big rocks. It could be that sitting in silence is a big rock, or making other people laugh, or wiping someone else’s tears, are big rocks. It could be that doing the best work you can at whatever job you’re doing is a big rock. It could be anything, anything, that is your big rock. Or several of them. Or different ones at different times.

            The trick is figuring out what those big rocks are, making the commitment to them, and then making sure that the jar is full of them first. While, of course, balancing all the other things that we think we have to do even if they are not big rocks in and of themselves. Sometimes there are things we just have to do, like filing income taxes, and getting the car license plates renewed, or paying bills. Not big rocks in my life, other than the obstacles that they sometimes seem, but some things that are pretty important in and of themselves. Beware—the big rocks may change over time.

Part of the “trick” of sorting this out is making sure we know the difference between the things that are essential and important, separate and apart from those things that might be urgent and compelling. There are, and will always be, too many compelling things that call out to us, ask us to invest our time, our money, our emotions, our worry. Discernment is the key to this game. Yet that discernment begins with one thing that too often doesn’t rate as a big rock, but in my books should.

And that’s knowing ourselves religiously. Knowing our souls. I am so certain that there is, inside each of us, a soul. Something that is the innermost part of ourselves, that holds the kernel of who we are as individual people. There is this thing—something that I choose to call the divine in us—which is the essence of who we have been, who we are, and who we are becoming. I don’t need to argue where it comes from, or whether there is someone or something that controls it, and I don’t need to insist on it being called soul. That’s just what I use as shorthand nomenclature of that very essence, that very heart, that very me-ness of me, the you-ness of you. The soul. I don’t care if it survives me after death, or if it comes from someone else through a process of reincarnation, or whether it is breathed into me as I take my first breath, or if it was there from the instant of conception, or whatever. Let’s not get caught up on that, but know instead that soul, for me, is that essence of the essence of each of us.

The first thing, then, for me, that first big rock is knowing my soul. Knowing who it is I am meant to be. Knowing what it is I value above all else. Knowing how to be the best me possible. Exploring and knowing the soul.

Because without knowing the soul, without knowing that essential bit of me, I can’t make any other informed decision about my life and my choices. Until and unless we listen to that soul part of ourselves, we can’t know what those other big rocks are. It was listening to that soul part of me that helped me realize that not only did I want to be a minister, but that the soulness of me would not be fulfilled until I lived with a religious understanding and expectation being at the core of my work. Ministry is not so much what I do, but minister is much of who I am, what’s on my “to be” list. It’s the first big rock in that jar.

All else flows from this rock. Okay, that’s a bizarre metaphor, flowing from a rock, but you know what I mean. It is only when we know who we are in our essence, in our core, that we can know how it is that we wish to spend our souls. What it is we yearn for, ache for, are willing not only to die for, but what to live for. Where we wish to spend our souls—our time, our energy, our worry, our wishes. Too often we get caught up in spending our time, our money, our spirits, our souls on things that other people say matter. Sometimes we need to do this. Our work, our families, our government, our lives call out for things that have to be done, even if we don’t like it. But I know it helps me when I know how those other things relate to my soul—to how I wish to spend my soul.

It’s like this. When I first moved to Canada, I was a bit miffed that the taxes there were higher than in the States. I don’t like giving away money if I don’t choose to do so. But then I looked at what the taxes gave me. In Canada the taxes are higher because the cost of many things that are individual pay here are actually shared responsibilities there. Health care. Welfare. Unemployment. Higher education. I knew when I lived in Canada that I didn’t have to worry about losing my home if I got really sick, because everyone had insurance no matter what, and I would have access to support if I needed it. When I went to college, I went to one of the top two schools in the nation, and I could afford it because I wasn’t the only one paying my way—my tuition then was $1600 a year, when at Harvard the same quality education would have been over $20,000. Everyone who paid taxes helped me afford to go to school. Paying these taxes turned out to be right where I wanted to spend my soul—to live in a society where we helped take care of each other economically and practically.

This was a lucky coincidence: where what I had to do turned out to be the same as what my soul spending wanted to be. It doesn’t always work like this. Not everyone works in places they would freely choose. Not every chore is something that feeds our soul, or can be massaged the way I did with my Canadian taxes. Sometimes things aren’t fair or just, and sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do. But I believe that if we take that time to sort out those big rocks, to know our souls, then we have a much better chance of spending them where we most wish them to go. Spending souls is about choosing where we put our hearts and minds. It’s about picking the big rocks ourselves, and then putting them in that jar. It’s about knowing the rocks might change, so we need to check out our rocks every so often. It’s about being gentle with ourselves. It’s about saying yes, saying thanks, listening, listening, for the voice within.

Spending our souls. Doling out, with joy and gladness, the essence of our being, striving to live more and more into the people we wish to be. Living not as much in the to do list, even as we need to get them done, but knowing what it is we want to be, and living into that being-ness. Eating the words with the sugar cookies, and knowing the eating is good.

May this season, with all its hustle and bustle sound in you the echo of your own heart song. May the lights we kindle illumine your big rocks. May you find the peace that comes with knowing yourself, with knowing your soul, with saying yes to life itself. And that way, if Santa dare gives you a lump of coal, you know that it can always remind you to choose those big rocks first.