Hope Is Here
Sermon | August 23, 2020 |Rev. Julie Lombard
Since we were together, I’ve been exploring the area. All this adventure made me think back on a time that my kids and I had gone to General Assembly in Providence, RI. Shortly after we arrived, we made fast friends with a total stranger named Jean. She was and is the administrator of the UU Church in Lincoln, Nebraska. Jean was a great help from being welcoming of my kids in tow to playing hooky with us. Jean was also good at signing us up to volunteer at a sidewalk chalk station during the big “Fire & Water” event. She arranged it so we were at the particular chalk station next to where Emma’s Revolution was playing.
It was there that a small girl stopped to listen to the music. She became so jazzed when she saw her name as an illuminated word projected on the building behind the performers. Seeing her name, Hope, larger than life, inspired her in that moment to become a chalk-artist leaving her mark. She wrote in colorful chalk on the pavement, “Hope Was Here”. That was a time I found hope at GA.
A few days later, I found myself beginning another journey with my family. As our new friend Jean returned to Nebraska, my family flew overhead, certain we might see her hometown. We went west, as the famous Universalist from my hometown of Amherst, NH – Horace Greeley, recommended.
Our aim was to visit National Parks. My engineer husband engineered a well planned trip, a large loop for us to view a multitude of parks. And though it was good to start with a plan, it didn’t take us long before we went rogue. One of our unplanned detours took us to Sequoia National Park.
After leaving Death Valley we were going to head north on the eastside of the Sierras and arrive in Yosemite. Instead we decided to take another route in hopes that we might coax my brother to join us. It’s always worth going out of the way to be with the ones you love.
Being among the Sequoias, it finally hit me, the National Parks are holy places reserved for us to cherish and protect. I was in awe of the giant trees. As my senses returned, it was there that I began think that we might consider the parks like the many faiths within our country; each tradition unique, each one offering its own path to peace, each faith necessary in a land where religious freedom was a founding principle.
So, while there, the giants humbled me while walking among them and my mind wandered to Unitarian Universalism. I thought that our faith is somewhat like that park. I felt as though I was surrounded by Devine companions. My admiration of the trees silenced me as I hoped to chat with them. And as I hugged them as an old friend, I felt so small. It felt as though my loudest yell would never be loud enough for them to hear me. Would my words sound like baby babble? How could I ever have the conversation I longed to have with them? What could I say worth hearing to these wise wonders that have lived three thousand years more than me. What would you have said to them if you had the chance?
At a loss for how to communicate with them, I took to a journal and wrote down a steady stream of thought. This is what I wrote: if each National Park were like a faith traditions in America, I would like to imagine that Unitarian universalism would be mighty like the Sequoia. It’s not the most famous park, it has no half dome or geyser. What it is known for is its small groves of giant trees. The largest of them were given names of honor, named after Civil War heroes; General Sherman and General Grant. We humans do the silliest things; we find weird ways to honor such Gods with what could be considered a mortal insult. These trees have endured more than any war hero. Maybe a war hero can be like a Sequoia, but not vise versa. In that foolish vane, I imagined it being like me trying to rename the trees Channing, Ballou, Emerson, or Parker. Surely these men were Sequoias, but not vise versa. It wasn’t until I later went to Yosemite that I found a book with John Muir’s story about Emerson, where Muir called Emerson a Sequoia.
In the specific environment of the Sequoias, they grow large enough to shelter an entire congregation. They cannot grow anywhere. They need a certain environment with the right amount of moisture and the coolness that the mountains provide in order to grow like they do. But despite all that, you can take saplings home? The sapling package sold in the gift shop says that they can grow anywhere if properly cared for. However, it’s recommend to bonsai them, keeping it forever small. Maybe that’s one creative way to spread these trees beyond their magical groves.
Excuse my tangent on growth, I preferred to talk about their magnificent existence, rather than growth. The existences of these National Parks are like the many faiths in this large country that claims to champion religious freedom. How each reminds me that we need to preserve such holy places -both the parks & faith traditions. Each tradition, in its own way, is like a National Park saying, “Hope is Here”. What if we preserved these faiths, especially this faith, so that future generations know that it is here and how we co-existed among many other faiths in the land. This is more than to co-exist actually; we must cooperatively, mindfully exist, so we all can prosper and gain.
We could spend all our time trying to grow this faith, yet let growth not be our only purpose. Let us share the beacon of hope that this faith has offered many for hundreds of years. Let us, who call ourselves Unitarian Universalist, make it our intention to let others know that hope is here and that it is unique. Let this be our greatest call, to share why our faith matters.
May we go out in the world like the giants that came before us, Emerson and Parker were not shy about their ideals. We may not look as hip as faith’s with drum sets in the sanctuary or praise music on the radio. We may have come slowly to this new, modern way of zoom worship, but we have a long history of being theologically progressive. And what does that mean exactly?
The wider world needs to learn that hope is here. Come, come, whoever you are. Here, we champion LBGTQ rights, we believe that those who are hungry literally and figuratively deserve to be fed, we cherish that one’s spiritual formation is ever-changing and that it take many shapes within a lifetime. We may be creedless, but we are far from hopeless.
We have hope to go around like the Sequoia saplings you can take anywhere. We have hope for a day when African Americans can walk down the street without fearing the police and we have hope to join all who are dedicated to protecting our planet not only for the future generations of our species, but for all species.
Spiritual Siblings, let us grow in the hope freedom offers us. For freedom and hope are our true theology. There, a spark exists that urges us onward to build a better world. I found hope in a grove of Sequoias that taught me more about this faith.
Hope is here in Midland because it needs our ministry, we continue this task knowing it will never be done, we share our hope because the world needs it now more than ever. We may be small, but may our voice remain as strong and bold as a Sequoia. Let us lift our voices beyond our small grove. Let it be music to all that hunger to hear it. Write your messages in colorful chalk all over just as the young girl did in Providence, and say: “Hope is here.” (1365)
Blessed Be. Amen.