Reflections
Given by James Covington on September 11th, 2005
Good morning!
We come together once again, at the end of a summer reprieve,
To be reminded of our highest values,
To be inspired to bring our gifts
Of love and service
To the altar of humanity.
And to know once again that we are not isolated beings
But connected to others, to others
In this Fellowship
In the larger community of Croton,
In our nation,
And indeed to all others, all over the world.
Come now, and let us worship together.
Water Communion
It is bitterly ironic that we are holding our water communion service now. Our water communion is supposed to be a time of celebration, a time when we gather in joy at the end of summer to celebrate community and share recent meaningful events in our lives.
Today the mention of water cannot help but evoke television, internet and newspaper images of hurricane Katrina and its aftermath. This morning we associate water with destruction, death, pain, suffering, and devastation. WE are living through a disaster of historic proportions, a disaster that will continue to cause dislocation and misery for months and perhaps years to come. That we would be here today in the shadow of such a disaster as we also remain in the shadow of 9/11, another recent national disaster is indeed a most somber time.
It is ironic to see so many poor people inundated, because one of the growing issues in our world is the struggle of poor people to get water. Water around the world is increasingly a commodity held in private hands and sold for profit. Our own UU Service Committee, the UUSC, has identified access to clean water as a major human rights challenge of this century. A billion people lack access to clean water.
Water. Water can be so wonderful, yet so destructive. Water is like life. It can be joy; it can be heartbreaking.
This morning we will continue with our water communion. We will do it with some heaviness of heart. WE will hold our celebration, but not as an act of collective denial of what is happening around us. Our water ceremony must not be an expression of our indifference to the suffering on the Gulf Coast. Rather, let us hold our time of sharing in the knowledge that life is ever a mixture of joy and sorrow, of delight and disappointment. Let us be mindful that life is both precious and precarious. When we are fully aware that life is fragile, life’s joys are more sweet. The times we share together are great treasures.
As we pool our water, so too let us determine to pool our energies to help ease the suffering of others and to help share the water of life with all our brothers and sisters on our planet.
Reflections
As we have experienced more frequently than usual in the first years of the new century, catastrophes cause us to pause, reflect and reassess. The more notable ones have been 9/ll, the tsunami in Asia, the war in Iraq, the starvation in Darfur and now the horrendous devastation of New Orleans. We are so full of anguish, sorrow, fear and questions, yes questions, some of which are devoid of answers, and others of which must absolutely be answered. I can’t recall when I have felt so vulnerable to the dangers innate in human existence, whether they be natural events, the forces of hatred, or the results of human selfishness and mindlessness.
This morning I do not come to you with answers, but I am moved to share with you my own reflections, such as they are. As human beings, it is not enough to hear the facts; it is not enough, even, to listen to the stories, because we need to make meaning, and the TV and the radio and the newspapers will not help us with that—we must help one another with that, and where else but this place are these questions of meaning better asked?
What is this tragedy calling us to know, to understand that we did not understand before?
One thing seems immediately and startlingly clear—it’s not all about me. That is, my life is not all about me. Not about perfection of self, not about purity. My life needs to be given over to something larger than that. It’s not about shopping for that new car or that new dress. It’s not even about spending more time with my family or giving more to charity—no, I think it’s calling for much more, I think it’s calling for a genuine change of heart. What Hurricane Katrina has done is to give us an opportunity—if we’re willing to take it—if we can bear it, an opportunity to carve out a large territory in our hearts, to make room that we never knew was there, to seek a new definition of brother, of sister in truly, a global community.
WE have this opportunity, because this apocalyptic event teaches us what we have in common with all those who live—we are all at the mercy of forces beyond our control. Regardless of the bungling way in which the aftermath has been handled, the whole catastrophe was the result of a natural event. In the face of this loss of innocent life, all of us, of all nations and colors and climes, are moved to ask why and no answer comes.
I heard a story on National Public Radio about Pearl Buck, the Nobel Prize winning author of a generation ago, who wrote novels, but also wrote children’s books. One of those books was called “The Big Wave.” In this story, which is set on the seashore in Japan, a little boy, Kino is talking with his friend Jiya, and he sees Jiya looking out over the sea. “What are you looking for?” Kino asked.
“Only to see that the ocean is not angry,” Jiya replied.
Kino laughed. “Silly,” he said. “The ocean cannot be angry.”
“Yes it can,” Jiya insisted. “Sometimes the old ocean god begins to roll in his ocean bed and to heave up his head and shoulders, and the waves run back and forth. Then he stands upright and roars and the earth shakes under the water. . .”
“But why should he be angry with us?” Kino asked. “WE are only two boys, and we never do anything to him.”
“No one knows why the ocean grows angry,” Jiya said. .
After the tsunami disaster in Asia in January, I heard an interview with a Buddhist monk who is on the scene with the survivors. He was asked how he brought comfort to his people, who have lost so much. He talked about rituals, precepts, and meditation, going to the temple—but then he said at last, “WE can understand impermanence. The sun rises, the sun sets. Life is like that. Any time, any moment, you may die,” he said.
Yes, we see the heart-breaking pictures in New Orleans and Mississippi; we hear the stories from those who lived through the horror. Something like this happens, and we see in an instant that our belief that we have control, can provide order, is a fantasy,–a fantasy that makes it possible for us to live and just function in this world—but a fantasy, nevertheless. We know we are mortal, once again, and because we see so clearly that this flesh is so fragile, we are moved to question our own lives. The destruction of the hurricane gives us the clear and abiding message, “Live today the way you wish to live, for today is what you are promised. Only today.”
Those are my “self” reflections in relation to Hurricane Katrina. But there are other reflections in regard to my nation and its government.
As always, our citizens, and citizens from around the world, have responded generously to this human crisis. The latest estimation however, is that the cost of restoring New Orleans will amount to 125 billion dollars. For a nation that is already deeply in debt, where is that money coming from? Perhaps the corporations and billionaires who have benefited from the tax cuts, can provide the money. I’m not being cynical about that. The oil industry itself is reported to have earned a profit this year of $120 billion.
Aside from the personal reflections on the vulnerability of life, we will also be reflecting on the hard facts of how this storm was reacted to. While there is much to this event that is natural, there is also a disconcerting aspect that isn’t natural. There was much in this disaster that was the cause of human actions and inactions. Many scientists believe global warming is making tropical storms more severe. WE know that neglect of levees was a contributing factor; the vulnerability of New Orleans has been known for years without anyone doing anything about it. Just as important, for decades the channeling of the Mississippi River and the destruction of wetlands by development have made the situation dangerous. This was a natural disaster made far worse by human negligence and greed. What other disasters are we inviting by our inaction? How long will we try to plunder resources without regard to the long term effects of our actions? In many ways, this was a disaster that had human origins.
The other factor that needs our attention is that the waters of Hurricane Katrina are washing away our nation’s denial of just how many Americans are living in poverty. The pictures of New Orleans have stunned the nation. They have exposed the stark realities of who is suffering the most, who was left behind, who was waiting in vain for help to arrive, and who is facing the most difficult challenges of recovery. The fact of those stranded in New Orleans was overwhelmingly poor and black, the very old and the very young. They were the ones who could not evacuate; had no cars or money for gas; no money for bus, train, or airfare; no budget for hotels or no friends or family with room to share or spare.
Katrina has revealed what was already there in America: an invisible and mostly silent poverty that we have chosen not to talk about, let alone to take responsibility for in the richest nation on eartrh. This week, we all saw it; and so did the rest of the world. And it made Americans feel both compassionate and ashamed. Many politicians and commentators across the ideological spectrum have acknowledged the national tragedy, not just of the horrendous storm, but of the realities the flood waters have exposed. And some have suggested that if the aftermath of Katrina finally leads the nation to demand solutions to the poverty of upwards of a third of its citizens then something good might come from this terrible disaster.
This is what we all must work toward. That will require a combination of public and private initiatives. It will require the merge of personal and social responsibility, but also the confronting of hard questions about national priorities. In the past 25 years, the key theme in politics of the right has been to starve federal government through tax cuts, which enable politicians to then say, “Sorry, programs and services must be reduced.” Thus the maintenance and repair of the new Orleans levees had been neglected. The upshot of government decisions in recent years has been to render public agencies a shadow of their former selves, thus FEMA was not up to the task. And, finally, the politics of recent years has contributed to the widening gap between the rich and poor. In New Orleans it came down to those with means, getting out, and those without, getting deserted.
Four years ago, Grover Norquist, a leader of a cadre of activists who have waged a sustained campaign to weaken the federal government, declared, “My goal is to cut government… down to the size where we can drown it in the bathtub.”
We must continue to do all that we can to help the poorest and weakest among us as well as to assist all devastated by this deadly storm and its aftermath, we are more aware than ever that real help resides not in the rhetoric of religion or the claims that we make about the importance of moral values but in the actual substance of our actions. Our theology holds us responsible, our faith allows us to listen, and our shared democracy demands that we act.
So many questions. So much to think about. So much to do. Knowing that even if the government’s response had been better, we realize we are but imperfect, limited beings, vulnerable, nevertheless. I know my response at times is just to quiet and feel nothing. Overwhelmed.
I heard a radio story about two doctors getting on a plane with two suitcases full of medical supplies—taking what they could. And the reporter said to one of them, “Just two suitcases? Do you think you can be successful with just two suitcases of medical supplies? “And one of the doctors replied, “No, of course, we’re not going to be successful. The success is in the trying.” And that is a lesson for all of us, in all of the challenges that life brings to us.
I came across these words recently from the Talmud that I find helpful in this time of incredible need by so many: “Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.” We do what we can do. Our true humanity is so revealed. And therein lays our only salvation. So be it.
Meditation
We ask this day for consolation for those who have lost loved ones in this natural disaster–we cannot grieve for them, but may we grieve with them, for we know what it is to lose those that we love. We pray today that somehow through this pain and suffering that lives will nevertheless be ennobled as people give unselfishly of themselves and their resources. May we who are gathered here, safe in this sanctuary today, our loved ones safe, walk each day in thanksgiving–and may we grow more compassionate, more feeling, more committed to the good.