Reflections by: Deb Theriault, Garvey MacLean and Dolores Broberg
Romans 12:3-8
Each year, on Sunday of the Martin Luther King holiday, our Diversity Committee plans and leads worship with a theme that lifts up our call to hospitality and inclusiveness. This year explored the theme that each of us lives a unique personal story but are one part of the greater whole, united through our common faith.
Reflection by Deb Theriault
I’d be surprised if every one of you couldn’t think of something that made you feel different when you were a kid—perhaps you had braces or you had to wear your older sister’s hand-me-downs, maybe you were the only kid in your class who couldn’t ride your bike to school, or one of your parents was an alcoholic or your parents were divorced.
Being raised by a single parent was not very common when I was growing up in the 60s, and that was one of the things that made me feel different. Not only did I not have a father at home, I didn’t even know him. All of my neighborhood friends had both parents at home, and I didn’t really know about most of my school friends but I assumed they did too, since that was “normal”; you know, “Leave It To Beaver”, “Ozzie & Harriet” normal. Making family trees in school was always a little embarrassing, leaving one side of the tree empty because I had no information, and explaining the reason to the teacher was uncomfortable.
My mother was an alcoholic, and that added to my feeling different. When I got old enough to realize that everyone wasn’t like that, I was embarrassed to bring friends home. I think my brother was, too, because he seldom had friends over, and, once he was a teenager, he pretty much was never home. The neighborhood kids were very comfortable being at my house, and by the time I was in my teens I realized it was because they had alcoholic parents, too.
Don’t get me wrong; I loved my mother very much. She did the best she could considering her circumstances. Her father died when she was quite young–as a result of alcoholism—and she survived encephalitis in adolescence and carried the diagnosis of being bipolar. Yet, she was never angry or resentful, and my half-brother and I were her whole life and knew she loved us very much.
I don’t remember anyone in my family ever talking about my father—to me or anyone else—like it didn’t occur to them that I might wonder why I didn’t have one. It’s a long story, but my mother divorced him before I was born, and when I became a young adult I tried to find him. With just his name and hometown that I knew from my birth certificate, I began writing letters and making phone calls. Only after writing the first letter did my mother tell me that she had never told him she was pregnant. At that point, I knew I was looking for a man who could certainly deny that I was his child.
My life changed incredibly in 1994. In January, I found my mother dead at her home one morning—a scene that can run like a tape in my brain. In April, I finally made contact with someone in my father’s family, only to find out he had died that February; to have searched for 15 years and miss getting to meet him by just 3 months seemed so unfair and was very painful.
I made contact with another family member a few months later, hoping to find out what kind of man he was, if we had anything in common, etc. I was given the name of his widow in Florida, and I wrote her a letter asking if she would tell me these things, reassuring her that I didn’t want anything but information. I got no response and figured that was the end of the line.
Then, in December of 2005, I got a telephone call late at night and a woman with a deep Southern accent was on the other end. She asked me if I was Deb Theriault, said her name was Debbie and she was calling from Texas, and then she started to cry. I couldn’t imagine what this was all about. She explained that she was crying because her mother had died recently… and then she said she found a letter when going through her mother’s things. I knew that very moment she was talking about MY letter—the letter to my father’s widow! It was surreal. She was so kind. She said she found my letter compelling and she just had to try and contact me and wanted to answer any questions I had.
The following spring I traveled with a friend down to Texas to meet her, and she gave me some of my father’s things. She had been very close to my father and loved him dearly. The day I was leaving Texas to come back to Maine, she cried and said she felt guilty that she got to know him and I didn’t. I did my very best to reassure her that that was unnecessary and I felt so fortunate that she had reached out to me like she had.
So, those are some of the things that have made me feel different. It wasn’t until I was well into my 30s that I realized these things are what make me who I am today and help me understand that we all are formed by our experiences. As I tell my kids, it’s the tough stuff that makes us grow.
The most important thing I have to say this morning is that throughout this crazy life of mine, you have been here for me. From my baptism here in 1965 up until this moment, this has been my church home, and you have been my family. Maybe one or two of you were even here that day! You’ve witnessed my kids’ baptisms, attended my mother’s funeral, sent me get-well cards and birthday cards, given warm hugs, and spoken kind words. When I came out as a lesbian in front of a packed church before our vote to be Open & Affirming, you were still my family; I was still loved and welcomed here. Some of you are like my sisters, giving advice and laughing at my silly jokes; some are like my brothers, talking Red Sox and Patriots, and making me feel better if I do something stupid; and some of you, without even knowing it, have become father figures to me—men who, if I could choose, are the kind of father I would want. Wayne Lockwood and Paul Ferguson were two of those men, and I miss them… I also know that my father would have had 100 Snoopy ties like Fred Howard!
You may have never known what you’ve meant to me before now. You might not know what you mean to others in the church. A smile, a handshake, a hug; patient listening or words of encouragement may seem pretty insignificant, but it has changed my life and perhaps others’ here.
We are unique and we each have our unique stories, but we are one—one church family. We need each other. We celebrate together and grieve together, worship together and sing together, and take care of each other. Thanks for taking such good care of me.
Reflection by Garvey MacLean
The word which I have been invited to reflect upon is UNIQUE — a French word which comes from the Latin “INICUS” meaning “only.”
In the English language “unique” is an adjective which describes an object or being which is THE ONLY ONE OF ITS KIND; a being or object without an equal or equivalent; a being which is unparalleled.
There are no degrees of uniqueness: a thing or a person cannot be “rather” or “most” unique. That which is unique is the only one of its kind; it is without equal, it is unparalleled. It is solitary, it is single.
The stated theme of this annual Diversity Sunday Service of Worship: “WE ARE UNIQUE: YET WE ARE ONE” is grammatically incorrect. It should read: “I AM UNIQUE; YET WE ARE ONE.”
The word unique can not be used to describe the human species. Homo sapiens are not without an equal or equivalent; they are not the only one of their kind.
Individual human beings may be described as unique; as being the only one of its kind.
“I am unique. There is no other human being like unto me!” I am the only one of my kind. That does not mean I am different; it doesn’t mean I am healthier, wealthier or wiser than others of my species. It simply means that there never has been nor will there ever be a human being just like me.
I believe many of you can say: “I am unique.” You have at some time or other discovered you are without an equal, that you are one of a kind; solitary, single.
However, some of you may dispute my claim of uniqueness because you know that I was born an identical twin.
“How can you claim you have no equal, that you are unparalleled? There was certainly no singularity in your growing up?”
True, as children we were dressed alike and we were always referred to as “the twins;” because early on folks couldn’t tell us apart: “Is he Peter or Garvey?”
Allow me to share a little known fact about twins. Being an identical twin didn’t spare me or my brother from wondering “Who am I?” Being a twin only delayed my discovering that I am unique.
In your journey of self-discovery you may not have had to deal with being a twin, but you certainly have had to work your way around or through other road blocks – some ethnic and racial, others religious and social; and if you have persevered you have discovered that not only are you unique, you are still growing , still discovering.
I AM UNIQUE; YET WE ARE ONE.
In the earlier of the two Genesis stories of Creation, after Ahdam is formed from the dust of the ground, the Creator realizes it is not good that this creature should be alone, solitary, singular. And so the Creator sets about creating all the fauna and flora to find a companion suitable to Ahdam. In the end, the Creator makes another human being, and turns them loose to discover how they may become one.
We are still working on our oneness.
As we press on, a word from Percy Shelley’s poem Love’s Philosophy might be of help to us:
The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean;
The winds of heaven mix forever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things, by law divine,
In one another’s being mingle.
Why not I with thee?
Reflection by Dolores Broberg
Here is the other side of the coin. We are, have been and ever will be, one. The same atoms that have gathered to form the pews we sit on every Sunday also form you. I am related to my cat and my grandmother, by atom.
Fact: The building blocks of the universe are the same for everything and everyone, at all times and everywhere. Atoms are in constant motion. An atom which was, a moment ago, doing its job of organizing and operating my structure and being, may now be resonating as part of the internet. Another, once passing through a member of Al-Qaeda may just be taking up a job as part of a flower petal on our altar, today. Chances are, that an atom, once part of the historical Jesus, is now part of you – in place of an atom that has just left, headed for a far flung galaxy.
Fact: The more people are together, the more this interchange of atoms occurs, locally. In other words, the more we are in each other’s company, the more we physically become each other. We literally breathe each other in.
That is the material aspect of the oneness story. There is also the spiritual aspect.
Fact: We are one in the spirit. In every time, in every place, all people, all animals, every living thing, at some level, is spiritually aware. God inspires all of us. No matter who we are or where we might be, no matter what culture we may be a part of, nor what our particular thought processes may be, God speaks our unique language. We are part of God and God resides within us.
When we open ourselves fully, we connect in spirit. That’s what prayer is all about.
And prayer can move atoms.
Whoa. This is power. And with power, comes responsibility. If we can move mountains by combining our unique beings in spiritual quest – as Jesus told us we could – we have to be very careful how we go about it. Remember that because we are intricately connected parts of each other, everything we think, feel and do affects others, at least indirectly, even if not by intent. So when we intend an effect, it is important that we do so in a manner which honors, respects and supports the others who are the focus of our prayers and avoids violating their God given uniqueness.
And that’s why we are here. We are here, in this place, today, one branch of God’s global family tree, praying, connecting growing – learning how to better tend God’s splendid, unique, exquisitely intertwined garden.
God Bless Us All.