SERMON: "Dedication"
Rev. Paul Beedle
December 17, 2006
CONVERSATION WITH CHILDREN AND YOUTH: “A Stranger's Gift” [1]
MEDITATION: “We Build Temples in the Heart” by Patrick Murfin
SERMON: “Dedication”
Where do we come from? What are we? Where are we going?
These are basic questions of meaning and purpose, basic religious questions. Also, basic questions of leadership and organization. They ask for a story: our story, the story we share. Stories have levels of meaning. Taking the story of our congregation as an example: on one level, we came from the Comedy Driving School and Dickinson Elementary, we're a congregation in rented space here, and we're going to our own building on Brand Lane. On another level: we came from a dream and a vision that there would be a home and a beacon for liberal religion in Fort Bend County; we're people who have faith that if we agree in love no disagreement can do us any harm, and have had the commitment to live that value and realize the vision.
And where are we going? Even though work has stopped on our new building, we know that it will start again and the building will be finished enough to occupy and we will move in. But this obstacle, like many others on the long road to completing our building, is an opportunity to ponder the question of where we are going on another, deeper level. Little did I know when I chose to preach on Hanukkah that the circumstances of our building project would lead me to look at the story in a new way, and the story would lead me to such deeper reflections on where we are going. But that's the wonder of religious stories: they do not so much contain truth as call forth the truth of our experience and set it before us. At least, they do if we use them that way.
What is at issue in the Hanukkah story? The story tells of a rebellion against a Greek king who wanted his statue put in the Jerusalem Temple so that, as was the custom in Greek culture, the king would be worshipped along with the local gods. In Israel, separation of religion and rule had long been established: Israel's king, when it had its own king, was not a god, but worshipped the one God that the people worshipped. The people of Israel had lived under foreign rule for more than 400 years at that time, but they had been allowed to worship as they chose. What sparked the rebellion, and what is at issue in the Hanukkah story, is their freedom of worship and the integrity of their tradition. They could not accept the Greek king's order. He chose to force their compliance rather than compromise. They resisted, and a few of them became guerilla fighters, the Maccabees. The conflict lasted a generation, but eventually the Maccabees won and Israel became an independent kingdom until the Romans invaded.
But all that is background. Hanukkah does not celebrate the independent state produced by the revolt. It celebrates the capture and purification of the Temple which happened long before the war was won. After the Romans destroyed the Temple, the observance of Hanukkah centered more on the lighting of lamps. Only then did it become known as the Festival of Lights. The story of the miracle of the oil – that the Maccabees found only enough oil to kindle the fire on the Temple's altar for one day, but it lasted for eight days until more of the special oil could be supplied – that became the central story of the holiday because the Temple was no longer part of the lived experience of Judaism. For later generations, the simple mention of the Temple conjured no feelings or memories. The story of the oil had to be told to preserve the sense that something of deep spiritual significance happened when the Temple was taken from Greek control.
The story of our building is, of course, different. But for us, as for the later generations in Israel who never knew the Temple, our building is a symbol. It is not part of our experience – yet. It remains a potential. And I would remind you of what I said when we celebrated on the foundation slab in August: “Look around at the faces gathered here: this is the reason for our building.” Do that now: look around again at the faces here. This is the reason for our building. We are the home and beacon for liberal religion in Fort Bend County – the community we have built that welcomes all who hunger for our way of religion and serves our neighbors in need as best we can. I would invite you to remember all that this congregation has achieved in ten short years, and how much of its vision has indeed been realized. And the question, “where are we going?” is not to be answered by a building but by rediscovering and rearticulating and giving new shape and aspiration to the dream and vision we have set out to become. The building is a house of worship, and we are the home. Religion is not a place, but a practice. Faith is not a possession that we can have, despite that we talk about “having faith” – faith is a way of moving and being in the world. The question “where are we going?” is to be answered by looking at how far we've come, and looking at what we want to be and how we want to move in the world. When we started more than ten years ago, we surveyed the landscape from where we were then. Likewise, we must now survey the landscape from where we have arrived.
Where are we going? A community needs a place that is sufficient and supports its needs. Our building will be sufficient, although I can say – based on my own experience as a new homeowner – that in some ways it will feel insufficient: it will not be finished and perfect the day we move in. And therein lies an opportunity. Things have happened since the plans were drawn up. We've come further down the road in our story. What looked finished and perfect in our mind's eye then might look a little different now, in light of our experience.
As you will have read in our newsletter, Ponderings, a long-range planning committee has begun to meet. In the coming months we will begin a very important process with lots of opportunities to participate, in which we will seek to rediscover and re-articulate our values and vision as a congregation. In that process, “Where do we come from?” and “What are we?” and “Where are we going?” are the questions we'll reflect on in one form or another. And it might happen that, just as the story of capturing the Temple was replaced by the story of the miracle of the oil, we'll give a new shape to our vision and the way we see ourselves moving and being in the world, making our values live and our dreams come true in our lives and in our world.
Little did I know when I decided to preach on Hanukkah this year that this ancient story would call forth the truth of our experience for me in the way that it did. For when it comes right down to it, dedication takes shape in how a child engages the stories and the values of faith, and in how “we build temples in our hearts, a village of temples, none shading another, connected by well-worn paths [of relationship], built alike on [shared] sacred ground.” [2]
May we discover again our values, our vision, our commitment, and our dedication in all that we do together.
So may it be. Amen.
[1] a Persian tale in Eight Tales for Eight Nights: Stories for Chanukah by Peninnah Schram and Steven M. Rosman (Northvale NJ: Jason Aronson Inc., 1990)
[2] from “We build temples in the heart” by Patrick Murfin (http://www.uuworld.org/2004/03/meditation.html)