SERMON: "Resolutions"
Rev. Paul Beedle
January 6, 2008
The last time I preached about New Year's resolutions I resolved never to do it again. And it's been ten years.
What I said then was, “it is all very well to have a goal and a plan, but success depends upon your resolve.” How do we put resolve in our resolutions? My suggestion was that – if you have a goal and a plan but find that you're not sticking to it (that's what New Year's resolutions are all about, isn't it? ) – reflect on your goal to see how (or if) it is connected to your deepest values, to the wellsprings of your life. I asserted that resolve comes from that burning in our hearts that our deepest values represent. And – again, assuming that you have a clearly articulated goal and a workable plan to reach it – if you're finding that your heart's just not in the working of that plan, then you need to get in touch with what's burning about the goal. And if there is nothing burning about it – if it doesn't flow from your deepest values and the wellsprings of your life, then maybe you need a different goal.
Now there is some truth to that. And I recognize behind that message the minister-in-training who felt that – at last! – his working life was going to be fully in the service to what he felt mattered most in life. But ten years later it is a different minister who stands before you. One who has struggled at times to do the worthy work of his calling even when fully aware of why and how it matters. One who has known clearly articulated goals and workable plans to fall flat, worthy though they are, when the stars or the people are not aligned in their favor. And one who has sometimes felt the wellsprings of his life bubble up onto one of life's deserts and evaporate.
There was some truth to what I said a decade ago about resolutions. And there is a deeper truth: it's not all about the goals being connected to our deepest values and the wellsprings of life. It is about us being so connected.
Behind that message that was all about the goals, I recognize the influence of a book. I had been reading Stephen Covey's The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People. I took another look at that book this week, both to refresh my memory about what it says and to get in a little closer touch with that minister-in-training who was influenced by it. I remember I was quite taken with Covey's idea that maturity is a process of moving from dependence through independence toward interdependence. “Interdependence,” of course, is a buzzword among Unitarian Universalists, and it was buzzing louder ten years ago because the Commission on Appraisal had just published their study of congregational polity titled Interdependence. So it was trendy back then to talk about anything to do with interdependence. Not long afterward, the Seventh Principle Project and Green Sanctuary program got started, no doubt getting a boost from the trend – the “Seventh Principle” is about respect for the interdependent web of all existence, after all.
What Covey says about interdependence is that if you make it a habit to be proactive, that's what moves you from dependence to independence, and then if you make it a habit to think “win-win,” that takes you the rest of the way to interdependence. At least, it does if you keep your promises and really try to understand other people and work with them. That's what Covey said in his Seven Habits book. Since then he's published another book that reveals an eighth habit he's discovered. I took a look at that book this week, as well. Now he says that his seven habits don't just make you highly effective, they're the path to achieving personal greatness. And if you put them together with the four roles of leadership and the six principles of organizational follow-through (which he tells you all about), you can also achieve leadership greatness and organizational greatness. Isn't that great?
I do think Covey offers plenty of good advice and useful ideas in these books. I like a lot of what he says. But his talk about greatness made me want to look more closely at what he says is the spiritual dimension of his program. I feel a lot more comfortable trying to be more effective than I do trying to be great. Is that just my problem, or is my gut feeling right that when we start talking about achieving greatness, something's out of balance?
When Covey describes the spiritual dimension of his program, he's very focused on doing. Most of what he says about spirituality is about conscience, a moral guide for action. He talks about making a difference, making a meaningful contribution – that's another guide for action, that it's directed toward a goal or need or expectation. He also talks about using our gifts (putting them into action), and he says we have three “birth-gifts”: “First, our freedom and power to choose; second, natural laws or principles, which are universal and never change; and third, our four intelligences ... symbolized by body, heart, mind and spirit.” [1] Through the body we live, through the heart we love, through the mind we learn, and through the spirit we leave a legacy. That's an interesting way to frame spirit, as a legacy. A legacy is the residue of action, isn't it?
To develop what he calls “spiritual intelligence,” he offers this advice: “by making four simple assumptions in our lives we can immediately begin leading a more balanced, integrated, powerful life. ... For the body – assume you've had a heart attack; now live accordingly. For the mind – assume the half-life of your profession is two years; now prepare accordingly. For the heart – assume everything you say about another, they can overhear; now speak accordingly. For the spirit – assume you have a one-on-one visit with your Creator every quarter; now live accordingly.” [2] He says that to develop spiritual intelligence, one should make and keep promises, educate and obey your conscience, and ask yourself: what would be the wise action to take given the demands placed on you by your situation and responsibilities? [3] I'm sure you noticed how action-oriented all of this is.
I don't mean to say that being action-oriented is a bad thing. It's a good thing. It's just not enough. Covey lifts up ideals of living from the inside out, cultivating an attitude of abundance, and practicing self-renewal, but the practices he recommends are about constraints, scarcity, and deprivation. Live like you've had a heart attack, have no job security, have no privacy or confidentiality (so anything you say will reach the ears you hope it won't), and have a constrained relationship with God or with the wellsprings of your life (only once a quarter). Sounds like a recipe for fear and misery to me, not the makings of a balanced, integrated, powerful life. Make and keep your promises – but what if you've promised more than you can deliver? Educate and obey your conscience – how do you educate a conscience? should you obey it if it's only half-educated?
By emphasizing doing so much, Covey neglects being. His system is out of balance. An action focus like his naturally leads us to thinking about universal principles and alignment and legacies. How will we be judged when we're gone? This is a very common approach to evaluating our lives and our ways of life. At some time or other you've probably encountered the epitaph exercise: write your own obituary, or what do you want written on your tombstone; many people have found that exercise helpful or at least stimulating, but only as a starting point. When we speak of spirituality, we mean the depth and richness of life, not its residue after death. Theologically, it is a great mistake to make death the test of your life. The test should be whether you have life and have it more abundantly, whether you're in touch with the wellsprings and deep values of life, whether your life rises to love. Actions and legacies can be a measure of spirit, or they can be a veneer.
So how can we balance a perspective of doing with a perspective of being? How can we work on making not just our goals, but ourselves, aligned with our deepest values and the wellsprings of life? How can we put resolve in our resolutions?
I'm under the influence of another book now: my colleague Erik Wikstrom's Simply Pray. I like the way Erik thinks. He says that prayer is like water: “you can't find out what `wet' feels like unless you get into the water. There's simply no way to talk about it. There's no explaining it. There's no understanding it, even. There is only getting wet. ... The experience precedes the theology. Rather than trying to fit the experience into a predefined concept, we can define the concepts only in light of what we have learned in our lives. ... If you ... desire to live a life that is more in touch with the Holy, stop listening for something and start simply listening. ...Notice those places in your life where you have felt yourself in the presence of the Holy, remember those experiences [of] connectedness; seek in your own life – your own feelings, your own moments – those places where you have encountered, or are encountering, the Sacred. In other words, simply pray. Pray without any preconceived notion of what you're doing or why. Simply do it, and see what happens. After you pray, then begin to think. Think about what your experiences tell you about the holy. Think about what those experiences tell you about the way the world works and the spirit moves. Build your theology on your experience, rather than the other way around.” [4] What he's driving at is, don't get distracted by questions like “who am I praying to?” or “what do I expect to happen?” Just do it – there are lots of forms of prayer, lots of techniques: learn one and do it, and see how it feels. It's like physical exercise: there's a routine, and you learn it, and after you've done it a while you notice its effects.
In seminary, Erik “made an academic cross-cultural study of monastic practices ... [and] found core elements that are common across the religious landscape. There are four types of prayer practiced in one form or another by every religious tradition.” [5] He calls them Naming, Knowing, Listening and Loving.
Naming prayers are just that: finding ways to name the wellsprings of life, our blessings, the things we might at least poetically call holy or sacred. They recall such things to memory, for recognizing the grace of the world, and cultivating gratitude. There's no goal to achieve, just a state of things to appreciate. There's the way the universe is, and the way we are in it. To pray a naming prayer is to focus on aspects of being.
Knowing prayers are about reflecting on our life as it is today, making an honest appraisal, and “[giving] voice to the broken, wounded, worried places in our souls.” [6] They engage the intellect. “The life of the spirit calls on us to be authentic, whole people, and knowing where we are weak and wounded is essential to meeting this challenge.” [7] Erik suggests reclaiming the word “perfection” to name that process of becoming whole not as action but as a state of being. “`Everything is perfect just as it is.' `Just as it is,' of course, meaning as it really is – flaws and all.” [8] “Perfection, then, is not about becoming something that we're not, but fully being what we are.” [9] If naming prayer cultivates gratitude, knowing prayer cultivates deep acceptance – another important aspect of being.
Listening prayer, as Erik describes it, is what we commonly call meditation. “This type of prayer is not about words or ideas but about gently and easily moving from all forms of doing to a simple state of being.” [10] It engages the senses and simple mental awareness. We notice our experience before naming it. Erik says, “When we have an experience and put words to it – loneliness for example – we immediately burden it with every other experience of loneliness we've ever known. No longer does this experience stand alone, unique; it becomes unavoidably colored by past associations and other expectations of it.” [11] Listening prayer aims at fresh observation of our state of being.
Loving prayer is directed at our relationship and awareness of others. A common form is the traditional prayer of petition or intercession, which most people understand as asking God for something for oneself or others. Erik says, “we do not pray so that God knows about people's needs; we pray to make sure we know. ... Whether or not you believe that there is a `God' listening to your prayers, bringing the needs of others into your consciousness has merit.” [12] This type of prayer engages our hearts, and cultivates empathy and sympathy, which of course are key aspects of being.
It seems to me that what puts resolve in our resolutions is the alignment of our way of being in the world with the wellsprings of life and our deepest values. Something like these practices of prayer that Erik describes is much more likely to help us apply ourselves to the changes we would like to make in our lives than any assessment of how our goals are aligned or any sort of cultivated anxiety about our legacy. It is not so much our doing as our being that holds our resolve. When we are aware that we are connected to gratitude, deep acceptance, fresh awareness, empathy and sympathy not merely as values but as ways of being in the world, then we feel the possibility of healing and the potential of our perfectly imperfect whole selves. Instead of a new list of promises to ourselves to be broken, resolutions at the start of a new year can be a commitment to live in hope and heal our regrets.
May we build into our lives practices that nurture and align our being with the wellsprings of life and life's deepest values, the better to pursue the doing of our plans and goals. So may it be. Amen.
[1] Stephen R. Covey, The 8th Habit: From Effectiveness to Greatness. (New York: Free Press, 2004) p. 40.
[2] ibid, p. 58.
[3] ibid, p. 348-351.
[4] Erik Walker Wikstrom, Simply Pray (Boston: Skinner House Books, 2005), p. 3, 5.
[5] ibid, p. 8.
[6] ibid, p. 20.
[7] ibid, p. 21.
[8] ibid, p. 23.
[9] ibid, p. 22.
[10] ibid, p. 27.
[11] ibid, p. 30.
[12] ibid, p. 38.