READINGS
Matthew 7:9-10
9 Is there anyone among you who, if your child asked for bread, would give a stone? 10 Or if the child asked for a fish, would give a snake?
From "Song of Myself" by Walt Whitman:
I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contain'd,
I stand and look at them long and long….
Not one is dissatisfied, not one is demented with the mania of owning things,
Not one kneels to another…
Not one is respectable or unhappy over the whole earth.
SERMON
When I was a nerdy, bookish teenager, sulking in my room after some perceived injustice inflicted by my parents, I found so much solace in this passage by Walt Whitman that I copied it out into my special book of meaningful quotes. Living with the animals sounded like an excellent option, given how disgusted I was with humans. Squirrels wouldn't scold me for refusing to help weed the garden in the summer heat. Raccoons wouldn't make me iron my father's stupid handkerchiefs.
I never did turn and live with the animals. And I never became what I would call an animal nut, always being more interested in people. (I hope no animal nuts here are feeling disrespected.)
But lately I've been turning to animals for solace when I've been in turmoil. When I can't stand the news any more, I've been finding myself watching animal videos. My favorites lately are kind of mean, but really funny -- the ones where dog owners try to con their pets into eating vegetables. A few dogs actually like veggies -- crunchy cucumbers aren't so bad -- but most dogs have a different reaction.
The dog owner will lure the hungry dog to sit in front of his bowl. The human, concealing the snack in her hand, will chirp cheerfully about how good, how luscious, how delicious the snack is going to be. The dog, expecting his usual treat of juicy chicken, gets more and more excited but, being well trained, keeps sitting before the bowl. Finally, the owner holds out the snack and pops it into the dog's eager mouth. The dog's expression grows more and more confused and conflicted as he chomps into the promised delicacy, slowly realizes that this is not a yummy piece of chicken but some alien object, and eventually spits out the chunk of raw broccoli.
The expression with which he then regards his owner is so pitiable -- the sadness in the eyes, the disbelief that this nice human would betray the trust that had been built up between them. I don't know why it's so funny, it just is.
*
My partner, Nancy, taught at Everett High School for over 35 years and periodically she'd come home after some teacher training seminar laughing about the latest buzzwords. If a student said he didn't know how to do something -- quadratic equations, for instance -- the teacher was supposed to cheerfully add "yet!" -- implying that the student should not underestimate his capacity and there was going to be some learning happening pretty soon if the student would just hang in there.
This has become a byword in our house, so when I try to beg off doing something -- "I don't know how to change these fuses" -- I know to expect that cheery, encouraging, only slightly obnoxious -- "yet!"
So when I say here, in this place, in this sanctuary, that I'm not really a Christian, I am mentally hearing that "yet!" And I'm open to it. But I'm a big Jesus fan. I think Jesus was a wise man, a prophet, and above all, a great poet. He had the extraordinary ability to condense deep wisdom into an easily grasped, earthy, memorable metaphor.
Everyone in his audience -- poor peasants, mostly -- would have known what it was like to want to give good things to their children -- to feed them as best they could. It's a deep, universal desire among virtually all humans, but even more for people who are in poverty and uncertainty.
So Jesus plugs into this deep desire and extrapolates it to encourage his listeners to understand that God, our divine Parent, wants everyone to be fed, to be happy and satisfied. To be given spiritual chicken, not raw broccoli.
*
Perhaps we laugh at the expression of betrayal on the dog's face because it's so relatable, so very human. We've all experienced the outrage of expecting a good thing and being given a poor substitute. We all know the burning, helpless feeling that results. I remember once as a kid, accompanying my parents to the department store while they looked at beds. The beds looked so beautifully soft, and of course I went to bounce on one, finding to my dismay that the soft, silky bedspread concealed not a springy mattress but a hard wooden box. When something like this happens, you feel like an idiot, and resolve not to be fooled again.
*
Friends, I'm sure that we are not all of the same political persuasion. Being religious liberals doesn't mean that we all are political liberals. We share many values, but that doesn't mean we all share the same beliefs. As John Wesley said, “Though we cannot think alike, may we not love alike? May we not be of one heart, though we are not of one opinion? Without all doubt, we may. Herein all the children of God may unite, notwithstanding these smaller differences."
In this spirit, I hope that those of you who support and have faith in our President will hear me when I say that some of his actions over the past three weeks have terrified, dismayed, and distressed me. Some of his actions, I hasten to add, I've agreed with and support. Some of them might very well turn out to be better than I fear. But some of them -- many of them -- seem to exemplify the concept of cruelly giving stones to those who ask for bread.
I'm not going to go through a long list of outrages -- we've had enough of those. Just one that I will single out because it touches me personally. My family is an immigrant family. My parents and I didn't come as refugees, we didn't swim over a river or trek through a desert -- we sailed over on a Cunard liner — my dad had accepted a well-paying engineering position and they had left their homes in grey post-war England to start a new life in a strange place called Connecticut.
My mother never became a U.S. citizen, despite her eventual passionate love for the Knicks and the Red Sox, and my dad only got naturalized because he needed security clearance for his engineering job.
But my sister and brother were both born here, and my sister reflected recently that if birthright citizenship is indeed rescinded, she could be in danger of losing hers. Then she researched and found that our dad was naturalized after she was born, so she's safe.
**
The Constitution, in the 14th Amendment, said to the children born of immigrants / and to people freed from enslavement/ Here is the bread of citizenship.
The President has said, in effect -- nah, I've decided to give out stones instead.
Even if we're not personally affected by these policies, there is a cloying fog of concern, anxiety and anger clouding our shared reality these days. I can't remember anything like this since Covid's outbreak five years ago.
*
Last week, Rev. Meighan shared the words that Bishop Budde spoke so courageously to the President, asking for compassion for the vulnerable people who are at risk in these uncertain times. Asking for mercy.
Meighan also told us about the fears that awakened her at 3 a.m. the night before she went to join the march and rally for Immigrant and Refugee Advocacy Day in Olympia. A friend of mine who runs a federally-funded program that helps homeless people who have HIV, told me that she, too, has been waking up at 3 a.m. in fear, frustration, and anger. I imagine that some folks in this congregation have been waking up in the small hours with similar fears. I know I have.
Meighan encouraged us to support the organizations that are doing such great work to help immigrants, and I'm sure we are all doing our bit to send money or give volunteer time to groups that are helping and advocating for our less powerful neighbors. So I won't repeat those suggestions -- the links are on the church website.
What I'm going to offer are a few ways that you might support the vulnerable person who is closest to you -- your own precious, beloved self.
Pray. Ask for what you really, truly need. In those dark early-morning hours when your fight or flight response is so active, maybe your prayer will be as simple as saying, "here I am, please help me." I believe God loves authenticity above all else, so be honest. Ask for the bread you need. If prayer isn't working for you, try taking yourself for a mental walk through a house where you were happy, or a neighborhood you loved. Be as detailed as you can. Or listen to an episode of the podcast, “Nothing Much Happens.” You'll probably soon be back to sleep.
Take the long view. Remember that humanity has existed for about 300,000 years and that our direct ancestors -- those who lived to puberty and passed on their genes to us -- these ancestors, as a group, survived a couple of ice ages, a handful of plagues, volcanic eruptions, barbarian invasions, and century upon century when it was really hard to find a decent cup of coffee. In our own young country, there have been worse times than this. I recently learned in a US history class I took at Edmonds College that there were over 70 incidents of physical violence between congressmen in the years leading up to the Civil War, mainly duels, but also a brutal caning right on the Senate floor. The country survived. At 3 a.m., I suggest that we not focus on the violence and terrors but instead give silent thanks to the ancestors, for their strength and toughness and persistence and love that enabled us to be here.
Take Mr Whitman’s advice. Turn to the animals. Really. Sadly, my beloved cat Mousehole died about a year ago, just short of her 21st birthday, and I miss her comforting purr more than ever these days. But I have filled my social media feeds with videos of tigers, lions, otters, skateboarding pitbulls, and those weird, unnatural friendships between deer and Labrador retrievers. And, friends, turn to the communities and groups, and artists and singers and writers, who are bringing beauty and love into the world every day. And for gosh sakes, turn to comedians. I couldn't manage without a dose of Jimmy Kimmel every few days. If you have funny friends, hang out with them. Shamelessly encourage them. It’s okay to laugh. It won’t hurt anyone.
And finally -- in the rivalry of bread vs. stones, choose the same side that Jesus chose — don't give stones. Don't lie to yourself or anyone you care about. Give the bread of truth. Do what you feel called to do. Give what you can, but give only what you can… take care of yourself first. No one needs an exhausted, depleted you. We need you at your happiest and healthiest. Jesus took breaks, so can you.
With God's faithful help, we'll get through this time.
May you be richly blessed. Amen.