Metaphor and Reality

Sermon by Rev. Alan Taylor
Preached at Unity Temple Unitarian Universalist Congregation
December 18, 2005

First Reading:
from Wolfram Von Eschenbach, a thirteenth century writer, who wrote the first popular version of the story of the Holy Grail.

Parzival went to study with a great teacher to learn the arts of swordsmanship and the customs of knighthood. Trezivant, the elder teacher, instructed young Parzival to always be polite, to never speak unless called upon and, when in doubt, to remain silent. After a series of Adventures for which his success would have been impossible without the instruction of his teacher, Parzival came upon a great castle. As he entered he saw it had elegant décor and beautiful furnishings. He was shown in to the main hall to meet the King, King Anafortas. Parzival immediately saw that the King was maimed and could not walk. The king was clearly in pain. Parzival was moved but remained silent. The evening included the finest food and wine. Late in the evening, lovely children brought in a Grail, the most beautiful object Parzival had ever seen. King Anafortas drank from the Grail, but Parzival was not invited to do so. After the evening of feasting, Parzival was shown to his room. The elegant bed had lovely linens, and Parzival dropped into a deep slumber. When Parzival awoke, the room was cold and dark. The furniture was gone and instead of the luxurious bed, he was lying on a bed of stone. He bolted to the main hall and found it empty. It looked like it hadn’t been inhabited for decades. Instead of all the beautiful finery, only spider webs filled every room. As Parzival left the deserted castle, clouds gathered. An old hag seized upon him and said, “You failed. You failed to show compassion. You failed to ask even one question of the suffering king. And because of this, you will be forever eluded by happiness and joy. For you were in the presence of the Holy Grail and you failed to show any compassion for one who suffers.” Parzival, shaken and bewildered, ran away. He wandered aimlessly, fearing the words of the crazed woman. Years dragged by. In desperation, he visited a spiritual teacher who upon learning that Parzival had seen the Holy Grail, jumped up in excitement and said, “You have been given a great gift.” But Parzival was despondent, relaying the words of the old woman, the words that haunted his dreams. The spiritual teacher told Parzival to set his heart on compassion and wisdom, that if he quested with a devoted heart, the Grail Castle may someday present itself to him once again. Years of toil and questing went by and Parzival became renowned for his courage and his humanity. One day, in a place that Parzival had least expected, the Grail Castle appeared. Upon being ushered into the main hall where the crippled king lay, Parzival walked to King Anafortas, bowed down on one knee and asked, “O dear king, what ails thee? It hurts me to see you in so much pain. How can I be of aid to you?” Once the words were uttered, the King transformed into an upright position, his body now whole. When the Grail was brought, both the King and Parzival drank from it and King Anafortas announced that he could now die in happiness and named Parzival as the next Grail King.

Second Reading:
from The Battle for Christmas by Stephen Nissenbaum.

In New England, for the first two centuries of white settlement most people did not celebrate Christmas. In fact, the holiday was systematically suppressed by Puritans during the colonial period and largely ignored by their descendents. It was actually illegal to celebrate Christmas in Massachusetts between 1659 and 1681 (the fine was five schillings). Only in the middle of the nineteenth century did Christmas gain legal recognition as an official public holiday in New England. Writing near the end of that century, one New Englander, born in 1822, recalled going to school as a boy on Christmas Day, adding that even as late as 1850, in Worcester, Massachusetts, “The courts were in session on that day, the markets were open, and I doubt if there had ever been a religious service on Christmas Day, unless it were Sunday, in that town.”

The Puritans had a plain reason for what they tried to do: There is no biblical or historical reason to place the birth of Jesus on December 25. …Puritans were fond of saying that if God had intended for the anniversary of the Nativity to be observed, He would surely have given some indication as to when that anniversary occurred. (They also argued that the weather in Judea during late December was simply too cold for shepherds to be living outdoors with their flocks.)

It was only in the fourth century that the Church officially decided to observe Christmas on December 25. And this date was chosen not for religious reasons but simply because it happened to mark the approximate arrival of the winter solstice, an event that was celebrated long before the Advent of Christianity. The Puritans were correct when they pointed out—and they pointed it out often—that Christmas was [originally] a pagan festival covered with a Christian veneer. The Reverend Increase Mather of Boston, for example, observed in 1687 that the early Christians who first observed the Nativity on December 25 did not do so “thinking that Christ was born in that month, but because the Heathens [festival of] Saturnalia was at that time kept in Rome, and they were willing to have those Pagan Holidays metamorphosed into Christian [ones].”

Sermon:

 

We have entered the season where each of us goes on a journey. Some of us pack our bags and catch a plane or drive through icy roads to be with family for the holidays. For others, the journey is less literal as we make our way through the festivities of the season. And for those who don’t celebrate Christmas, and even for many who do, it can be a long trek through the commercial slush and ubiquitous holiday music goading us to be of good cheer. The holiday season, at its best, provides a journey toward hearth and home, toward hope and light within the darkness, a journey that we can choose how to approach, a journey that can very well be more than a journey but a pilgrimage.

I know many of you who love this season. I know others of you who hate it. And I know that most of you are like me, who have a love-hate relationship with the season. My own modus operandi has been to throw myself into work and other people’s festivities such that seasons past are typically a blur. I imagine it is the same for many who navigate the holidays without the anchor of a set of rituals with family or friends. There is no time lonelier for many. At my former congregation, several members always led a celebration of a “blue Christmas” that specifically acknowledged the depression and isolation the season often ushers in for them. Although Angie and I won’t be together over the next week, I am not dreading these days. Instead, a deep appreciation for this congregation and the depth of spirit that exists among you buoys me. And instead of frantically seeking to avoid isolation or loneliness, the warmth and dedication of so many of you call me to my better self and to be present not only to you all but also to God. At least that is what I am seeking to embody this year. I resolve to find ways to celebrate the season that are meaningful and provide good memories, and each year I get caught up in the frantic busyness of overlaying a heavy work schedule with sending greetings to friends and family, attending festive celebrations, and eating far too much.

The holiday season at the beginning of winter historically has been about excess. The pagan festivals of pre-Christian Europe were a time to let off steam and gorge. It’s hard to imagine what it was like then, but December was the season, the only season, for fresh meat. As Stephen Nissenbaum notes, “Animals could not be slaughtered until the weather was cold enough to ensure that the meat would not go bad; and any meat saved for the rest of the year would have to be preserved (and rendered less palatable) by salting. December was also the month when the year’s supply of beer or wine was ready to drink. And for farmers, too, this period marked the start of a season of leisure. Little wonder, then, that this was a time of celebratory excess.”

The early church did not approve of all of this, but they came to understand the motto, “If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.” And so, according to Nissenbaum, Jesus’ birth was set to co-opt the pagan winter festival. Literalists relish pointing all this out and exclaiming, Bah, humbug,” to the season. However, I want to suggest taking a different approach to the winter holidays. Consider this to be a time of pilgrimage, a time of pregnant possibility. As the wider culture frenetically rushes to and fro, this is an ideal time to explore what it means to be countercultural. It is a time of pilgrimage to seek the clarity of compassion. This is the time to seek out what is truly important in the midst of a culture that is given to excess.

One way to do this is to consider the poetry of the season. The narrative celebrates the birth of the holy in the most unexpected of places. And in a broken world where the king has called for the murder of all children under two years of age. Consider the longing of the magi and the shepherds who respond to the calling of a star. And imagine how trying it must have been for young Mary: Her water has broken, and she is told there is no room in the inn, and she must go and lie down with the animals in a stable. The birth of the holy is not akin to a Hallmark greeting. It usually is awfully trying. Anybody who understands pregnancy and giving birth knows what a bloody mess it can be. And so, too, is the transformative power of Christmas; thus, the last thing it should be called is a holiday. It was mythic genius to place this story at the darkest time of the year, to parallel the celebrations for the return of the sun and the re-birth of hope and light in our midst.

Despite the rich poetry of the season, in every century and place, except for the Puritans in New England, the winter celebrations have bent toward the excesses of the season. And for us Americans, here and now, it is no different, as commercialism has consumed our cultural celebrations. Santa and gift exchanges too often obscure the celebration of hope and the return of the light, let alone the transformative power of the season. It’s as if there is an innate drive in people to go overboard this time of the year and avoid the inner richness available to them.

Last year, here at Unity Temple, we began offering a class called “Reinventing Christmas.” where families are given resources to develop their own family traditions, alternatives to the commercialism that has dominated our holiday culture. Karin Sullivan is a parent here among us who has struggled with the excesses of the season and who wanted to find ways to change the way her family approaches Christmas and the holiday season. She asked me if I would lead a program to help parents like her. Because I didn’t have the time, I encouraged her to develop a workshop. She did, and she discovered that so many of our parents here struggle with the cultural pressures to spend significant amounts of money on gifts and decorations. I understand that many people have their own stories of excess, how certain family members go way overboard, and then many a concerned parent feels like the scrooge when they suggest that this year their family celebrate more modestly.

You may be wondering why I chose to invoke the earliest classic narrative of the Holy Grail the week before Christmas. Perhaps for a little distraction from all the holiday hoopla. Actually more so to demonstrate that any story of depth wisdom, or as theologians would say, any story with parabolic resonances, can play into the poetry and symbolism of the season. But also because the Grail is a symbol that has been co-opted and reinterpreted time and time again not unlike the celebration of Christmas. The Grail in its original form symbolizes the transformational power of compassion. Joseph Campbell views the Parzival story as the most significant mythic story of the past millennium, indeed, the archetypal story of the modern hero, even a retelling of the Buddha story. For the hero’s journey begins with a foray into to the world in all its excesses. One is changed by learning that life is not simply an aimless journey to wander to and fro, but instead a pilgrimage to seek out wisdom and the clarity of compassion. These gifts of the spirit are not to be enjoyed or squandered, but instead they are brought back to one’s own community for the benefit of one’s people.

Even the Hanukkah story is about a pilgrimage. Hanukkah celebrates the quest of a people for freedom from religious persecution and oppression. As one Jewish writer explains, the light of Hanukkah illuminates “an often dark world. Sometimes, in the black despair of the moment, we struggle to find the strength we need… but we hold on, keeping faith that unknown possibility awaits our discovery.” Hanukkah provides a light even in the darkest times, reminding us to stay the journey toward our innermost longing, even if it seems impossible.

Too often we human beings lose sight of such light. It isn’t uncommon in our world to stumble along in a spiritual wasteland. The commercialism of the season calls us to trek all over town in search of the perfect gifts, no matter what tradition we celebrate. Yet, the opportunity awaits to seek freedom from this folly. As one member shared with me, “being Jewish, surrounded by all the Christmas music in every store you go into and all the ads pounding you to buy and buy and buy, suggesting the more outrageous the gift the better, its difficult to find words how revolting it all is. This year, between the earthquake, the tsunami, and the devastation of New Orleans, I cannot condone buying stuff for people who don’t especially want anything or need anything. We need to be telling people, ‘Don’t spend your money on what’s unnecessary; give it to someone who is truly in need.’” Following that advice is a pilgrimage, countercultural, and in the eyes of those like Bill O’Reilly, subversive.

One of our religious education teachers who is relatively new to our congregation and to Unitarian Universalism contacted me this past week. She asked, “What are our UU traditions for this time of year?” She notes that the curriculum that she is teaching says what other people do, but she asks poignantly, “What do we do?” What a great question!

Most Unitarian Universalist congregations celebrate Advent, many celebrate Solstice, a good number make use of a menorah, some celebrate Kwanzaa. Here at Unity Temple, Christmas Eve has always been celebrated with a festive pageant for families and a traditional candlelight service. Christmas Eve is the one day we do not use the updated version of hymns in the hymnal. Instead we use the original Christmas carols because of the great appreciation here for the poetry of Christmas. But our traditions are not molded in stone. They evolve. We cultivate our rituals and services to reflect our core beliefs and to meet the spiritual longing among us. Because every night a child is born is a holy night, I find it appropriate to include a Child Dedication in the Pageant Service, for baby Jesus represents the divinity and potential of all babies. Incidentally, if you have a child to be dedicated, contact me!

This year, our intern, John Cullinan, has introduced the ritual of lighting Advent candles and led an Advent Vespers service. Now as John has made clear, people have been lighting candles long before Christmas was celebrated. While many people have shared their appreciation for making use of this symbolism, both a member of Jewish heritage and a formerly Catholic member have shared with me their concern. And here, we touch upon a richness of Unitarian Universalism. We provide a community where we cultivate rituals of meaning to assist the congregation in the cultivation of deeper faith and integrity; however, as a community that affirms and includes people of diverse faith backgrounds, we seek to develop the rituals in ways that are not only meaningful but also inclusive.

In the past few days, I have had rich conversations with people who love Advent and people for whom the lighting of Advent candles seems out of place here at Unity Temple. An Advent wreath and candles was a part of this congregation’s liturgical year as recently as during the ministry of Scot Giles, up until 1990. One thoughtful individual suggested that if we light Advent candles we may want to do so in a way that is different from distinctively Christian congregations, thus shaping a unique Unitarian Universalist ritual to the Christian Season. In my former congregation, I lit Advent candles in worship with four different shaped candles, including a menorah and a world candle. This year I am grateful to John for re-introducing us to the spiritually rich symbolism and ritual of Advent, and I am grateful to be in a liberal religious community where members engage in conversation to help me discern how best to respond to the spiritual longing among us.

Personally, I never celebrated Advent as a child or young adult. Ironically, I came to appreciate Advent from a Unitarian minister with Jewish heritage, Rob Eller-Isaacs, who says that Advent is preparing one’s heart for the birth of the holy. Not only is it preparation, it is pilgrimage, and as I grapple with the poetry of the season, I realize Advent is not only preparation and pilgrimage but pregnancy, the gifts of the spirit that are gestating within. I will never know what its like to be literally pregnant, but I get both excited and frightened by the prospect of spiritual pregnancy. I know it is possible to nurture a calling, to nurture compassion, to nurture clarity into birth. However, it isn’t easy. Christmas truly is about transformation but the work of transformation often hurts like hell and is exhausting and the last thing to call the essence of Christmas is a holiday.

The season of Advent is a time of expectation and hope despite the onset of cold and the relentless desperation that exists in the world. My colleague Ron Robinson notes that “Advent celebrates the time of pregnancy, of intentional waiting and of growing for what is to come, what is to be born. … If we let Advent into our lives it will be to ponder on the power of pregnancy, of the period of waiting for something to be born, nurturing it, co-creating it with God, what is growing spiritually within us, of not letting the world tell us what is worthy of our lives and our fortunes and the risk of our deaths.”

Advent asks, “What are we waiting for? What are we birthing? In what ways are we all pregnant with the Spirit of Life?”

Frederick Buechner summarizes Advent in this way: "No matter how much the world shatters into pieces, we carry in ourselves a vision of wholeness that we all sense is our true home and that welcomes us.” Advent is preparing oneself for that vision of wholeness to manifest in our lives.

If the traditional nativity narrative doesn’t resonate for you, turn to others. Parzival, for example, was pregnant with the compassion that would make another whole. Isn’t that true of each of us as part of this spiritual community?

If there is anything that is lacking among contemporary celebrations of Christmas, it is compassion and the related value of community. I am absolutely dumbfounded to learn that several mega-churches have decided not to hold worship services next Sunday morning because it is Christmas morning. Their justification is that they want to encourage their people to spend time with their families. On the surface, this is a lovely sentiment. Shouldn’t mothers and fathers be with their children on Christmas morning? Certainly. However, there is a profound oversight. While Christmas provides an opportune time for families to spend quality time together, engaging family traditions, there are those who aren’t near family, those who have been estranged from family, and those who simply don’t any longer have family. 

Here at Unity Temple, on Christmas morning, because it is a Sunday, we will hold worship services -- notice the plural -- because at this time of year, it is so important that people have the opportunity to be with others who know and love them. And for the many of us who either aren’t in a traditional family or are a long way away from family, these services will provide community and reflection. In addition, Christmas isn’t the only holiday but also marks the first night of Hanukkah. We won’t have our traditional religious education program but instead next Sunday’s worship services are open for all ages, especially infants.

This winter, especially during the holiday season, avoid simply drifting from one event to another. Instead consider how your own life is a pilgrimage. Take notice of that which is pregnant within you. Although it may not be clear what it is, take heart that unknown possibilities are ever seeking to be born.

 Blessed be. Amen.

© Copyright 2005 Rev. Alan Taylor, All Rights Reserved.