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Hold All Things Loosely
Sermon by Rev. Sarah Buteux
for Sunday, March 9, 2003
Scripture: Exodus 16:11-26, Acts 4:32-36
I encountered the writings of Swedenborg before I encountered the Swedenborgian
church. I guess you could say that eight years ago I was a lost sheep of the
evangelical movement, searching for a framework to understand my persistent
belief in a loving God. And when I found Swedenborg I was very relieved. At
first, I couldn’t get enough. My now husband Andrew gave me “A Thoughtful
Soul” and “A Scientist Explores Spirit” and “Sorting Things Out” - all
Swedenborgian books by his father, the Rev. George Dole. And I quickly moved
on to the large compendium of Swedenborg’s writings, and then began dipping
into “Heaven and Hell” and other primary sources. I fell in love with the ideas
in Swedenborg’s writings because I had finally found a Christian theologian who
professed to believe everything I longed for and hoped to be true about God.
And then I began to meet Swedenborgians. I found this little chapel. I went up
and spent some time at the summer camp in Fryeburg, Maine. Eventually I came
to work here as an intern, and at first I felt as though I had found my little
piece of heaven on earth. I loved everyone. I was tremendously impressed with
the littlest things that people would say or do. Every sermon was brilliant.
Every lecture enlightening. Every conversation a small miracle. I thought I
had found the perfect church.
I probably felt a lot like those early Christians in the book of Acts. There
was no fear in my heart. There was no pretense or desire to take control and
run things better. I was content, safe, and full of joy. I implicitly trusted
everyone simply because they were Swedenborgian. I felt overwhelmingly blessed
and wanted for nothing but more of the same. And gradually, as I settled in and
became more of a known quantity, as I looked around, observed, and listened, I
realized that the Swedenborgian church, much like the church I had left behind,
and indeed like all other churches that exist here on earth, was not quite as
perfect as I had hoped. And, for the record, I wasn’t quite as perfect either.
I learned about this chapel’s struggle to gain independence form its landlord -
the Swedenborgian seminary. I soon ran into personalities I found difficult. I
became aware of the larger politics that inform, support, and move this little
denomination forward. And I came to realize that, in spite of our beautiful
theology and our sincere intentions to live according to its precepts, we
Swedenborgians were just as human and flawed as everyone else.
Of course my initial beliefs were naïve. I really should have known better. I
had even read some evidence to the contrary. Evidence that should have dulled
my initial enthusiasm. As I said, one of the first books I read was “Sorting
Things Out,” a collection of George Dole’s sermons, in which he admits that at
times he had more affection for the Swedenborgian plumbing at our Fryeburg
church camp than the Swedenborgian people. He writes: “My mind goes back to
my ‘first term’ as president of our church camp in Maine, when I was doing the
opening and closing of the facilities. I would really enjoy myself getting
tents put up, getting the waterfront ready, and especially battling the old
galvanized plumbing. I had a personal affection for the marvelous variety of
toilet tank mechanisms. The one in the Murdoch cabin especially is a work of
art; it ought to be part of a guided tour of the premises, and if it is ever
replaced, I want it. But as opening Saturday drew near, I would begin feeling
tense. People are much harder to deal with than plumbing. You can’t take a
wrench to personal problems. There are very few times when you can say, “Well
that’s fixed.” There would be a sense of relief when everyone (finally left),
and I was faced with straightforward tasks that allowed me to enjoy a sense of
competence” (33).
I understand George a lot more now than I did back then. And I appreciate him
even more, because what George acknowledges in his sermon is that people -even
Swedenborgian people- are difficult. It can take a great deal of effort and
patience to stick with our little faith community. And what I would like to
share with you this morning, is an idea that might make our attempts at working
with one another a little bit easier. It is a phrase I encountered early on in
my spiritual journey and the phrase that forms the title of this sermon: “Hold
All Things Loosely.”
Now I know it’s not the traditional sort of advice you might expect in a sermon
about community. It doesn’t call to mind any techniques or instruct us in how
to be more patient, loving, kind, and sincere. But for me, that simple
phrase, “Hold all things Loosely” is important because it can enable us to
approach people as people, as ends in and of themselves, rather than as means
to ends that we personally desire.
Allow me to explain. In churches, as in all institutions and communities, there
are usually a fixed amount of resources, and the greatest tensions often lie in
who controls and receives those resources. And, paradoxically, it is also often
the case that the more there is to go around, the more some people seem to
hoard while others suffer from lack of access. Our whole world demonstrates
this principle, as does our country. Our planet produces enough food, enough
oil, enough water, really enough of everything to meet the needs of everyone.
But these resources are not evenly distributed. I have heard from various
sources that our country, which comprises roughly 20% of the world’s population
consumes approximately 80% of the world’s resources. And, even here in
America, people go hungry. As Lars and I were driving home from Bryn Athyn this
week he told me it cost him over $50 for a tank of Gas in England. In our
country you can spend more on a gallon of bottled water than on a gallon of
gas. It’s strange and sad and unnecessary.
And what is even stranger and sadder and more unnecessary is that you often see
the same dynamics at work in churches. People vie for control and store away
wealth, while neglecting each other. One of my favorite museums is the
Cloisters, which houses the Metropolitan Museum’s Medieval art collection. But
there is one room which always makes me sad. It is the room where the cloaks
and accessories of the church clergy from that time period are kept. The little
placards tell you to look closely at all the hand wrought detail, whether it is
the carving on a scepter, or the embroidered detail in a stole, and then
explain to you that some poor artisan spent his or her whole life in poverty
creating something exquisitely beautiful for a priest who was probably living
in luxury.
The cost of one such artifact probably could have fed that artisan’s whole
village for a year if not a lifetime. And it is not that I don’t believe in
creating beautiful things in honor of the church. I mean I love this church
for its beauty. It’s the fact that the church at that time had so much to give
and yet withheld so much from its people, that makes me sad. And this kind of
selfishness that we are all prone to, is typically born of fear…fear that if
you start sharing soon there won’t be enough to go around. I think of the
tragedy of the Titanic.
When that great ship went down there were not enough life boats for everyone,
but those who made it into the boats rowed as far from their drowning fellows
as they possibly could. Even worse, most of the boats were only half full.
Those in life boats rowed away for fear that the people in the water would
swamp the boats in an attempt to save themselves. We operate like this a lot in
our world. And yet we know that God doesn’t work that way, that heaven isn’t
structured that way, and that as Swedenbrogians, as scary as it might seem, we
are called to do our very best with the Lord’s help to try and live according
to the way of heaven here on earth.
I chose our Bible readings with great care this morning. Usually I just follow
the lectionary, but for today I wanted to read this passage about the early
church community in Acts and the passage about the Israelites and their manna.
I love the story of the manna because it reminds us that God will always
provide for us, even if its just enough. Those who hoarded their manna didn’t
end up with any more than those who took the allotted amount. God evened it out
and everyone had just enough; nothing in savings, no extra just in case, just
enough to get through the day.
And I love the story in Acts, because we see a true Christian community at
work. We get a glimpse of a group of people who counted everything they owned
as individuals as what they had to share with their community. No one went
hungry, no one suffered from want, because everyone did their best to take care
of everyone else. It reminds us that the greatest joy we can feel is in giving
and that everything we have should be seen, not as a personal possession to
hold onto, but as something we have to give.
This is how Swedenborg describes heaven, as a place where no one need worry or
fear about caring for themselves, because everyone is occupied with caring for
each other. He says: “The Lord’s love is a love of sharing everything it has
with everyone, it intends the happiness of everyone. So there is mutual sharing
of angel’s pleasures with everyone.” It’s a beautiful vision, a vision where
we see that because the angels hold all things loosely they always have more to
give. And although it may at times seem impossible to bring such a vision to
life here on earth, it is still a worthy vision to hold on to and to hold out
for.
I know, as well as you do, that living in any community of people is bound to
be difficult. And we know that the early church got it right for a while, but
even these sincere hearts eventually succumbed and adjusted to the pressures of
living in this world. We can see that the Swedenborgian church began with the
best of intentions. So high were their hopes that they declared this
institution the “New Church.” But even here in the New Church, much of the old
lives on. And yet I love this church and its people. I am ordained by this
church and its people. And I have dedicated my life to serving this church…and
its people. I know it is not perfect, any more than any of its members are
perfect. I know that we as a people have a lot of growing to do. And I also am
intimately aware of the struggles we face as an institution. But I also trust
that God will always provide enough for us if we are willing to provide for one
another.
I’d like to close with some further thoughts on plumbing from George Dole. Yes,
he admits that at times he prefers toilets to people, but he also writes
that: “What (such an idea) overlooks is that galvanized pipes can’t give you a
smile or a hug. Even the Murdoch toilet can’t ask a questions or make a
comment that gives a fresh glimpse of life. What it overlooks, that is, is the
fact that if I had appreciated and liked people as much as I assumed I did,
there would have been a mounting sense of anticipation as (the opening days of
camp) drew nearer. There would have been affirmative images coming
spontaneously to mind, images of dear folk who were packing their bags and
arranging for their mail to be forwarded. Of course there are more strenuous
responsibilities involved in dealing with people than there are in dealing with
plumbing. (But) there are also far deeper rewards” (34).
Plumbing may lead to peace and quiet, but it doesn’t lead to heavenly
community. For that we need each other. It is only in the context of our
communities that we find the human material with which to build the New
Jerusalem we talk so much about.
So my friends, let us set aside the pipes, the riches, the politics of church,
and really look at each other as people. As we come together and ready our
hearts for communion, let us consider how we can hold those things loosely that
threaten to keep us apart, that we might hold each other close as the dearest
blessings God has to bestow.
Let us a pray.
Copyright 2003 by Rev. Sarah Buteux
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