...and it hurts too much to laugh
a sermon preached by the Rev. Dr. Tim W. Jensen
at the Second Congregational Meeting House on Nantucket Island
Sunday February 17th, 2002
***
On the night of the 1948 presidential election, Republican candidate Thomas Dewey, leading in all the polls, is reported to have asked his wife Frances: "How will it be to sleep with the President of the United States?" Mrs Dewey responded: "A great honor, and quite frankly darling, I'm looking forward to it."
The following morning, at breakfast, Truman's victory was apparent. "Tell me Tom," Frances Dewey asked her husband. "Am I going to Washington, or is Harry coming here?"
The historic photograph of a victorious Harry S. Truman holding aloft an early edition of the Chicago Tribune, with its erroneous banner headline, "Dewey Defeats Truman," has become a powerful cultural symbol for the triumph of the underdog against long odds. That one picture tells it all: how persistence, hard work, and the refusal to give up can allow us to overcome any obstacle, achieve any goal. We very rarely give much thought to the other side of the story, to Frances Dewey's good-natured teasing of her husband in the wake of his disappointing surprise defeat. And yet, at least in the world of electoral politics, and in many other areas of life as well, for every winner there must be a loser, for every triumph an equal and opposite disappointment. Abraham Lincoln's familiar quip about the little boy who stubbed his toe in the dark, quoted by Adlai Stevenson following his loss to Dwight Eisenhower in 1952, tells this part of the tale. "I'm too old to cry,” Stevenson told his listeners, “and it hurts too much to laugh." I'm certain that almost everyone has experienced this same feeling of disappointment at some point or another in our lives. And yet, when all is said and done, I also suspect that most of us would prefer to think of Truman's enthusiastic smile than re-live the memories of our own choked-down tears. Where there is hope, there is the potential for triumph. And it is in this potential that we find the courage to go on.
I didn’t come here today to offer you pious platitudes: to tell you that every cloud has a silver lining, or that there is a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow. There is a world of difference between hopeful optimism, and wishful thinking. Wishful thinking is a process of self-deception: the denial of reality, a grasping at straws. Authentic Hope comes from accurate self-knowledge, and from the inner confidence which grows from such knowledge: a sense of trust and optimism, of tenacity and perseverance. Hope is a vision which grows out of the realization of one's own self-worth, and of the potential for triumph which exists at the center of each of us.
In the diary of personal meditations which he kept with him throughout his life, the Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius, a Stoic, wrote that "Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away." The inevitability of change is one of the few certainties of human existence. Our ability to deal creatively with this change is inextricably interwoven with our capacity for Hope. Stoicism is often caricatured as a philosophy of fatalism -- a "stiff upper lip" in the face of tragedy or disappointment. And yet a certain degree of stoicism is an essential ingredient in the development of true Hope. Stoics like Marcus Aurelius recognized the inevitability of change, and they also realized that there were certain absolute limits to our ability to avoid or control it. They delineated between those things which lie beyond our control, and those over which we do have a certain degree of power, such as our attitudes and behaviors in the face of change. "The Universe is change; our life is what our thoughts make it," Aurelius wrote. Stoicism encompasses both fatalistic acceptance of the inevitable and the power of positive thinking; and yet, at its center is expressed a fundamental optimism about the human condition. Nature is essentially reasonable and orderly. We need not be the victims of change; we have the power to accommodate ourselves to it. This basic resiliency and adaptability of human existence is our greatest strength and our greatest virtue: a virtue we discover, not through passive acceptance, nor wishful thinking, but through our constant efforts to accommodate ourselves rationally to a never-ending series of unavoidable changes. Authentic Hope springs from our confidence in the strength of this resilient adaptivity -- the one element in our lives over which we have virtually unlimited control.
I am often astonished and amazed by the basic "toughness" of the human spirit. But toughness alone is not enough to engender Hope: Hope also requires a dream, an over-arching sense of vision grounded in deeply-held values. Goals may grow out of a sense of vision, but a sense of vision is more far than merely goals. Goals are transitory things, they change in response to circumstances. One's sense of vision also changes, but the change is of a different order, growing out of greater wisdom and greater insight rather than simply responding to new realities and different opportunities. Vision acts as a beacon for our Hope, it draws our attention beyond "what is" or "what might be" to "what should be," "what ought to be." Vision is based on value, on a sense of the priorities in one's life -- faith in the validity of one's principles, and the willingness to act in accordance with them. The fundamental tenacity of the human spirit gives Hope substance; an overarching sense of vision gives it purpose; and together, tenacity and vision allow Hope to sustain us, even at times when the moment seems difficult, and the future bleak.
Perhaps some of you are familiar with the legend of Pandora, whose name means "all gifts," who was sent by the Gods to be the wife of Epimetheus, the brother of the legendary Prometheus, who had stolen fire from the heavens as a gift to humankind. In his home, Epimetheus had a box which contained all the things he and his brother had decided NOT to distribute to the creatures of the earth, and Epimetheus warned Pandora not to disturb it. But curiosity got the best of her, so one day she decided to hazard a peek inside the box. The moment Pandora moved the lid aside, all manner of evil was let loose upon the world: plague and pestilence; famine, war; greed and jealousy.... In an instant, she slammed the lid closed, but it was too late: only Hope remained within the box, the Gods' final gift to humankind. And this is why, or so the legend goes, no matter what evils may confront us, Hope is never far from us; and while we still have Hope, we can never be completely overwhelmed.
It has also sometimes been said that the Church is an Institution of Hope, the place to which people turn to find the strength to face the future. When I was younger, I figured this was all just a bucket of hogwash: organized religion offered people "pie in the sky," when it could be doing so much more to feed the hungry here on earth. Over the last decade or so, I have gained a far greater appreciation both of the limitations of the institutional church as a social service agency, and of the important role it plays as a place in which the tenacity of the human spirit is built up, and the sense of human vision is expanded and brought into focus. The Church is an institution of Hope, a place where Hope can be given substance, and purpose. And likewise, it is through Hope that the Church itself exists: an experiment in human community in which people are valued for their intrinsic worth, and not merely their economic worth.
In its own way, the church is a simply a stubborn attempt to realize a vision of the ideal here on earth. To be sure, it is still a very human institution. In fact, some have compared the church to Noah's ark: were it not for the storm outside, we could not stand the stench within. At times it may serve as a haven, or escape -- a place where we come to get way from the things which concern us "out there." But at its best, the church is also a springboard to a brighter future, the vehicle through which we channel Hope into our lives and to the wider world. And not a false Hope, based on platitudes and wishful thinking. Rather, an authentic Hope, growing out of a deep knowledge of ourselves, and rooted in the tenacity of our spirit and the strength of our vision as a community of faith.
The Chinese sage Confucius observed "There is never yet a tree whose trunk is slim and slender and whose top branches are thick and heavy." The cultivation of Hope in our personal lives, regardless of our external circumstances, is the key to our ability to accommodate ourselves to those circumstances, and to live successfully with whatever fortunes or misfortunes may come our way. At times it will not be easy. But the church exists to help us through those times, to cultivate the strength of spirit which allows us to persist and endure, and to focus our attention upon things which are ultimately important: the principles, values, and convictions which make up our religious faith, and which have called us into close relationship with one another as a covenanted congregation. Perhaps we cannot change the things which lie beyond our power to control. But at least we can Hope with one another, when it hurts too much to laugh.
***
READING: “The Swimming Lesson” by Mary Oliver
Feeling the icy kick, the endless waves
Reaching around my life, I moved my arms
And coughed, and in the end saw land.
Somebody, I suppose,
Remembering the medieval maxim,
Had tossed me in,
Had wanted me to learn to swim,
Not knowing that none of us, who ever came back
From that long lonely fall and frenzied rising,
Ever learned anything at all
About swimming, but only
How to put off, one by one,
Dreams and pity, love and grace, --
How to survive in any place.
at the Second Congregational Meeting House on Nantucket Island
Sunday February 17th, 2002
***
On the night of the 1948 presidential election, Republican candidate Thomas Dewey, leading in all the polls, is reported to have asked his wife Frances: "How will it be to sleep with the President of the United States?" Mrs Dewey responded: "A great honor, and quite frankly darling, I'm looking forward to it."
The following morning, at breakfast, Truman's victory was apparent. "Tell me Tom," Frances Dewey asked her husband. "Am I going to Washington, or is Harry coming here?"
The historic photograph of a victorious Harry S. Truman holding aloft an early edition of the Chicago Tribune, with its erroneous banner headline, "Dewey Defeats Truman," has become a powerful cultural symbol for the triumph of the underdog against long odds. That one picture tells it all: how persistence, hard work, and the refusal to give up can allow us to overcome any obstacle, achieve any goal. We very rarely give much thought to the other side of the story, to Frances Dewey's good-natured teasing of her husband in the wake of his disappointing surprise defeat. And yet, at least in the world of electoral politics, and in many other areas of life as well, for every winner there must be a loser, for every triumph an equal and opposite disappointment. Abraham Lincoln's familiar quip about the little boy who stubbed his toe in the dark, quoted by Adlai Stevenson following his loss to Dwight Eisenhower in 1952, tells this part of the tale. "I'm too old to cry,” Stevenson told his listeners, “and it hurts too much to laugh." I'm certain that almost everyone has experienced this same feeling of disappointment at some point or another in our lives. And yet, when all is said and done, I also suspect that most of us would prefer to think of Truman's enthusiastic smile than re-live the memories of our own choked-down tears. Where there is hope, there is the potential for triumph. And it is in this potential that we find the courage to go on.
I didn’t come here today to offer you pious platitudes: to tell you that every cloud has a silver lining, or that there is a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow. There is a world of difference between hopeful optimism, and wishful thinking. Wishful thinking is a process of self-deception: the denial of reality, a grasping at straws. Authentic Hope comes from accurate self-knowledge, and from the inner confidence which grows from such knowledge: a sense of trust and optimism, of tenacity and perseverance. Hope is a vision which grows out of the realization of one's own self-worth, and of the potential for triumph which exists at the center of each of us.
In the diary of personal meditations which he kept with him throughout his life, the Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius, a Stoic, wrote that "Time is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is its current; no sooner is a thing brought to sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away." The inevitability of change is one of the few certainties of human existence. Our ability to deal creatively with this change is inextricably interwoven with our capacity for Hope. Stoicism is often caricatured as a philosophy of fatalism -- a "stiff upper lip" in the face of tragedy or disappointment. And yet a certain degree of stoicism is an essential ingredient in the development of true Hope. Stoics like Marcus Aurelius recognized the inevitability of change, and they also realized that there were certain absolute limits to our ability to avoid or control it. They delineated between those things which lie beyond our control, and those over which we do have a certain degree of power, such as our attitudes and behaviors in the face of change. "The Universe is change; our life is what our thoughts make it," Aurelius wrote. Stoicism encompasses both fatalistic acceptance of the inevitable and the power of positive thinking; and yet, at its center is expressed a fundamental optimism about the human condition. Nature is essentially reasonable and orderly. We need not be the victims of change; we have the power to accommodate ourselves to it. This basic resiliency and adaptability of human existence is our greatest strength and our greatest virtue: a virtue we discover, not through passive acceptance, nor wishful thinking, but through our constant efforts to accommodate ourselves rationally to a never-ending series of unavoidable changes. Authentic Hope springs from our confidence in the strength of this resilient adaptivity -- the one element in our lives over which we have virtually unlimited control.
I am often astonished and amazed by the basic "toughness" of the human spirit. But toughness alone is not enough to engender Hope: Hope also requires a dream, an over-arching sense of vision grounded in deeply-held values. Goals may grow out of a sense of vision, but a sense of vision is more far than merely goals. Goals are transitory things, they change in response to circumstances. One's sense of vision also changes, but the change is of a different order, growing out of greater wisdom and greater insight rather than simply responding to new realities and different opportunities. Vision acts as a beacon for our Hope, it draws our attention beyond "what is" or "what might be" to "what should be," "what ought to be." Vision is based on value, on a sense of the priorities in one's life -- faith in the validity of one's principles, and the willingness to act in accordance with them. The fundamental tenacity of the human spirit gives Hope substance; an overarching sense of vision gives it purpose; and together, tenacity and vision allow Hope to sustain us, even at times when the moment seems difficult, and the future bleak.
Perhaps some of you are familiar with the legend of Pandora, whose name means "all gifts," who was sent by the Gods to be the wife of Epimetheus, the brother of the legendary Prometheus, who had stolen fire from the heavens as a gift to humankind. In his home, Epimetheus had a box which contained all the things he and his brother had decided NOT to distribute to the creatures of the earth, and Epimetheus warned Pandora not to disturb it. But curiosity got the best of her, so one day she decided to hazard a peek inside the box. The moment Pandora moved the lid aside, all manner of evil was let loose upon the world: plague and pestilence; famine, war; greed and jealousy.... In an instant, she slammed the lid closed, but it was too late: only Hope remained within the box, the Gods' final gift to humankind. And this is why, or so the legend goes, no matter what evils may confront us, Hope is never far from us; and while we still have Hope, we can never be completely overwhelmed.
It has also sometimes been said that the Church is an Institution of Hope, the place to which people turn to find the strength to face the future. When I was younger, I figured this was all just a bucket of hogwash: organized religion offered people "pie in the sky," when it could be doing so much more to feed the hungry here on earth. Over the last decade or so, I have gained a far greater appreciation both of the limitations of the institutional church as a social service agency, and of the important role it plays as a place in which the tenacity of the human spirit is built up, and the sense of human vision is expanded and brought into focus. The Church is an institution of Hope, a place where Hope can be given substance, and purpose. And likewise, it is through Hope that the Church itself exists: an experiment in human community in which people are valued for their intrinsic worth, and not merely their economic worth.
In its own way, the church is a simply a stubborn attempt to realize a vision of the ideal here on earth. To be sure, it is still a very human institution. In fact, some have compared the church to Noah's ark: were it not for the storm outside, we could not stand the stench within. At times it may serve as a haven, or escape -- a place where we come to get way from the things which concern us "out there." But at its best, the church is also a springboard to a brighter future, the vehicle through which we channel Hope into our lives and to the wider world. And not a false Hope, based on platitudes and wishful thinking. Rather, an authentic Hope, growing out of a deep knowledge of ourselves, and rooted in the tenacity of our spirit and the strength of our vision as a community of faith.
The Chinese sage Confucius observed "There is never yet a tree whose trunk is slim and slender and whose top branches are thick and heavy." The cultivation of Hope in our personal lives, regardless of our external circumstances, is the key to our ability to accommodate ourselves to those circumstances, and to live successfully with whatever fortunes or misfortunes may come our way. At times it will not be easy. But the church exists to help us through those times, to cultivate the strength of spirit which allows us to persist and endure, and to focus our attention upon things which are ultimately important: the principles, values, and convictions which make up our religious faith, and which have called us into close relationship with one another as a covenanted congregation. Perhaps we cannot change the things which lie beyond our power to control. But at least we can Hope with one another, when it hurts too much to laugh.
***
READING: “The Swimming Lesson” by Mary Oliver
Feeling the icy kick, the endless waves
Reaching around my life, I moved my arms
And coughed, and in the end saw land.
Somebody, I suppose,
Remembering the medieval maxim,
Had tossed me in,
Had wanted me to learn to swim,
Not knowing that none of us, who ever came back
From that long lonely fall and frenzied rising,
Ever learned anything at all
About swimming, but only
How to put off, one by one,
Dreams and pity, love and grace, --
How to survive in any place.
posted by The Eclectic Cleric at 1:30 PM
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