The Empty Chair

I was taught never to begin a sermon with a caveat…

And if it was only the beginning then really I could just preach on one of the many topics that inspire or provoke me: Taoism, Buddhism, art, music, nature, our UU history and theology, meditation, whatever. I could've just picked something and off we'd go. On the other hand, life is notoriously unpredictable. Any sermon I ever preach might be my last. So maybe they should all be preached as if they were. So, I had to ask myself after a week of hearing first hand, the stories of the trials and triumphs; of hearing its dreams and disappointments; and seeing clearly, as surely you have of me, it's pitfalls and possibilities: What parting or starting gift would I want to leave you with?

I want to give you the gift of the symbol. We don't put symbols up front very much anymore, except for the chalice. This comes from our Puritan forbearers who'd had their fill of icons and stained glass and the bones of a saint in a box up front, and so forth. For a long period of time, there might have been a communion table. But as we shed our attachment to what might be called the mythic aspects of religion, we also tended to shed the practice of idolizing them in physical forms. In many houses of worship of many different faiths, there's often an altar or a book or some sort of symbol up front. And even if you don't believe that the statue of Buddha or whatever it might is anything other than a hunk of weed, there's still some kind of focusing object, something to remind us of that which is larger than us.

So I'm going to use a symbol that I've found in both the Buddhist tardyon and the UU tradition: this empty chair.

Not just because somebody needs it back there and there are still a few seats up front for anyone who is uncomfortable. I want to offer you this empty chair because I see it as the symbol for the past, present and the future of this congregation.

First, a word about the Buddhist piece: In early Buddhist art, the figure of the Buddha is not represented. There is no human being. Instead, there are footprints or a lotus flower or, very often and empty seat. The conventional thinking is that this is because emptiness, the ever-changing, ungraspable field of possibility that is the foundation of Buddhist teaching is best represented by an empty seat. Or there is the thought that it was a device from turning the Buddha into a god, which was ultimately unsuccessful. But, it helped hold that thought of the Buddha as simply a well or perfectly developed human being for several hundred years. How interesting, an empty seat to represent just a human being. So, the empty chair is the symbol for our best nature and also our need to work out our own salvation without reliance on some power outside of ourselves. Before the Buddha disappeared, his last words were, "Be ye lamps unto yourselves." when our teachers or ancestors are gone, the responsibility for right-living and right-relationship, and right-thinking falls to us.

Now, on the UU side: Earlier this year I was sitting up in the chancel at the Newton church in one of the two seats that we call, "the thrones," and they look like thrones. You'll have to visit there some day. I was looking up at the carved angels, the gothic architecture, the stained glass, the hand-carved wooden pulpit and lectern that has Luther and Channing on it. I was reflecting on the cost and the craft that went into that building. It really is grand. And I was overcome with a feeling of gratitude for the people who had given it to the current generation of the congregation — who had given it to me. There I was looking across at James Ford, a couple of hippie Buddhists in our Protestant robes — and I found myself thinking about how different our Unitarian ancestors were from us. And I was wondering how they would feel if they could see what had become of their congregation. What would the other ministers who had once occupied those chairs, these thrones, have to say? I'm sure that what was going on wouldn't please everybody form the old days, what with the gay rights, and he clapping, and the shorts in the summer time, and everything. But overall, I think if our ancestors had a chance to see what happened in the world around us, I'd like to think that they would be pleased. Maybe not even surprised by what we have become, by what their tradition has grown and transformed into.

Now, here, you are blessed with John Durr and Florence Wheeler — founding members who can still tell you first hand about the "old days." You'd have to be 350 old to tell us about the old days in some of the New England congregations. Here you have founding members who can still tell you about the dreams and visions that inspired that first group of women and men, who left the Sebastopol Congregational church and became a Unitarian Fellowship. They can tell you how those dreams and visions have changed. Having living founders is an experience that Eastern Unitarian Universalist are not able to have. It is a gift, but it is a gift we know cannot last forever.

If I become your minister, I will, like you, be forever in the debt of people who once sat among you — who seemed at one time an irreplaceable part of this congregation — but who have moved away or passed away or converted to some other path or simply given up. I will never the faces and voices in many case, not even the names of all those whose vision and hard work remains the foundation of what we have before us today. Whenever we gather, those who came before us gather with us. A new person may take their seat, but that does not fill their absence. Given the nature of this day, I think now, of course, of the ministers who have served this congregation. I think of Dan O'Neal, whose loss was a huge emotional blow. His presence still lingers deeply here, even as more and more people arrive who never had a chance to meet him. I think of Marge Kiep, remembered with such fondness, who provided skilled leadership during the process that led us to sitting in this building today. I think of Bruce Kennedy, whose ministry was a difficult period for the congregation, yet whose tenure was also a time of remarkable transition and visionary activity. And I think of Fran Dew, to whom I owe so much, who will also soon be gone whether you call me or not. The thought of being called by you to take their chair at meetings and dinners and worship is very humbling.

Now, when I first hit upon this symbol of the empty chair I had two more things in mind. First, is the need of the congregation to grow. Rita said that the worship service that she attended in February while I was preaching elsewhere was about 2/3 full, so I expected there to be lots of empty seats out there interspersed to which I could gesture to make this point, but for some reason, everybody seems to have come to church this morning. During my precandidating weekend, I felt strongly from the members of the search committee that the tasks at hand is growth in membership and growth in spirit. During this week, whether from the congregational council, the board, the RE steering committee, the music committee, and from the growth task force, I have felt the same sentiment. There is a deep awareness here that the enormous potential that this congregation has to finally burst through this pernicious barrier that afflicts all congregations of this size as they try to reinvent themselves, stretch out and become something bigger. Unlike our human bodies, that just keep on doing it naturally — adding more cells until we reach adulthood, to grow church bodies, we have to will it ourselves. The empty chairs stay empty until we fill them. I feel a longing amongst you to take everything that is right about this congregation and to multiply it again and again and again. And there is so much that is right: Your loyalty, your generosity, your commitment, your open-mindedness, your sense of fun, your boldness, and of course, your tender hearts. The vision of a growing congregation that embodies those aspects is not just one board members or committee chairs or search committees either. At one of the events this week, I asked folks to writer their vision for the congregation. I'm quoting until I say otherwise.

To provide outreach to a more diverse population, not to get members, but to provide community with an orientation to the needs of the city and the county.

Someone else dreams of a loving open spiritual group of all ages, who support each other and reach out to the community and world in support of peace with dignity for all.

My vision is of our congregation being the leader in framing peace and justice issues in a context of love for all creation.

A center for multi-generational activities of culture and education.

They weren't all quite so lofty, one person's vision involved people doing their share to keep the kitchen clean. Fair enough.

But again and again, I heard a vision of UUCSR leading in the community, confronting oppression and injustice, reaching out to the colleges, to families and children, growing becoming, well known. In short, changing the world. Perhaps the best was this: "to develop a community of people committed to spiritual growth, committed to a deep understanding of ourselves, committed to an enlarged view of our role and contribution to our society and environment and committed to the power of Love."

Truly, I could not say it better myself. That’s the growth piece of the empty chair.

The other vision of the empty chair came from small group ministry. Here you call it Together in Exploration groups, TIE groups. Small groups where people gather in a circle with a framework for deep sharing, spiritual reflection, intellectual conversation, the sharing of their lives. In a small group ministry setting, and empty chair is always left, so that the group knows that it's the opposite of musical chairs. Everybody can get up and move around, more folks can join in the mix, but when it's time to sit back down, there's always one chair too many, not one chair too few. It keeps it open to new comers; it acknowledges the temporary nature of the current configuration; it helps us avoid omfuloscepsious, which is the Greek word for navel gazing. Omfuloscepsious. If you can use that one in a sentence later today to increase your vocabulary, you're doing good work.

The point with this empty chair in the circle differs from the old hymn, "May the circle be unbroken," because it acknowledges that our circles are never fully complete, as long as there is someone else in need of the gifts that the group has to offer. That as yet unmet person is seen as equal in their need, in their dignity, in the gifts they will bring. I think that symbol of the empty chair in a TIE group can be — should be — extended to every other aspect of the ministry of the church. You can't grow without putting out seeds for others and inviting them to join in.

While a healthy body is a growing body, and that's true of organizations as well, we cannot forget for a moment that growth itself, measured in terms of numbers, is not the point. The being who will occupy the empty chairs that we will put out again and again is not a membership number, not a dues obligation, not a listing in the directory, not a source of pride in how big we're getting, and certainly not a pledge card. He or she is a person. I'm not here to increase the revenue or size of the congregation — though we will do that. I'm here to tell the world about Unitarian Universalism and its healing saving message. To you and to the countless folks who I believe long for it and would love it and commit to it if only they were invited to a seat at the table to find out what we're all about. I stumbled across Unitarian Universalism and it's a story I hear again and again: an accidental discovery when somebody happens to mention it or you happen to drive by. And I as an undergraduate in religious studies and had never heard of it. It took Herr Fohnert, my German teacher, to extend a seat and say, "Why don't you come down?" I think, why should someone have to wait their whole life to stumble on something that gives such meaning and richness and joy? The world is full of people who can make a difference.

I think we best give thanks for those who gave us our seats at the table by making more seats available for others. There is no one who does not deserve that invitation. Who has a place there? By definition, anyone who wants to pursue this path of pluralism and reason and Love. We are Universalists. That chair is for elders, college students, rich people, poor people, young mothers, widowers, for married, single people, gay people, straight people, people who serve in the military and those who never would, for wine makers, and addicts. It's for the person who was harmed by religion and the person who has cheerfully pursued this religious path their entire life. That chair is for scientists, poets, Christians, Buddhists, Humanists, both the grumpy and the happy, the smart and the less so. I could go on forever. Perhaps most importantly are the seats we will leave open and the invitations we will make to those we might never meet: the children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren of this congregation. The future generations of UUs will wonder, "What would our ancestors think of what we've become?" And this is the rub: it's not only that there are people out there who need us — we need them. Every new person that sits in that chair brings something entirely new that changes the mix into something wonderful.

I'm reminded of the theology of Henry Nelson Wieman, one of the great liberal theologians of the last century, a Unitarian. His vision of God was of the field of creative interchange. Quote, every time free beings creative beings are coming together, talking, growing, sharing, something new, bold, and beautiful was blossoming and he called that thing holy. It's a great risk to take — to mess with this mix that we may love. There's a fear that is understandable: WE might have to change. We might have to let something go, we might have to learn that we don't already know everything. We might have to give something up, but what do we gain? Creativity, beauty and the embodiment of justice, which is seats at the table.

Every empty seat: a Buddha with something to teach. Every empty seat filled with a broken and incomplete person like ourselves, who like us, can become a healer and a minister. If we keep setting out these empty chairs not only will we grow and change and thrive as individuals and a community, but also so might this city, the county, the nation, even the world. I really believe that.

As we struggle together through growing pains, through the fears and apprehensions that so understandable arise as something we know and prize changes into something else, I hope you will keep in mind everything that chair represents and everyone who might take his or her rightful place in it. We really can build a land of one love and one people. We do it one empty chair at a time.