Open Your Arms If You Want To Be Held
Rev. Robin Landerman
Zucker
First Unitarian
Church of Pittsburgh
February 12, 2012
In our reading
earlier, Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. gives us one of his quirky but poignant vignettes
of a ragged street person named Mary Kathleen O'Looney who surrounds a
long-lost love named Walter F. Starbuck in a busy city plaza. She encircles him
with shopping bags and takes hold of his wrist. She will not lower her voice.
" Now that I've found you, I'll never let you go. Look me in the eye,
Walter," she says, "you used to tell me all the time how much you loved me. Were you just
lying to me?"
Vonnegut
notes how this kind of melodrama always draws a crowd. And sure enough, people
surround them in the plaza.
"Some people were crying," so the story goes. "I myself
was about to cry," admits the narrator, who finally comes to recognize the
bag lady as “one of the four women he had ever loved.”
"Hug
her," said a woman in the crowd. "I did so," he writes. "I
found myself embracing a bundle of dry twigs that was wrapped in rags. That was
when I began to cry myself."
[I
first heard this story in a sermon delivered by the Rev. Gary Smith many years
ago and have never forgotten it] because Vonnegut's tale moves us and
transports us into terrain laden with emotional land-mines. This touching
episode of a "bundle of dry twigs wrapped in rags" and the former lover she yearns to hug
leads us to a few basic, but crucial, questions this morning. In your heart of hearts, you'll each
know how these questions pertain to your individual lives, if at all.
- What do you think "love" is?
-
Are you willing to treat your beloveds AS beloved?
-
When it is hardest to love, can you strive to love harder?
-
Will you allow fear and pride, anger and unhealthy behavior, to keep you from
the hug that might be waiting just on the other side of these self-imposed
barriers?
"Open
your arms if you want to be held," the poet Rumi instructs us. What might
it take for you to do this very healing thing with the ones you consider your
nearest and dearest?
Those of us who minister can tell you about couples, gay and
straight, who come in to talk with us joyfully about their upcoming weddings or
services of union, as well as those who come to our offices to cry and tell us
about the bumps in their partnerships.
[A colleague has noted that] “All of these meetings increase our
awareness of three things: how deep and enduring is the human need for strong
attachment; how deep and enduring is the human need to be affirmed in our own
way, and how fragile are the bonds that keep us connected if both partners do
not begin from an awareness of the crucial need to nurture the relationship as
it unfolds.”
It should go without saying that in order to nurture a
relationship, one needs to acknowledge that there is a relationship in first place. (the dreaded
“R” word!) As humorist Dave Barry explains (clearly for a heterosexual
audience), this nod isn’t always automatic, especially for his fellow
males.
Barry writes to his female readers: “Never assume that a guy
understands that you and he have a relationship. The guy will not realize this
on his own. You have to plant the idea in his brain by constantly making subtle
references to it in your everyday conversation, such as:
-- "Roger,
would you mind passing me a Sweet 'n' Low, inasmuch as we have a
relationship?"
-- "Wake
up, Roger! There's a prowler in the den and we have a relationship! You and I
do, I mean. Not, the prowler and me!”
-- "Good
News, Roger! The doctor says we're going to have our fourth child, which will
serve as yet another indication that we have a relationship!"
-- "Roger,
although you forgot our anniversary again, I want you to know that we've had a
wonderful 53 years of marriage together, which, by the way, clearly constitutes
a relationship."
Barry’s dead-on humor does make us laugh, but
the truth behind the wit might also skewers our hearts. Relationships are hard
and they require vigilance. This truth is underscored by the multitude of
books, tapes, workbooks, seminars, and counseling regimes designed to help us
dig up our rosy illusions about relationships, and in their place, plant more
firmly-rooted methods for loving others well in the real world.
Arguably, the most famous prescription for "love" appears in St. Paul's
Letter to the Corinthians in the New Testament. This idealized, but wise, view of love is, not
surprisingly, one of the most popular
readings for wedding ceremonies.
Of course, if this love litany came with step-by-step, easy-to-follow
instructions, we'd likely see a drop in the need for marital counseling, in
domestic abuse cases, and in the demoralizing 48% divorce rate.
Many
of us know these words well: " Love is patient; love is kind, love is not
envious or boastful or arrogant or
rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful. It
does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things,
believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things." Gulp!
Although
this definition appears hopelessly simplistic and unattainable, Paul gives us a
love that is a revolutionary act!
And, like all revolutionary acts, this love of Paul's requires elbow
grease and discipline. He never claims it will be a breeze; and many of us can
attest that it isn't. There have been many-a-time when the last thing we’ve
wanted to do is give or receive a hug.
Paul's
love is an abiding love which recognizes that although affection and passion
may ebb and flow, commitment and compassion can/should remain steadfast. It is
spiritual union. It's a love for grown-ups. It's a love that asks us to get out of the way. In its most fearless form, it is
a dangerous and unfashionable love.
INTERLUDE:
While Love is Unfashionable -- Alice Walker
While love is unfashionable
let us live
unfashionably.
Seeing the world
a complex ball
in small hands;
love our blackest garment.
Let us be poor
in all but truth, and courage
handed down
by the old spirits.
Let us be intimate with
ancestral ghosts
and music
of the undead.
While love is dangerous
let us walk bareheaded
beside the great River.
Let us gather blossoms
under fire.
"Let
us be poor in all but truth and courage," Alice Walker encourages us.
"Love endures all things," writes Paul. "Hug her," said a woman in the crowd.
And I'm
recalling now how this plea in Vonnegut's story comes after Mary Kathleen,
desperate for acknowledgement, has cried out, "You used to tell me how
much you loved me, Walter...were you just lying to me?" Her words spring
from the page and pierce our hearts. How personally some of us may relate to
her anguish.
Surely,
not all relationships are salvageable no matter how hard we love or how bravely
we keep at it. I realize that, especially given my work with people who are experiencing
divorce, despite their best efforts. If you've struggled and been wounded in an
unhealthy relationship that has ended,
my heart is with you. If
you are suffering now, my heart is with you. If you are not in a relationship and are yearning, my heart is with you. Try to hear my words in a broader
context of relationships in your life.
In
certain cases, disengagement does equal
self care and right relationship means no visible bond at all. Absolutely,
especially if there has been abuse of any kind.
There are times,
though, when we do feel safe enough and optimistic enough to reinvest in our
partnerships despite past disappointments or the inescapable challenges down
the road.
For the couples
who meet with me for marriage preparation, that means getting ahead of the
curve, learning key communication skills,
and how to turn towards on another to develop and sustain real intimacy.
In every wedding ceremony, I share my #1 motto for successful relationships:
“Hug first, solve problems second.” I teach that to parents, too.
In a fable from
the Hasidic tradition, a
discouraged man tells his Rabbi, "The feeling of love I have for my wife
comes and goes. I used to love her more. What should I do?"
"Love
her," responds the Rabbi.
"But
you don't understand," pleads the man, "the feeling of love just
isn't there sometimes."
"Yes,
I understand," says the Rabbi, "if the feeling isn't there, that's a
good reason to love her."
"But,
how do you love when you don't love? When you're angry or resentful?"
"Love
is a verb," answers the Rabbi. "It is choice. So, love her. Listen to
her. Affirm her. Are you willing to do that?"
"I
want to," admits the man, "but I am so afraid."
"O, Beloved, how numerous are
my fears… I shall withstand all my fears as they arise within me, “
laments the Psalmist. What is it
we so often fear in our relationships? Loss of control? betrayal? being totally
exposed to our partner? closing ourselves off to other prospects? Are we afraid that we are essentially
unlovable so we craft a script that validates our theory?
The
way I see it, a vital relationship is not meant to be like a ship safe in
a harbor. There is danger built into it because a mature partnership bars the easy way out or the quick fix.
It must set out on the open sea. It demands change and compromise, ever
deepening self-awareness and the capacity to accept difference, the ability to
struggle, to endure, to grow together, and to forgive.
But
our fears can hold us back, and surely, some of these fears are valid. Perhaps,
we've wanted to hug or be hugged by our partner and we've been met repeatedly
with a coolness that has closed down our hearts little by little. We've been
punished instead of sheltered; we've withheld rather than abided (or visa
versa).
If
we are fortunate, fate and
circumstance break our hearts open and give us a kind of window to wisdom and
courage, and we become more
compassionate and humble, caring and brave, in spite of ourselves.
The
author Anne Morrow Lindbergh (of Gifts form the Sea fame) gives us as eloquent
a description of open-hearted partnership as we might find. This is somewhat
ironic since her autobiographies
reveal the cold marriage she
endured with her emotionally
aloof, but publicly charming husband., CharlesLindbergh.
One can imagine
that she ached for the graceful dance between partners, who, in her words,
"moved to the same rhythm, creating a pattern together, and being
invisibly nourished by it." "The joy of such a pattern," she
wrote, "is not only the joy of creation or the joy of participation. It is
also the joy of living in the moment...There is no place for the possessive
clutch, the clinging arm, the heavy hand." Lindbergh is right on
target.
A loving hug
given in trust and openness carries a different quality of connection than grab
and clutch and cling. It is, as
the poet Marge Piercy defines it, "To Have Without Holding."
INTERLUDE: To
Have Without Holding - Marge Piercy
Learning to love
differently is hard,
love with the hands
wide open,
love with the doors
banging on the hinges,
the cupboard
unlocked,
the wind roaring and whimpering in the rooms
rustling the sheets
and snapping the blinds
that thwack like
rubber bands in an open palm.
It hurts to thwart
the reflexes
of grab, of clutch;
to love and let go
again and again.
To love consciously,
concretely,
constructively.
I can't do it, you
say it's killing
me, but you thrive,
you glow on the
street like a neon raspberry,
You float and sail
like a helium balloon.
To have and not to hold,
to love with
minimized malice,
hunger and
anger, moment by moment balanced.
How
well some of us know the pain of loving wide open. Especially if we've
attempted it and had our hearts stomped on. Even so, loving wide open is the
true path to the beloved, and it is do-able. To stretch the muscles; to thwart the reflexes of grab, of
clutch, of withdrawal; to love with minimized malice. Piercy summarizes the "how-to"
portion of this equation well when she describes the process as one of loving
"consciously, conscientiously, concretely, constructively."
What might these
adverbs mean to you personally in your individual relationships? Loving
consciously? loving concretely? loving constructively? Yes, it will be
dangerous. Yes, it will be challenging. And, yes, it may lead to a depth of
intimacy and union you've never experienced before or dreamt was possible.
INTERLUDE: The Sunrise Ruby -- Rumi
In the early morning
hour,
just before dawn,
lover and beloved wake
and take a drink of
water.
She asks, "Do
you love me or yourself more?
Really, tell the
absolute truth."
He says,
"There's nothing left of me.
I'm like a ruby held
up to the sunrise.
Is it still a stone,
or a world
made of redness?
It has no resistance
to sunlight."
The ruby and the sunrise
are one.
Be courageous and
discipline yourself.
Completely become
hearing and ear,
and wear this
sun-ruby as an earring.
Work. Keep digging
your well.
Don't think about
getting off from work.
Water is there
somewhere.
Submit to a daily
practice.
Your loyalty to that
is a ring on the
door.
Keep knocking, and
the joy inside
will eventually open
a window
and look out to see
who's there.
The ruby and the
sunrise are one," writes Rumi. "Be courageous and discipline
yourself, submit to the daily practice.
[As the Rev. Thea Nietfeld suggests] Welcoming
the sacred Beloved into human belovedness
becomes a practice, a way to nurture spiritual growth. A commitment to love
intentionally keeps us committed to a life of truth-telling.
And, rather than tightening our grip on our partners, we liberate
them. In effect, we say, “I will trust you to love me honorably out of your own
free will.” This is a great gift to give a partner; certainly more precious and
enduring than flowers or chocolates.
Speaking of which…Valentines
Days is Tuesday, in case you had not noticed. Wednesday morning will come all
too soon. FTD and Godiva will hate
me for this but – here goes:
Roses wilt; cultivate attentiveness. Valentines get tossed in
memory boxes; try respect. Charm fades; develop humility. Chocolates go right to your hips; focus
on your heart. Romantic love puts stars in our eyes, yet only a clear vision of
how we interact and how we might better interact with our partners will see us through the inevitable fog
that descends on even the best relationships.
In
her poem entitled, "The Hug," Tess Gallagher reminds us of what we
(like disheveled Mary Kathleen O’Looney) often yearn for in our most intimate
relationships, but which we sometimes push away or neglect to give
through fear or pride or by not loving consciously.
"So I walk over to
him," Tess Gallagher writes,
" and put my arms around him
and
try to hug him like I mean it....
I put my head into his chest and
snuggle in.
I lean into him.
I lean my blood and my wishes
into him.
He stands for it.
This is his and he's starting to
give it back so well
I know he's getting it.
This hug.
So truly, so tenderly we stop
having arms..."
"Clearly, a little
permission is a dangerous thing," Gallagher continues.
"But when you hug someone,
you want it to be a masterpiece of connection,
the way the button on his coat
will leave the imprint of a
planet in my cheek when I walk away.
When I try to find someplace to
go back to."
So,
if you can, give permission. Leave an imprint on another’s cheek. Love with the
doors banging on their hinges. Glow on the street like a neon raspberry. Acknowledge and honor the
“relationship.” Gather blossoms under fire.
Open
your arms if you want to be held.
"Hug
her"..."Hug him"... says this woman in the crowd.
Amen.
Benediction: Shel Silverstein
I will not play at tug o'war.
I'd rather play at hug o'war,
Where everyone hugs
Instead of tugs,
Where everyone giggles
And rolls on the rug,
Where everyone kisses,
and everyone grins,
And everyone cuddles,
And everyone wins.
So may it be.
Amen.
