Open Your Arms if You Want to be Held - a sermon about Belovedness (with poetic interludes)

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.