At the recent Academy Awards ceremony, when Reese Witherspoon was accepting her award as best supporting actress for her portrayal of June Carter in Walk the Line, she said: “People used to ask June how she was doing, and she would say I’m just trying to matter.” For many of us, that is the story of our lives, when it gets down to it, we are just trying to matter. Today we are celebrating Save Darfur Sunday. The Unitarian Universalist Service Committee, along with their parners, is campaigning to raise a million voices for Darfur through the postcards I introduced today during the children’s story. You can sign one of the postcards to President Bust after the service, and I will mail them, or you can sign an electronic postcard on-line by going to millionvoicesfordarfur.org. As the postcard says: Instead of mourning a genocide, what if we could STOP one? ...and what will history say about us if we don’t? We are just trying to matter.
Some of the Lost Boys of the Sudan have come to be with us today and will talk with us after the service about the situation that led them to flee Darfur, and the trials that they have endured. When I learned that they were coming today, I started to read and think more about the situation. I will admit that it had been a rather peripheral problem in my mind until recently... where is Darfur, and how do the problems there affect me? When the activities there were named genocide, it got my attention for a while, but then I had sort of avoided thinking about it. It had been easier to consider it a far away place, and to keep its people at arm’s length, rather than to allow the horror of the situation to come close and be real to me. The expression out of sight, out of mind is applicable here. Sometimes when things are painful and we feel that we can’t really change them anyway, it seems easier to push them out of our consciousness.
But those who are suffering cannot push the reality of the situation out of their consciousness. They must see the situation as it unfolds around them, and make the best decisions they can in the circumstances. One thing they can do is try to hang onto their humanity, their sense of human worth and dignity. This can be extremely difficult when one sees one’s loved ones killed and raped in front of one’s eyes... one’s village burned... sights which linger in memory long after the fact. One thing that came forth from a book I was reading about Darfur was the great bravery of the young boys who escaped from the destruction in their country. They were forced to leave their home country and families - they lost all the familiar comforts. They couldn’t go home again, as their villages had been destroyed. They had to walk for long distances at night, because they feared the wild animals of the night less than the human predators and the scorching heat of the day. They didn’t have enough food or water, and sometimes had to drink their own urine to keep their bodies hydrated. They were very young- some only 4 or 5 years old, and most weren’t older than 14 or 15. They bonded together, as a new family. They realized that they had to stick together and support each other in order to survive and succeed. They held hands as they traveled through the dark, so nobody would get lost. The older boys looked after the younger boys, as a parent would have looked after a child. They prayed to God for help, even as they sought to help themselves and each other.
The genocide in Darfur has been compared to the Holocaust. So I picked up Viktor Frankl’s book, Man’s Search for Meaning, which relates some of his experiences of the death camps during the Holocaust. I was struck by how the administration of the camps was designed in such a way as to systematically undermine the inmates’ sense of humanity. This was done in so many ways, for example referring to people by assigned numbers rather than by their names, shifting people from group to group, under-nourishing and over-working them, letting people become emaciated, and sending those who were weak and unable to work to death in the gas chambers. And then there was the very strict camp rule that forbade any efforts to save a person who attempted suicide, including not cutting down a man who was trying to hang himself. Frankl said it was therefore essential to prevent suicide attempts. He described two cases of would-be suicide (pp. 87-88):
Both men had talked of their intentions to commit suicide. Both used the typical argument- they had nothing more to expect from life. In both cases it was a question of geting them to realize that life was still expecting something from them; something in the future was expected of them. We found, in fact, that for the one it was his child whom he adored and who was waiting for him in a foreign country. For the other it was a thing, not a person. This man was a scientist and had written a series of books which still needed to be finished. His work could not be done by anyone else, any more than another person could ever take the place of the father in his child’s affections.
This uniqueness and singleness which distinguishes each individual and gives a meaning to his existence has a bearing on creative work as much as it does on human love. When the impossibility of replacing a person is realized, it allows the responsibility which a man has for his existence and its continuance to appear in all its magnitude. A man who becomes conscious of the responsibility he bears toward a human being who affectionately waits for him, or to an unfinished work, will never be able to throw away his life. He knows the “why” for his existence, and will be able to bear almost any “how.”
If a person could be helped to find his purpose for living, there was a greater possibility of saving his life. We are all just trying to matter.
When I was attending the Community Wide Dialogue recently through the InterReligious Council, we talked about racism and oppression. One concept we explored was that of “allies”. The idea was that those of us who are not oppressed in certain circumstances can choose to stand, as allies, with those who are being oppressed. This not only makes us conscious of making a choice for justice, it also makes a statement to the oppressors that we actively disagree with their oppression. It also adds strength and encouragement to those who are being oppressed... it says to them: ‘we are one in our humanity; no one deserves to be treated inhumanely’. This, in itself, is a purpose for living- to stand with others as our neighbors. We are just trying to matter.
Last week I was listening to Dr. Wayne Dyer talking about Inspiration on the Public Broadcasting System’s fundraiser. I had been awake since about 3:00 that morning, so he got my attention when he asked the audience how many of them woke up between 3:00 and 4:00 a.m. on a regular basis. More than half of the audience raised their hands. Dr. Dyer said that he wakes up at 3:13 many mornings, and that the time between 3:00 and 4:00 is a very quiet time, and a good time for inspiration. He often gets up and writes then. He quoted the poet Rumi, saying: The morning breeze awakens you; don’t go back to sleep. As he expressed it, there is so much going on in our lives most of the time, that early in the morning is one of the few really quiet times. He pointed out that God, or the Great Spirit, may be talking with us all the time, but we usually aren’t quiet enough to listen. So, he recommended taking the time in the middle of the night to listen to the inspiration that’s there. He said that we often calculate how much sleep we’ve had, and worry that we aren’t getting enough.... (in my experience, worrying doesn’t help us get back to sleep)... Instead of worrying, we can meditate, and he said that 20 minutes of meditation is as rejuvenating as a full night’s sleep.
I had an opportunity to test that out a couple of nights later: after awakening at about 3:00 and lying in bed trying to get back to sleep for 20 minutes, I thought “I wonder if I am missing some significant inspiration” , and I got up to meditate and contemplate. After that, I couldn’t get back to sleep. I was tired the next day. I realized that for the 20 minutes of meditation to serve like a full night’s sleep, one has to go really deep into meditation. Like anything else, this takes practice- regular practice and commitment, and a certain passion and desire.
When I was studying in a meditation center in India, meditation was scheduled for 3:00 a.m. and chanting, or singing divine names, started at 4:00. I didn’t always get up for meditation, but I was usually at the 4:00 chant. It was very peaceful getting up in the dark, with the stars shining... the quiet still lying over the earth like a blanket. There is an inward pull at that time of the day, which, when honored, prepares one for the activity of the day ahead. Getting up early and performing spiritual practices before engaging in the hustle and bustle of the day frames the day in a different way than rolling out of bed and hurrying out the door to work. The way we begin our day affects the way we live our life. Do we rise with a purpose and a prayer of thanksgiving for a new day? Or do we grumble about our lot in life? We have a choice. We can just try to matter.
I was reading Kitchen Table Wisdom, a wonderful book of stories by Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen, and came across a piece called “How We See One Another”. In it she told stories of how people’s images of each other can influence the behavior of the one being perceived. Remen wrote about when she was a tall, pimply, clumsy adolescent, and a favorite older cousin used to take her to have lunch at the Russian Tea Room, a formal and lovely place in New York. Remen invariably fell down or spilled food on the front of her dress. Her cousin was very kind and uncritical, helping Remen through her difficulties. Years later, the two women got together and went to the Russian Tea Room again, now two tall and elegant grown women. But upon entering the Tea Room with her cousin, Remen found herself regressing: she spilled her wine on the white tablecloth, dribbled gravy down the front of her dress, and so on. Her cousin was gracious and helped her clean up the mess, unaware of her role in these happenings and the power of her private image of Remen, which she had never updated from that of a clumsy adolescent. Remen went on to point out that if we are open to the many possibilities in people, we encourage the growth of those possibilities. She cited Thoreau as saying (p. 231)
that we must awaken and stay awake not by mechanical means, but by a constant expectation of the dawn. There’s no need to demand the dawn, the dawn is simply a matter of time. And patience. And the dawn may look quite different from the story we tell ourselves about it. My experience has shown me the wisdom of remaining open to the possibility of growth in any and all circumstances, without ever knowing what shape that growth may take.

These stories of how our images and perceptions of others can affect them in dramatic ways, sometimes in matters of life and death, helped me to remember that what we think, as well as what we do, does make a difference. We may not save the world, but we can make a difference in people’s lives. Instead of getting caught up in our day-to-day lives, we can choose to remember that we are spiritual beings having human experiences, and that other people are, too. We can take refuge in spiritual practices as a way of remembering, regularly. And when we remember, we can treat others as the spiritual beings they are. This image of them may help to change their lives. After all, we are just trying to matter.
I remember studying Judo when I was in college. The first lesson was how to fall down in a way which would not be injurious. The assumption was that we would fall down, and we did. There was no shame in falling. It was just a practical matter of not getting hurt, but being able to get up and continue to play. The other great teaching I gleaned from Judo, which is true in the practice of all martial arts, and life in general, was the importance of learning to redirect energy. If our opponent came at us with force, we were not to resist that force directly, as that would require a lot of energy and strength and might lead to injury. Instead we learned to anticipate the force, welcome it, and draw it through it’s natural course of flow. In this way we could use the strength and energy of our opponent. Actually, anticipation is an important element in other games, too. In watching recent basketball games, I have been impressed with the anticipation that was involved in intercepting passes and stealing balls from players who were dribbling and shifting hands. Another thing about martial arts is the practice of bowing to one’s opponent at the beginning and end of a match. In basketball, too, players shake hands with the opposing team’s coach before the game, and shake hands with the opposing team’s players at the end of the game. This is a way of expressing the honor and esteem with which we approach our opponent, as another human being. It is also a recognition that without an opponent, we wouldn’t have a game.
I’ve been working on this sermon for a number of days, now. I woke up early one morning recently - 2:12 a.m. to be exact, and thought that I need to make sure I practice what I preach. Was I engaged enough in spiritual practices? How was I reacting to waking up in the middle of the night? Why was I anxious? So, I got up and did a contemplation exercise and meditated. The contemplation was fruitful, helping me to see things in new ways. The meditation was very deep and peaceful. I felt renewed. I am fortunate to have the opportunity to share with you, and to have the added motivation to remain true to myself and to our relationship. We all have that opportunity. Each of us can choose everyday, like June Carter, to just try to matter. And we will. May it be so.