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“And the Walls Will Come Tumbling Down”
The Rev. Jan Christian
Unitarian Universalist Church of Ventura
June 11, 2006
On April 30th, I was driving home from District Assembly with my friend and colleague, the Rev. Anne Hines. We were about 25 miles out of Las Vegas when traffic slowed. We could see that a number of cars had pulled over and we soon saw why. There was a small boy lying on the side of the road. He wasn’t moving. We then saw the van on its side about 50 feet away. We pulled over. Many others had stopped. We had purposely left a little early to beat the rush out of Vegas as well as the late Sunday afternoon traffic in the LA area. I don’t have medical training. Neither does Anne. What could we do? We got out.
Some people were still in the van. I soon turned my attention to a young boy who had come out of the back of the van. I later learned that this was Peter. He was 10. He was drenched in blood from head to foot. I had never seen so much blood and I did a chaplaincy that involved time in Arizona’s busiest trauma room. I tried to get him to lie down. He resisted. “My sister is dead” he said. I hoped he was wrong. He wasn’t. His 12 year old sister, Luvia, had died in the accident. She was still in the van and later someone placed a dress over her body which mostly covered her. It was probably a dress that had been hanging in the van to keep it nice for a special occasion.
It was midday and about 90 degrees. It was over 20 minutes or more before the California Highway Patrol arrived and later still when the emergency medical team arrived. But others stopped: two family practice physicians, some nurses, an ER doc and his former
EMT wife. Folks stopped and handed over blankets, a flat of bottled water, umbrellas to be used to shield people from the sun. One young woman was glad to be given a bag and asked to gather the family’s belongings which were strewn all over the side of the road. We were joined in a common task.
For the next ninety minutes, Anne and I did what we could to just be there with Maria, the mother, 15 year old Heidi, and Peter as paramedics and volunteers assisted them and 4 year old, Danny, who had a skull fracture.
When the family was evacuated, three by helicopter and one by ground, the only volunteers left were the ER doc and former EMT couple, Anne and me. We sat side by side on the side of the road.
The days after I returned, I kept checking the Las Vegas Review Journal obituaries to see if Danny had made it. The images kept coming back to me. I couldn’t shake it. But here’s a greater truth. There was something I didn’t want to shake. In moments like that, all the social constructs that separate “us” from “them” fall away. Age, race, religion, class, culture, gender, education. Those things mean nothing. We are one. We understand that we share a common humanity that trumps all of those false boundaries. We are joining with others in a struggle. We do what we think we cannot do. Our own preferences and petty concerns fall away. We are part of something greater.
There are connections made in those moments that are true and strong and beyond explanation. Perhaps it is more accurate to say that the connections that are always there are simply revealed in those moments and we get to glimpse how things really are.
Some of the most gratifying and transcendent moments for me have been those times when I have connected with folks NOT like me. When, in spite of our obvious differences, we have found our common humanity. When I have seen their preconceived notions about me come tumbling down and when my notions about them have come tumbling down as well. Some of life’s most gratifying and transcendent moments are when I join with others, whoever they are, however like or unlike me they are, in a common purpose, in something bigger than any one of us.
When we see ourselves or whatever relationship we are in or whatever group we are in as self-contained or as the final purpose, we are missing the key. Until we find a greater purpose, a common endeavor that promotes a greater good, we are not what we can be and must be. Individuals, couples, families, congregations, communities, nations miss this all the time. The thing that can most strengthen the smaller unit is to find a bigger purpose. In those moments in which we lose ourselves, we find ourselves.
That family and those other volunteers needed me. And I needed them. An hour or two later, Anne and I stopped for a drink at a fast food restaurant. It was filled with families who seemed to have this be part of their Sunday afternoon routine. I looked at them in a new way. I know you, I thought, and I’m glad we are here together and not by the side of the road. Perhaps my look conveyed the truth of what I was feeling: We belong to one another. A teenage boy and I exchanged smiles. Here in the heart is where the first wall must come down.
I invite each of you to think of a way to bring down the walls in your own hearts. At our formal community ingathering on September 10, I invite you to bring an object and a brief story or even a few sentences in writing that speaks to an experience with this over the summer. You will be invited to submit your stories in writing before the service if you wish.
But it cannot stop there. I find that our congregations are much better at creating the conditions for personal transformation and empowering individual social justice work than in finding ways to use our collective power for social transformation. There are times when we seem to be on the same path but in different cars.
Unless we find some things that connect us all and that we can work on together, we are, I believe, betraying the power of the gathered community and the promise of liberal religion. There will always be activities that draw some and not others. There will always be differences of opinion and style and motivation. There will always be a variety of gifts we bring. Our task is to find some meaningful ways to have our diversity serve us and the common good. Our task is to show the world that we need not think alike to work together.
I challenge us to find one thing in the next church year that captures our minds, our bodies and our hearts. One thing that we do together not because it is the one thing that we think we should all be doing but because it is something we are all doing together and that makes it worth everything. One thing that each of us, whatever our age, whatever our financial resources, whatever our time and talents, will find a way to be part of. One thing that no matter what it is called, we support. One thing that no matter who is involved, we give ourselves to it. Just one thing. One thing that is not my thing or your thing. One thing that is ours. And it will be wonderful and beautiful not just because of what it is and what we can do together but because it is our thing.
And I challenge us to be able to talk about this as tied to our group identity and who we are together. This last year, many of us spent time on four questions suggested by Wayne Muller in his book How Then Shall We Live? Who am I? What do I love? Knowing I will die, how shall I live? What is my gift to the family of the earth?
May our coming focus be more on the collective and the community. Who are we? What is our group identity? What does it mean to be Unitarian Universalists? Knowing we shall die, how shall we live to inspire future generations? What is our gift to our tradition? What is the gift of Unitarian Universalism? What do we and our tradition have to offer in this moment of history to mend the brokenness and bend the arc toward justice? How might we learn to talk about this community and our liberal faith without feeling embarrassed or being afraid we are proselytizing?
My religion and what has happened to me in the context of our movement is what allowed me to get out of the car and to have my presence matter. It is what taught me that there is great value in simply entering into the struggle and bringing a non-anxious presence to the struggle. It is where I learned that you don’t have to be a medical doctor to help bind up the broken. So when the ER doc thanked me for my help and asked me what my medical training was, I could answer, “I have no medical training.” And then I could add, “I am a Unitarian Universalist minister” And he could look at me and at what surrounded us and say, “That’s probably even better here today.”
It is my religion that helped me make meaning out of what I experienced. It is my religion that sustained me and will sustain me through life’s many and varied struggles. The core of my faith is: Each of us matters. How we are while we are here matters. We are more than one act in our lives. We are worthy and deserving of love. We are connected to all life and to all of creation. Every moment presents new possibilities. We need not think alike to love alike. Why would I make that a secret? Could it be that others might need what I need? Could it be that others might never know about it unless I tell them?
Many of us come here for community as if that was an end product. Community is best when it is not just seen as an end product but as a by-product. It is created by entering into a common struggle that honors the common good. It is created by working together to mend our own brokenness, to promote a vision of the hidden wholeness in all things, to enter into a struggle that began before we did and will continue on after we are gone.
There is real work we cannot do alone that we can do together. But it is not for that reason alone that we must find our common ground and purpose. Only by working together for something greater, whatever the work, will we build capacity, relationships, wisdom, experience, knowledge, skills, and confidence.
In your relationship with another, find a greater purpose. In your family, find a greater purpose. In this congregation, let us find our greater purpose. What we do is not as important as how we do it and that we do it together. Let us not fall into a trap of taking forever to decide on one thing. Let’s do one thing.
Just one thing. Just one thing together. And the walls will come tumbling down.
Please note that sermons are spoken, not written. The actual sermon was based on this manuscript which was written with that in mind. All rights reserved. Please contact the Rev. Jan Christian for permission to copy.
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