Writing in the Book of Life ©
Reverend Janet Parsons
September 29, 2019
It’s hard to deny these past few days: the leaves on the trees are beginning to turn. This past week we’ve been savoring the lingering warmth of late summer, well, early fall, really, and being lulled into a sense that the season isn’t changing. But of course the evidence is becoming daily more obvious: reds and golds are emerging, and grasses are looking dry and brown.
This evening at sundown the Jewish observance of Rosh Hashanah begins. This is often referred to as the Jewish New Year. The tradition teaches that this time was regarded as the beginning of the world.
Celebrating a new year during autumn has always made sense to me. Even though our eyes tell us that the cold and seemingly dead part of the year is approaching, so much of our lives include new beginnings now. School begins, with new clothes, new books and pens and backpacks. The church year begins. We gain new energy, as we begin to shake off the lethargy that heat and humidity can cause in us. Perhaps we resume exercising, or cooking, or take up new art projects. Food is freshly harvested – new apples and squash and potatoes are being stored now for the colder months.
For Jews, celebrating a new year now offers a response to the approach and the finality of death –a choice, a conscious decision to turn toward living and to not be preoccupied with death. Life is good and beautiful, and has purpose and meaning. And so, to respect the goodness of life, the sweetness and value of life, Jews pause now to review their own lives over the past year, to see whether the way they are living honors the value and meaning of life.
Tonight, in temples, the shofar will be sounded to signify that the Book of Life is opening. In a cosmic sense, a trial is beginning, and Jews will ask themselves over the next 10 days, these Days of Awe before Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, whether their lives contribute to the balance of goodness in the world, or do their lives detract from goodness. The Book of Life remains open for the 10 days, until the conclusion of Yom Kippur. Some people, who are leading completely blameless lives, are written into the Book of Life immediately. The rest of us, whose lives are a constant blending of mistakes and kindnesses, do not have our names written until the end, to give us an opportunity to turn our ways, to make amends, to seek or to offer forgiveness.
It’s a sharp contrast with the secular New Year’s Day, January 1, when of course we traditionally decide to make a New Year’s resolution. These resolutions are often completely self-centered, and often focus on addressing a somewhat superficial part of our lives, such as losing weight or going to the gym. Perhaps people resolve to stop drinking, or to quit smoking. And as important as such resolutions are, they are so often focused on our health and behavior and appearance, not on our spiritual lives or our relationships with others.
“Let’s set it all down, you and me.
The disappointments, little and large.
The frustrations.
Let’s open our fists and drop them.” (Mark Belletini, “A Kol Nidrei,” in Sonata for Voice and Silence, Skinner House Books, 2008. P. 22.)
Our spiritual theme this month has been Expectations. As I have gotten older I have come to believe, more and more, that our expectations of ourselves and of each other cause the most problems in our human lives and relationships. Remember the story I told a couple of weeks ago, when a person caught in a flood expected God to rescue him using some sort of unspecified, divine means, and forgot to notice the lifeboat, the lifejacket, and the helicopter? Our lives can play out like that in daily disappointments. We expect our partner to notice that we’re out of toilet paper. They, on the other hand, expected us to take the time to put gas in the car. Much of our expectations of our relationships boil down to expecting other people to read our minds. To notice that we’re upset or angry. To know why we’re upset; to guess right. And we let each other down over and over again, expecting too much from one another.
We can also expect too much from ourselves. Perhaps we think that we should never be angry. Perhaps we feel betrayed by our bodies when we get sick, or are injured in some sort of accident. Our mistakes can horrify us, to the point that we feel such shame that we can’t accept what happened, or admit it to anyone. I am suddenly remembering a very stressful time in my life years ago when I ran a red light. I was lucky. The oncoming driver stopped in time and I never noticed until they blasted the horn and I found myself in the middle of the intersection. I felt incredibly lucky, and incredibly ashamed. It was hard to accept that I had made such a mistake. You are the first people I’ve told.
And of course we humans are capable of so much worse than mistakes of inattention. We exploit natural resources for personal wealth. We steal. We say hurtful things and bully one another. We can physically hurt each other as well. Sometimes we simply fail to respond when we see a need.
We Unitarian Universalists are often uncomfortable with the word ‘sin’. Back in the 19th century Unitarians emphasized the possibility that humans could become more like the divine; that we had the never-ending capacity to improve ourselves and our world. One of our most common affirmations ended with this celebratory phrase “The Progress of Mankind, onward and upward, forever.” (James Freeman Clarke, The Five Points of the New Theology, 1885.) And of course, there is truth in that – we are capable of improving ourselves. But the phrase implies that there is only one direction – upward. Heavenward. Over time we forgot to acknowledge the dark side of our human natures, and what cruelty we could be capable of. The Second World War forced many people to confront sin and evil. Today, we can see examples of people treating others inhumanely practically every time we go online or turn on our televisions. We know this is happening. But our dislike of the concept of sin, of the word itself, remains.
I remember, growing up, my Catholic friends telling me that sins were actions that left black marks on our souls. You had to take care that your soul didn’t become completely black. I never accepted that, and I doubt many of you do either. But the Jewish definition of sin is something that we can carry with us as we navigate our lives. They say that to sin means to ‘miss the mark’. Another way to think of sin is as a missed connection. Think of sin as missing a chance to reach out and strengthen a relationship, or missing a chance to do something kind.
If we define sin in those ways, then it’s inevitable that we come before the judge on Rosh Hashanah with mistakes that we’d like to atone for, that we’d like to get cleared up so that we can be written into the Book of Life. Perhaps you have a couple on the index cards you have with you. I invite you to take those home with you and think about them for the next few days. Is action needed? Can you turn toward forgiveness, toward reconciliation?
The central spiritual practice of the Days of Awe, the 10 days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, is that of Teshuvah, or turning, or repentance. People are asked first of all, to awaken from the day to day. The blowing of the shofar symbolizes the call to awaken. I think again of my close call in the car so many years ago – the blast from another car’s horn snapped me out of my preoccupation and brought me into the perilous present. So too, the shofar. The great Jewish scholar Maimonides interpreted the shofar’s meaning this way: “Wake up from your deep sleep, you who are fast asleep, search your deeds and repent; remember your Creator…examine your souls, mend your ways and deeds. Let everyone give up his evil ways and bad purposes.” (quoted in The Jewish Way, Rabbi Irving Greenberg, Touchstone, 1988, p. 196.)
The wheel of the year, the repetition from one year to the next, can lull us into not paying attention, not fully engaging with our lives. We expect the weather to change with the seasons, and for our activities to change as well. We can mindlessly move from spring to summer to fall, changing our clothes without thinking deeply about our lives. How do we find a way to pause, to notice, to awaken to what might need attention? Our religious practices do not offer us this opportunity for turning, for Teshuva, repentance. But of course, we draw from Jewish teaching as one of the sources of our Unitarian Universalist living tradition, and it has much to offer.
Teshuva, or turning, is said to be a process, not a single act. Rabbi Irving Greenberg notes that “for most people, transformation takes time and occurs gradually…the ten days beginning with Rosh Hashanah and ending with Yom Kippur were now perceived as an integral unit, the Ten Days of Repentance, a period in which individuals concentrated on self-criticism and self-correction.” (ibid., p. 203.) Rabbi Greenberg returns to Maimonides to describe the three main elements in achieving teshuva, or turning. These are first, Regret – to admit the wrongful behavior without trying to justify it; then second, Rejection – to stop doing the wrong thing. Actions are more important than intentions. And the third element is Resolution – a strong will to never do the wrongful action again.
Regret, rejection, and resolution – the keys to turn to a new way of life.
Done properly, this is truly very hard work. Admitting our mistakes to ourselves is hard enough. Changing bad habits we all know is extremely difficult – interrupting old patterns, learning to let go of our expectations that have damaged relationships, learning to accept our own flaws as well as those of our loved ones. Truly this is lifelong work. We will never be finished. But if we can return to this practice, over and over, we can make progress. We can learn compassion for ourselves and for others. A few months ago a driver ran a stop sign and just barely missed me. I think I lead a charmed life. But as shaken as I was by the close call, I could remember how distracted people can be, and how perhaps the other driver was confronting something terribly difficult in that moment. I was frightened, but I wasn’t really angry.
As human beings, we will always be driven by our expectations, often unreasonable, and we will never eliminate our flaws. But with regular practice we can lessen the shame and the regret that can freeze us and keep us from admitting our mistakes and asking for forgiveness. It takes practice. But in turning toward repentance we are in a way turning toward the service of life and health and growth. We are no longer frozen in shame, or in anger; no longer stuck in the past, refusing to admit a mistake or to forgive another. We are serving life, renewing ourselves and our relationships, renewing and nurturing life itself. Rosh Hashanah asks us to turn toward life, and to serve it.
Rabbi Greenberg tells us to turn, saying, “Leave evil totally. Don’t dwell on it, but do good. Grow away from guilt. Overcome it with new goodness in new life.” (ibid., p. 204.)
My friends, as the season turns, may you set it all down, open your fists and let it all go. May you turn toward life in all that you do. In turning, turning, may you come round right. May you be written and sealed for a good year.
Blessed be.
Amen.
