Readings:
“We live in our partial knowledge as the Dutch live on land reclaimed from the sea. We dike and fill, dredging up soil from the bed of mystery and build ourselves room to grow. And still the mystery surrounds us. It laps at our shores. It permeates the land. Scratch the surface of knowledge and mystery bubbles up like a spring.” ~Chet Raymo, Honey from Stone

“Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books that are now written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke

“An answer can be a place where we can fall asleep as life moves past us to its next question. After all these years, I have begun to wonder if the secret of living well is not in having all the answers but in pursuing unanswerable questions in good company. ~ Rachel Naomi Remen

“I believe with a passionate, unshakeable conviction that life is a blessed gift; that the spirit which animates it is one of love, not hate or indifference, of light not darkness, of creativity not destruction; that when my eyes see no more and my mind thinks no more whatever lies beyond will be similarly benevolent. If it is nothing, than for nothingness I give thanks; if another mode of existence, with this old worn out husk of a body left behind like a butterfly extricating itself from its chrysalis and this muddled mind given a longer range and a new precision, then for that likewise I offer thanks.” ~Malcolm Muggeridge, Things Past

Romans 8: 24-26 – Now hope that is seen is not hope, for who hopes for what is seen? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Likewise the Spirit helps us, for when we do not know how to pray, that very Spirit intercedes for us in sighs too deep for words.

Sermon:
When I was invited to preach this morning and heard that this month’s worship theme was “Delicious Ambiguity,” I thought: Cool, I can come up with a sermon about Ambiguity. Then I started having strange dreams. In my first dream, I could see myself, standing up here preaching, doing rather well, I thought, sharing perceptive thoughts, until as I was waking up, trying to remember those perceptive thoughts, I realized that, in my dream, I had been speaking not about Ambiguity but rather about Audacity. A week later, another dream – same scenario: I’m up here, being engaging, even witty at times, and offering good insights. As I wake up, I realize that in this dream my sermon was about Ambivalence. So then I was concerned that my next dream would have me preaching about Antagonism. Luckily, that didn’t happen. Yet clearly I was feeling some anxiety about both the audacity and the ambivalence of trying to speak about ambiguity, and honestly it didn’t feel very delicious.

So I did what any English major would do: I Googled the definition of ambiguity. At first, that only made things worse, because what popped up were the words “vagueness” and “deceitfulness” and I thought “Really?” Then I saw the definition that made sense to me: ambiguity, the opposite of certainty. This morning I’m here, neither audacious nor ambivalent, but with both ambiguity and certainty.

In one of Garrison Keillor’s Prairie Home Companion episodes, Keillor tells about the Lutheran Church in Lake Wobegon as the congregation searches for a new minister. After a lot of discussions, they vote to look for a minister who would be different from the departing Pastor Ingquist because they were tired of hearing Pastor Ingquist’s favorite words: “on the one hand this and on the other hand that.” They did not want any more ambiguity. They wanted certainty. Fortunately, here at UCG, we expect that many things can be understood in more than one way, and our ministers often finish a strong point in their sermons by saying “And yet….
That’s what I want to reflect on this morning: on the one hand ambiguity and on the other hand certainty. I want to share how I see that polarity playing out in my own life and faith, plus some thoughts I have about how this may play out here at UCG, and how I, how we, may flow with the interplay between those two opposites, at times celebrating the openness of the ambiguous waves on the sea and at other times seeking the certainty of a known harbor.

I remember well my delight the first time I read these words of our UCG Compact: “to worship God, however known, and to welcome into our church those of differing understanding and theological opinion.” I was deeply touched by that promise of acceptance and inclusion that invited me into this spiritual community, just as I am. These words also invite us as individuals and as a community to embrace ambiguity. There is no dogma, no creed, no litmus test for membership in this church, other than a person’s willingness to accept this Compact.

However I know God or don’t know God – whatever words I use for the Holy or not – I am welcome here. This was such a liberating concept for me after my growing up years in a precise and scripted Lutheran theology, with its catechism of what was correct and what was not. I suspect these words of the Compact are what attracted many of us to UCG and are part of what we celebrate this month as we honor 50 years of UCG’s history.

What has become clearer to me over the years is that this inherent ambiguity in our Compact also lives in tension with its opposite, certainty. The third line of the Compact hints at that tension: “To learn from our religious heritage, AND YET to grow by seeking new dimensions of truth.” It asks me to discern what I glean from my past and at the same time to stay open to what is coming toward me in the present and the future. Like Pastor Ingquist’s favorite phrase, it is “on the one hand this, on the other hand that.”

It not only asks me to do that personally; it asks all of us to do that communally. And sometimes that can be a real stretch. Some of us have completely turned away from what we learned in our religious heritage. For some of us, that heritage was wounding or abusive. Some of us didn’t have a religious heritage to learn from or reject, and we may be curious or skeptical about the whole idea. Some of us honor parts of our religious heritage that remain meaningful and important to us, perhaps expressing them in new ways and forms, but still claiming that heritage. How do we respect and learn from the ambiguity of those multiple realities?

There is also tension around the second part of the phrase: to grow by seeking new dimensions of truth. It calls for our openness to growth, our openness to what is new, which often requires letting go of some degree of certainty. And quite often, I think, at UCG we are more certain about what we don’t believe about God and theology and religious heritage than we are certain about what we do believe. Plus, as we grow and change with new understandings of truth and belief and unbelief, how do we keep from infusing our new perspectives with such certainty that we are no longer open to other new possibilities?

The founders of this church fifty years ago dealt with this same tension: how to honor individual faith journeys both in their heritage and their new perspectives, and, at the same time, how to honor the journeys of one another in ways that we are all welcome and valued. As a UCG minister, I’ve heard and continue to hear the same questions from members of this church time after time, year after year:

As an atheist or an agnostic, am I welcome here,
is there space for me?
As a Jew, a Buddhist, a Hindu, a Muslim, am I welcome here,
is there room for me?
As someone who comes to this church with no previous religious
affiliation, am I welcome here?
As a Christian, am I welcome here,
is there space for me too?

These very questions are the heart of our mission and our vision as a church. Our purpose, I think is not to resolve these questions, once and for all, but instead our purpose is to live them. How can we, in the living of our Compact, in both its certainty and its ambiguity, how can we make that space, that room, for each and for all of us?

In response to that question, I am certain about one thing: the importance of openly acknowledging both the comfort and the discomfort that inevitably walk hand in hand when we hold in tension a delicious variety of however knowns, religious heritages, and new truths. I savor the ways I am comfortable, the ways I am touched and moved and invigorated at particular times in our church life and in worship. At the same time, I accept that there are going to be particular times in our church life and in worship when I am going to be uncomfortable. What those comfortable times are – and what those uncomfortable moments are – will not be the same for each of us. That’s a given. That is a certainty.
To live with the spiritual ambiguity that is UCG is to acknowledge again and again that we are a salad, not a stew. We can’t cook everything down to one kind of flavor that will please every person, every time. There is rarely going to be a worship experience in which every element touches every person in the same way, expressing each person’s beliefs or non-beliefs with exactly the same focus. Instead, some worship will feature beautiful tomatoes and spinach; some worship will draw upon funny artichokes, maybe in combination with quinoa; some worship will include a rare combination of avocados, iceberg lettuce and green olives with those little red pimentos in the middle.

The trust is that there is enough depth and richness in our communal life and worship that you and I feel valued, seen, touched and affirmed regularly enough to experience the grace of acceptance. In those moments when one part of that salad might not taste so good to me, I need to remember that it may be someone else’s delight, perhaps even the person sitting next to me. That’s what it means to welcome into our church those of differing understanding and theological opinion. That’s what it means to love one another with a commitment to our Compact. Hopefully, instead of walking away, I can use my moments of discomfort as an opportunity to learn more about myself: what I hold as my truth, my certainty, as well as where I am being called to a new awareness, ambiguous as it may seem at the time.

A momentary aside here: In our 50th Anniversary Celebration book, which is organized by chapters on each line of the Compact, among the 97 contributions from UCG folks, there are moving stories from fifteen UCG members about how they were welcomed into this church from very different religious and life paths. There are also personal testimonies from Shelly, Vince, Andy, Larry and me on what the “God, however known” part of the compact calls us as ministers to honor as we lead worship and write sermons. I invite and encourage you to read those sections as companion pieces to this sermon.

Ambiguity and certainty are the yin and yang of faith and of the spiritual journey: what I believe and what I wonder; what I know and what I question; what I hold onto and what I let go of; what is my foundation and what is my quest? They are the give and take of opposites, a two-step dance. Take away either step and it is no longer a dance, because one without the other becomes its own kind of fundamentalism. Together, ambiguity and certainty are like a figure 8 made of an elastic band, like an infinity sign of the ever-changing components of living through the seasons and transitions of our lives and of our spiritual journeys.

Personally, prayer is a place in my spiritual life where the tension between certainty and ambiguity are very clear. On the certainty side, I pray because I know it opens me to the creative energy and loving spirit that I call God, a spirit that is both within me and more than me. Prayer takes me to a place of acceptance, of healing, of grace, that helps me be more centered, more loving, more compassionate; prayer changes me.

AND YET – On the ambiguity side, I pray as well for others, praying to release that healing, that grace, like divine yeast, into the world. How does that work? I am not at all sure. Like Malcolm Muggeridge’s beautiful words about death that we heard earlier – with the certainty about benevolence and with the ambiguity about final results – I am certain that prayer matters, makes a difference, but I neither can explain nor predict the results. I can only say that there are those inexplicable moments, in the presence of prayer, when hope and healing come together and life is changed and renewed.

In our spiritual community, we need to make space for each other’s ambiguity and each other’s certainty. And, I believe, we also need to leave space within ourselves for both. Where I am certain, I need to reserve a bit of space so that I can recognize the possibility of some ambiguity. Where I am ambiguous, I need to reserve a bit of space so that I can recognize the possibility of some certainty. And that, my friends, that space is the space where mystery dwells. Mystery dwells in that small space between certainty and ambiguity: mystery, the unexplainable coming together of what seems impossible and happens anyway. Mystery: the unexplainable coming together of what seems impossible and happens anyway.

Such as the United Church of Gainesville.
Amen – may it be so.

I invite you now, as you are able, to let go for a few moments of both your certainty and your ambiguity, and simply allow yourself to be in this meditation, open to the mystery beyond the words. Please sit comfortably, feet on the floor, relaxing your neck and shoulders, and opening your hands.

Close your eyes for a moment.
Notice the silence.
Notice what you hear within the silence:
The random outside noise,
And the buzzing of your mind
That is slow to settle down
though you have stilled your restless hands.

Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Remember the wind that blew over the waters
When the world came into being.
Keep breathing. Take in a deep lungs-full
Breath of the Spirited air that flows within you
And carries you along.

Breathe.
Trust that the Spirit, searcher of hearts,
cherishes the love in you
and dances to the song of your mind,
Trust that the Spirit who cheers you
also hears the rough speech of your grief.

Believe that even the whisperings of your heart
are full of grace
And offer those whisperings for someone
emptied by hunger or pain.
Let your compassion overflow
Like sweet anointing oil.
Let it rise up in fragrance
To the One who raises and forgives.

And may the Spirit who sighs for you in silence,
Who sings and weeps with you,
Who fashions you with heart and mind and voice,
Help you to rejoice and lead you in a life that is a ceaseless prayer.
Blessed Be. Amen.

~Adapted from Rachel Srubas’s “Charge and Benediction”