Opening words while Linda lights the chalice

From Martin Luther King, Jr. “Love must be our regulating ideal. . . . When I speak of love I am not speaking of some sentimental and weak response. I am speaking of that force which all the great religions have seen as the supreme unifying principle of life.” . . . “Never forget that God is able to lift you from the fatigue of despair to the buoyancy of hope, and transform dark and desolate valleys into sunlit paths of inner peace.” For today, may we understand the word god to be synonymous with the word love.

Unison words
Song #401  Kum Ba Yah  (African American spiritual)
Not for Children Only --
Song #188    Come, Come Whoever You Are
Meditation
Joys and Sorrows
Offering

Martin Luther King, Jr. reminds us that “ . . . hope for creative living . . . lies in our ability to reestablish the moral ends of our lives in personal character and social justice. . . . Love must be our regulating ideal.“ Today the topic is playing small. What might it have to do with Martin Luther King, Jr.? Playing small is a psychological thing, a self-improvement thing, no? No. Our emotional being, our psychological being, have implications for our moral being in the world. Our emotional health has implications for the well-being of our whole society. What integrates our inner worlds and our outer worlds is the embracing of those ideals that are larger than us, that hold us together in peace. Thus King’s statement that if we are to reestablish the moral ends of our lives in personal character and if that is to lead us to live for social justice, then love, which he calls the supreme unifier, must be the regulating ideal. If so, it follows that we cannot play ourselves small. Nor can we play ourselves large. We cannot become entrenched in both, or either, so that playing small and/or large becomes our entire worldview because this interferes with love and it interferes with the moral ends of our lives, not to mention our happiness.

One of my careers before ministry was photography. I produced portfolios for other artists of their work and I exhibited my own in art galleries, museums and in various art shows. I got some good notice in the New York press and even won some awards. I liked the art shows, especially the outdoor ones, where I would sit in a lawn chair and watch the world go by, chatting with strangers, receiving their compliments, and spending whatever money I earned in buying up the work of other artists. It was not all pleasure, though. People strolled by, glanced at my photographs and made snide comments. I remember one (particularly brilliant) photo of a fire escape, which highlighted the patterns and colors hidden in an ordinary structure, and somebody stopped in front of it, looked at his/her companion, and scoffed, “It’s a fire escape.” as if that somehow made the photo unworthy. Or the people invariably looking for bargains. They like your work, they consider buying something. They ask you the price and as you tell them a horrified look comes across their face. They would never pay that for a photograph.

How does one put a value on one’s work, and by extension, on onesself? Some of us play ourselves small. Oh, you can have that 11x14” framed photograph for $40. Too much? Will you pay $10 for it? Some of us play ourselves large. You can have that photo for $100. What? You offer me $75? No. How does one put a value on one’s work? My experience with photography translates into many aspects of life. Do we base value on a comparison with others? Many CEO’s receive bonuses in the millions, so that’s what I’ll expect. Do we rely on the opinion of others, informed or uninformed, subjective or objective? People think I’m beautiful, popular, charismatic, so I’m worth more. Do we rely on the amount of money we can get, the so-called market value? Why do tickets for a U-2 concert sell for $1000? Do we really get to the value by such comparisons? Is value only relative? On the other hand, can we really get to a sense of value by solely referring to ourselves? Am I the only one to determine my value? And how does the sense of our own value influence our moral compass, the goodness of our characters and the actions and choices that flow from our characters?

Our exploration today, then, is twofold. First, how do we decide what to tell the world about our own value? Second, what is the relationship between whatever we determine our value to be and love, and justice?

Many of us play ourselves small. We undervalue ourselves. Perhaps we have learned that pride is one of the seven deadly sins, or unbecoming or immodest in some way, and so we will not or cannot express pride. We can’t even accept a compliment without deflecting it. Thank you for your help. You listened to me, you understood my problem and your questions helped me think it through. And we answer, “Oh, I didn’t really do anything.” Or Wow! That was a great meal. And we answer, “Oh, I’m not a very good cook.” Really? Sometimes playing small masks a fear, or a lack of acceptance, of our own imperfection. Ten people speak to you about your work. Nine of them say something favorable. One does not. Which do you take to heart? Sometimes playing small serves as a way to hide. If we undervalue ourselves, then we won’t have to hear other people doing it. I want to charge $50 for that photography of the fire escape, but I only ask $25 because I’m afraid that no one will pay $50. Sometimes we play small because we don’t think we deserve any better. Why else would that hair coloring commercial have been so on the mark? “I use l’Oreal because I’m worth it.” Sometimes playing small lets us off the hook. What difference do I make? My efforts to help Haitians mean nothing; they change nothing. No one can prove that my prayers, my money, have any effect. I don’t have to do anything then.

Playing small can serve a variety of purposes. It can be a sign of our own unwillingness or inability to stretch ourselves and grow. To take a risk. It keeps us in a certain comfort zone. Playing small can reflect a lack of confidence, a fear of disappointing others, a demand for perfection that judges what we do as not good enough, a shame that causes us to think our very selves not good enough. Playing small separates us from ourselves, from who we are and from who we might become. It keeps us stuck in a place too little. It binds and constricts us. And when we think we’re not good enough, we can tend to think that no one else is good enough either. Such a way of thinking, of believing, has all sorts of ethical implications. Playing small can lead us to forget our best selves and to act in hurtful and damaging ways. When we’re in pain we can say and do painful things to one another. I think many of us know that. Playing small can interfere with the love we need to have for ourselves. And the love we need to feel for each other.

Playing large lies on the other side of the coin that contains playing small, seemingly its opposite. They are not really opposites, though, as much as different responses to the same issues. Many of us overvalue ourselves. We play large. Perhaps we consider it a sign of weakness to show modesty or humility and a sign of strength to have pride in ourselves. Sometimes playing large masks a fear about our own competence and we try to make up for it with a facade of more knowledge than everyone else, greater skill. When we play large we’re always measuring ourselves against others, competing. I’m smarter than you. I play sports better than you. I make more money than you. I have more friends than you do. I’m the one to come to if you want it done right. Perhaps playing large is a demand for perfection because we cannot allow ourselves to be less than perfect. Sometimes playing large serves as a way to hide. We fear our own vulnerability and so cover it up. If I don’t make myself indispensable, no one will need me at all. Sometimes playing large comes from a desire to please and not disappoint. Sometimes it comes from a desire to save. Sometimes we believe we have to take responsibility for everyone’s welfare. Our culture, with its Lone Rangers and superheroes feeds this. The film Avatar, with its hero joining the indigenous people and leading them to defeat the evil capitalists from his home planet is but the latest incarnation. Without him to save them, what would have become of the Na’vi? Sometimes we play large out of a sense of entitlement or even superiority. Think of some of our elected representatives in Albany. Sometimes playing large comes in the disguise of playing small. Think of Scarlet O’Hara in Gone With the Wind, sitting there surrounded by suitors, smiling coyly behind her fan, wondering aloud what all those fine young men could possibly see in her.

Playing large serves the same variety of purposes as playing small. It can be a sign of our own unwillingness or inability to stretch ourselves and grow. To take a risk. It keeps us in a certain comfort zone. Playing large can reflect a lack of confidence, a fear of disappointing others, a demand for perfection that mercilessly drives us, a guilt that punishes every score less than 100%. Playing large separates us from ourselves, from who we are and from who we might become. It keeps us stuck in a place too big, which, despite its size, binds and constricts us. And when we think we must be better than everyone else, we can tend to think that everyone else must be less than us. Such a way of thinking, of believing, has all sorts of ethical implications. Playing large can lead us to forget our best selves and to act in hurtful and damaging ways. We can diminish and objectify people and justify almost any behavior. I think many of us know that. Playing large can interfere with the love we need to have for ourselves. And the love we need to feel for each other.

There are many reasons and motivations that lead us to play ourselves small. And to play ourselves large. Most of us have the capacity to do either, or both, given the circumstances. We do not have to judge ourselves for this, rather we have to recognize it. I can play myself small. I remember twenty years ago when I went to my first meeting of ministers. I felt so intimidated to be among these experienced, articulate, confident people. Time went by and I felt increasingly comfortable and currently quite close to many of my fellow ministers. But all the same, last spring when my colleagues honored me by asking me to present my odyssey at our annual meeting, I was afraid that no one would come to hear me. Genuinely. As if my story didn’t matter. I can play myself large too. Last summer and fall, when my Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh was on tour in the US, I coordinated information stations at two retreats. Many people stopped by to ask about Buddhism and pretty soon I was feeling like the expert, dispensing pearls of Buddhist wisdom. Except that I’m not.

What are our reasons for making ourselves smaller than we are? For making ourselves larger? Do playing small and playing large help us? Do they bring more happiness and peace into our lives? Do they enable us to live our highest ideals and ethics?

If not, what needs to change? It has to do with bringing ourselves to the table with a minimum of comparison, a minimum of inferiority, a minimum of superiority. It’s not even about feeling equal as much as about simply showing up with all that we are at any given moment. I used to take my dog Evie to a play group. (Yes, it’s true.) Dog Love. Emily, the owner, would assemble six or so dogs in a fenced in play area with open space, toys, water, even a pool in the hot weather. And she would stand back and watch them. Now at the risk of anthropomorphizing dog behavior, it always looked to me that the dogs simply showed up. They didn’t seem to be comparing themselves to one another, like “Oh, that retriever has better hair than me,” or “That terrier barks louder, runs faster, has more intelligence, etc.” They just jockeyed around, exploring each other and figured out their place in the group without it being a question of their self-worth as dogs. Humans do this too, on occasion. When we have experienced belonging and acceptance, both internal and external, we know how wonderful and powerful it can be. I think this is the meaning of our first Unitarian Universalist principle, in which we state that we honor and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person. Inherent worth, not earned worth. We have inborn value, not because we’re better or less than anyone else. Nor, in many respects, because we are equal. People are not equal in the sense that we are the same. We do not all have the same abilities, the same strengths, the same growing edges.

So how do we arrive at a sense of our own worth that is not too little and not too much? That just allows us to be ourselves with a suitable balance of humility and pride? That takes into account our own internal sense of ourselves, as well as the responsive feedback we receive from the world? That allows me to tell my story with confidence that others want to hear it. That allows me to teach about Buddhism and make space for others to teach about it too. As Martin Luther King, Jr. says, love, the principal unifying factor in the universe, must be the regulating ideal. Love gives us a vision that contains a both/and rather than an either/or because love is that which connects us and allows us to experience the connection.

Let us open ourselves to connection. Let us recognize that all of us know, have known, in one way or another, a fear of our own incompetence, a sense of our own superiority, a confusion about how to change something that does not work for us, a fierce desire for perfection, and a sense that we are alone in all of this. Let us know that we are not alone. All of our lives contain factors that lead us to play ourselves small and/or large. We are connected in that.

Let our vision gaze first with compassion, generosity, honesty, kindness, and courage and second with comparison. When we do compare ourselves to others, when we do measure ourselves against others, as we invariably will, may we not fear to name our areas of vulnerability, of self-doubt. May we not fear to name our areas of excellence. May we let go of our drive for perfection. May we welcome curiosity regarding our evolving selves. May we practice appreciation toward ourselves and toward other people. May there be room in our lives for the acknowledgement of mistakes and the savoring of jobs well done, both our own and others’. May we look upon ourselves and others with the eyes of love, of connection. For when we do, we will see ourselves and others more clearly; we will understand one another better. We will accept ourselves and others more fully. We will have less and less of a need to play small or play large. Instead we will move ever closer, ever closer, toward a sustained living of all the goodness within us. And the goodness within will reflect outward and we will indeed “reestablish the moral ends of our lives in personal character and social justice.” May it be so.

Song #86  Blessed Spirit of My Life

Closing words by Ken Collier (UU minister)    
The Center of the Universe (in Our Seven Principles in Story and Verse)