Tiger Woods and the Beer Cart Girl

Timothy B. Tutt

Pastor, United Christian Church

July 11, 2010

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Sermon

Some of you have looked at my sermon title in the bulletin and you think you know where I’m headed with this sermon, “Tiger Woods and the Beer Cart Girl.” Given the Sports news the past few months about Tiger and his off-the-course behavior, you assume you know what I might say this morning. After all, the bulletin also says I’m the pastor of a Christian Church and you know how those Christians are about sex. All I have to say is, “You dirty-minded Unitarians.” I’m not going to talk about sex at all.

But I do want to tell you a story about Tiger Woods and the beer cart girl. First, I may need to explain to you non-golfers – and I’m not much of golfer myself – about beer cart girls. Many golf courses hire young, attractive women to drive around the course selling beer from a golf cart. I know that’s sexist. And I know that’s exploiting women. I didn’t invent the practice; I’m just reporting it. I can also say I’ve never heard of a beer cart boy, but as I tell this story, if you would like to change the gender of my character you are welcome to do that. As I said, beer cart girls are mostly hired for their looks, their charm, and they’re ability to sell cold beverages to hot golfers. So, let’s take an imaginary trip to the links. Tiger Woods is the world’s greatest golfer. He’s won 95 professional tournaments, 4 Masters, 4 PGA Championships, 23 U.S. Opens. He’s the first golfer ever to hold all four professional major championship titles at the same time.

But recently, Tiger has slumped a bit. That happens, I suppose, when your spouse finds out you’re cheating and beats you with a golf club. And the tawdry affairs of your sex life are national news.

So, Tiger goes out to a course to brush up a bit. He needs to get his groove back. So, he goes to a course to practice. Something is just not right. His drives are short, his chips aren’t so chipper, his puts peter out. There he stands, the champion, defeated and frustrated, when up drives the beer cart girl. Now, as I said, beer cart girls aren’t hired for their golfing skills. They’re hired to sell beer with a smile and a laugh. But let’s say this beer cart girls drives up, hops off the cart and says, “Hey, Tiger, if you turn your front foot in just a bit, choke up a quarter-inch on your grip, and drop your back shoulder just a hair, your drive will be straighter. I’ve been thinking,” says the beer cart girl, “and maybe you should switch from a nine-iron to a seven-iron on the fairway.”

Imagine Tiger Woods, the youngest golfer ever to complete the Grand Slam … Tiger Woods, who was golfing on the Tonight Show when he was three … imagine Tiger Woods, the youngest Masters’ champion ever … getting golf advice from the beer cart girl.

Tiger Woods has won 111 Million dollars playing golf. Imagine him getting golfing advice from the beer cart girl, who works for tips. Imagine him saying to the ESPN reporters, “My game is picking up because I got some really great advice from the beer cart girl.” Some off you may remember back to the 1980 Presidential Debate when Jimmy Carter was asked a question about nuclear weapons, and he began his answer by saying, “I was talkin’ to mah daughta Amy the otha day…” Commentators just howled. Imagine the President of the United States getting advice on nuclear weapons from his ten year-old daughter.

That’s not how the world works, right?

Golf pros don’t get advice from beer cart girls. Presidents don’t get advice from fourth graders.

We have a sense of who is right and who is powerful and who is in charge and who is important. We listen to those people, right?

Let me tell you another story. This story is from the Hebrew scriptures. It’s from the Book of Kings, the portion that Christians call Second Kings.

(Parenthetically, let me say that I grew up a Southern Baptist in East Texas. And in the tradition of my growing up, this is where the preacher would pause to say, “Turn with me in your Bible to the Book of Second Kings.” My hunch is that the likelihood of Unitarian Universalist having a Bible at church is about as likely as Tiger Woods getting golf advice from the beer cart girl. Nonetheless, if you’d like to follow along on your Blackberry or IPhone, please log on to Second Kings, Chapter 5…)

In Second Kings Chapter 5, we meet a man named Naaman. Naaman was a general in the Aramean army. The Arameans were the vicious enemies of the Israelites. The Book of Second Kings says that Naaman was “a mighty warrior,” but he suffered from leprosy.

Now, along the way, the Arameans, on one of their raids, had captured a young girl captive from Israel. This girl was a salve to General Naaman’s wife And one day, this young slave girl said to Mrs. Naaman – the writer of Second Kings tells it in such poetic language – the young slave girl says, to Naaman’s wife: “If only my lord were with the prophet who is in Samaria! The prophet would cure him of his leprosy.”

To condense the story a bit. Naaman decides to take the slave girl’s advice. Naaman goes to Israel, takes a wagon-full of money with him from the king of the ArameansÑafter all, when you’re hoping to get a cure from your enemies, imagine what a little bribe can do.

So Naaman, the Aramean general with leprosy, goes to find the Jewish prophet Elisha.

There are a multitude of angles we could explore in this text: There’s the issue of bribery in military campaigns. Seems like some things never change. There’s the issue of suddenly discovering that your enemies may have the cure you need. Heck, we could even wander off into a discussion of leprosy in the ancient Middle EastÑbut we haven’t had lunch yet, so maybe we should save that.

The issue I would like for you to ponder for bit is this: Naaman – the great general, the mighty warrior, the conqueror of nations – following the advice of the slave girl, a prisoner, a child, a nobody. Naaman was the Aramean version of George Washington or Dwight Eisenhower or David Petraeus. He was a “somebody.” He was in the news, he had his name carved on stone tablets. The slave girl? We don’t even know her name. She was a nobody. And she was triply cursed – a female, young, and a slave – in a day and age that gave few rights to any of the three.

But the writer of the Book of Kings says that Naaman loaded up the caravan and headed off to find Elisha, following the advice of the slave girl.

What if the world were really like that?

What if we paid attention to the nobodies? Or even better, what if the nobodies were suddenly in charge?

I just returned from a week in Ecuador. A group of people from our congregation and from Wildflower UU, along with some folks from the UU Fellowship traveled to Ecuador together for a mission project, a service project.

We worked at a church in the village of Cachimuel, a community of Kichwa Indians, nestled on a steep slope of the Andean foothills. The people of Cachimuel, the Native Americans, are fairly poor people by our standards. Their village has only had running water for 12 years. I saw one tractor and two cars in the entire village. They use outhouses. Pigs and cows and donkeys and sheep wander around in the streets. I didn’t see a child with a single DSI or Xbox or Gameboy. Their clothes were often grimy.

But you know what? They invited us into their homes and served us coffee and tea. This weathered Kichwa woman welcomed us into a room where she was kneeling on the floor and beating reeds flat with a rock and making mats. And she gave me one, because she is a generous.

She was hammering reed mats with a rock, and she gave me one: Because she is generous. Me? I’m neither that hard-working nor that generous, I’m afraid. Another woman was squatting down on the front porch of the church on our first day at work. We were scraping and sanding off old paint. It wasn’t terribly work, but it was dusty and dirty and we were tired. This tiny Kichwa Indian woman, with several teeth missing, was sitting by this big, beat-up aluminum bowl. And as we walked out the door, she invited us to bend down, and she poured warm water to clean our hands. She had heated that water over a fire, carried that big pot to that porch, and was washing our hands.

We’re supposed to be the “somebodies,” right? After all, both Barack Obama and Sarah Palin say we’re the greatest nation on earth. We’re General Naaman from the Book of Kings. But maybe hubris is our leprosy.

Last week, I saw the slave girl, maybe no longer the captives, but still the “nobodies,” poor Indian dirt farmers, clinging to their back-mountain ways – showing me a hospitality and a generosity that I need to learn. Not so much giving me advice to follow, but offering examples to emulate.

Before my wife, Amy, and I moved back to Texas ten years ago, we lived in Washington, DC. There is a remarkable church in DC called Church of the Savior. It is a decentralized congregation, made up of about a dozen smaller churches. Each of the smaller churches has a particular focus. One church focuses on the arts, one focuses on issues of addiction and recovery. But one of the churches focuses on diversity. People must join that church in pairs. To join that church, you must join in tandem with someone who is different than you, someone who is “other.” If you are poor, you must join with someone who is rich. If you are white, you must join with someone who is black. General Naaman would join it with the slave girl. Tiger Woods might join with the beer cart girl. The purpose of that church is to create relationships that break down barriers, where people live with and learn from each other. Rich learning from poor, educated learning from uneducated, old learning from young, powerful learning from powerless.

I have many friends here at First Unitarian Universalist Church. Kathyrn Govier. Brent Baldwin. Donna and Derek Howard. Carol Ginn and several others were in class that I led at UT. It’s really a pleasure to be among so many friends this this morning. I have long been an admirer of this congregation. I am honored to be invited into this pulpit again this morning. With all of those pleasantries aside, let me say, Maybe, in some way, First Unitarian Universalist Church is like General Naaman. You’re smart, you’re well-educated, you’re important, you’re wealthy. You’re powerful in this city. You’re the “somebodies.”

But maybe you have a leprosy of sorts as well.

I know this congregation has gone through a long period of soul-searching, self-evaluation, internal examination. That is important. You are building bridges to the future and having vision-values-and-missions meeting. You’ve had consultants and committees and coffee conversations. Those things may be helpful. But make sure you aren’t just putting a Band-Aid over your leprosy. As you think about your future as a church, are you willing to listen to the nobodies? Are you willing to hear the powerless? Are you willing to load up a wagon-full of gold to follow the advice of the slave girl?

The first three principles of the Unitarian Universalist Association are impressive. The first three UU principles say that you affirm and promote: the inherent worth and dignity of every person; justice, equity and compassion in human relations; acceptance of one another…

Do you really? Do you really affirm the inherent worth of every person? Earlier, I mentioned Sarah Palin and Barack Obama. Do you really affirm the worth of both of them?

Or, what if this slave girl walked off the pages of Second Kings into First UU? What if she was a poor, immigrant who had suffered at the hands of a brutal government? What if she didn’t speak your language? What if she had never heard of yoga or philosophical inquiry or the yew grove moon ritual? I know you would give her canned goods, and you’d probably hire her to clean your home, but would you affirm her inherent worth as a member of this congregation?

Would you make her a Trustee if she’d never heard of Robert’s Rules of Order? Are you really compassionate in all your relations? The second principle says you are. Or do you try to out-vote each other, out-maneuver each other, out-talk each other? What if you gave up strategic planning and, instead, squatted out on the sidewalk with a big, banged-up aluminum pot of warm water and washed each other’s hands – or maybe even your feet – as a sign and symbol of compassion and caring?

You accept one another. Principle three says so. But, do you really? Would you accept the beer cart girl, as readily as you would accept a sociology professor? Would you accept a crack addict living under a bridge, as readily as you would accept that cute young couple that drives their new Prius past that bridge every day? Would you accept the day laborer named Raphael who doesn’t speak much English, as readily as you would accept the activist who has appointed herself to speak on Raphael’s behalf?

General Naaman, with his leprosy, loaded up a wagon of gold to go to find Elisha to see if the prophet can cure him of his disease. So, what happened? Was the slave girl right? Was Naaman cured? Did he find the prophet? What did he do with all that gold? Did the “nobody” become a “somebody”?

Well, you’ll have to log on to your Blackberries or your IPhones, or dust off the Bible that’s on your shelf, or run down to Book People and buy one and read for yourself the rest of the story. The ending is right there in the Book of Kings.

Which brings up another question: What about those kinds of people? People who read ancient faith stories like Second Kings, people who own a Bible or a Koran? Do you accept them? Do you affirm their faith journey? Do you promote their worth and dignity?

People who think stories of slave girls and generals might have meaning for you and your church on this day? Because you never know, the beer cart girl may just have good advice for Tiger Woods. And the slave girl just might cure your leprosy. And the voice of the nobodies may just have the word you need to hear.