Whistling with a Shoe Full of Slush

Rev. Marisol Caballero
May 31, 2015

Summer has arrived and we welcome it. Our annual flower communion service celebrates stubborn hope and new life despite all odds. We’ll be “Whistling with a Shoe Full of Slush.”

Opening Words
By Thomas Rhodes

We come in a variety of colors, shapes, and sizes.
Some of us grow in bunches.
Some of us grow alone.
Some of us are cupped inward,
And some of us spread ourselves out wide.
Some of us are old and dried and tougher than we appear.
Some of us are still in bud.
Some of us grow low to the ground, And some of us stretch toward the sun.
Some of us feel like weeds, sometimes.
Some of us carry seeds, sometimes. Some of us are prickly, sometimes.
Some of us smell.
And all of us are beautiful.
What a bouquet of people we are!

Reading

The Duck of Enlightenment
by Kathleen McTigue

One spring afternoon I went home a little early so I could claim an hour of study time before my children got home. As I opened the door, I was greeted by both cats, which was a little odd because they don’t usually condescend to notice our coming and going unless it’s dinner time. One of them promptly bolted out the open door while the other wrapped himself persistently around my legs. As I stood puzzling over this behavior, at the edge of my vision, I caught a sudden motion in the family room where there should be no motion in an empty house. With the hair rising on the back of my neck I slowly moved into the house and rounded the corner of the room, and then I saw it. There was a duck in the family room. A wild brown duck — a live duck. In the family room.

My brain actually stopped completely for a couple of heartbeats. What should the brain do, after all, with so utterly unexpected a sight? I stood there in the doorway and said out loud, “There is a duck in the family room,” as though it would help me believe it. None of the windows were open. The doors were properly closed. The duck huddled in the far corner of the room next to a clutter of books and DVD’s, radiating the hope that if she kept perfectly still I wouldn’t see her. Carefully I caught her up- a small duck, female, her heart tapping frantically against my hands- and carried her outside. I looked at her, full of wonder at this little visitation. Then I opened my hands. She leaped into the air in a great arc of liberation and beat her wings in a straight line of escape all the way to the horizon.

I went back to investigate the breach of household security, and within a few minutes the mystery was explained. A trail of ashes spilled from the fireplace, and here and there on the wall and against the ceiling I saw soot in little feather-shaped impressions where the duck had thrown herself up toward the light. It all made sense then, how a duck could come to be standing in the middle of my house. But I felt lucky that for a space of a few breaths, my linear, deductive mind had been shocked into silence. When something tumbles us into that state of wonder, the unexpected quiet in our heads is like a window flung open on the world. Instead of the routine, predictable story we live each day, there is something new under the sun and, surprised out of our minds for a moment, we actually see. Startled awake, we receive what’s in front of us: simple, astonishing, unedited.

Afterward, basking in the dazzlement of my visitor, it occurred to me that it really shouldn’t require a duck in the family room to awaken my wonder. Isn’t the same lovely little duck just as wondrous, just as worthy of my awe and my open and grateful heart, when she is out in the woods where she belongs? The real miracle is not that her frightened heart beat against my hands for a moment but that her heart beats at all — that her heart beats, that my hands can hold, that my eyes can see.

Introduction to Flower Communion

The Unitarian Universalist Flower Communion service which we are about to celebrate was originated in 1923 by Rev. Dr. Norbert Capek [pronounced Chah-Peck], founder of the modern Unitarian movement in Czechoslovakia. On the last Sunday before the summer recess of the Unitarian church in Prague, all the children and adults participated in this colorful ritual, which gives concrete expression to the humanity-affirming principles of our liberal faith. When the Nazis took control of Prague in 1940, they found Capek’s gospel of the inherent worth and beauty of every human person to be — as Nazi court records show — “… too dangerous to the Reich [for him] to be allowed to live.” Capek was sent to Dachau, where he was killed the next year during a Nazi “medical experiment.” This gentle man suffered a cruel death, but his message of human hope and decency lives on through his Flower Communion, which is widely celebrated today. It is a noble and meaning-filled ritual we arc about to recreate. This service includes the original prayers of Capek to help us remember the principles and dreams for which he died.

Consecration of Flowers
by Norbert Capek

Infinite Spirit of Life, we ask thy blessing on these, thy messengers offellowship and love. May they remind us, amid diversities of knowledge and of gifts, to be one in desire and affection, and devotion to thy holy will. May they also remind us of the value of comradeship, of doing and sharing alike. May we cherish friendship as one of thy most precious gifts. May we not let awareness of another’s talents discourage us, or sully our relationship, but may we realize that, whatever we can do, great or small, the efforts of all of us are needed to do thy work in this world.

Homily
“Whistling With a Shoe Full of Slush”
It Could Be Worse

A long time ago, there was a family that lived happily in a small, quiet house in Poland. One day they learned that the grandparents were coming to live with them. The child was very excited about this, and so were the parents. But the parents worried because their house was very small. They knew that when the grandparents arrived, the house would become crowded and much noisier.

The farmer went to ask the rabbi what to do. The rabbi says, “Let them come.”

So the grandparents move in. They have a lot of furniture, which goes in the living room, where they sleep, and in some other rooms, too. It is crowded and noisy in the house so the farmer goes back to the rabbi: “I did what you said, Rabbi. Now my in-laws are here. And it is really crowded in the house.”

The rabbi thinks for moment. Then he asks, “Do you have chickens?”

“0f course I have chickens,” says the farmer.

“Bring them into the house,” says the rabbi.

The farmer is confused, but he knows the rabbi is very wise. So he goes home, and brings all the chickens to live inside the house with the family. But, it is no less crowded and noisy. In fact, it is worse, with the clucking, and pecking, and flapping of wings.

The farmer goes back to the rabbi. “I did what you said, Rabbi. Now with my in-laws and the chickens, too, it is really crowded in the house.”

The rabbi thinks for moment. Then he asks, “Do you have any goats?”

“0f course I have goats,” says the farmer.

“Bring them into the house,” says the rabbi.

The farmer is confused, but he knows the rabbi is very wise. He brings all the goats from the barn to live inside the house. It is no less crowded and noisy. In fact, it is much worse, with the chickens clucking and flapping their wings, and the goats baa-ing and butting their heads against the walls and one another.

The next day, the farmer goes back to the rabbi. “I did what you said, Rabbi. Now my in-laws have no place to sleep because the chickens have taken their bed. The goats are sticking their heads into everything and making a lot of noise.”

The rabbi thinks. He looks very puzzled. Then he says, “Aha! You must have some sheep.”

“0f course I have sheep,” says the farmer.

“Bring them into the house,” says the rabbi.

The farmer knows the rabbi is very wise. So he brings the sheep inside. It is no less crowded and noisy. In fact, it is much, much worse. The chickens are clucking and flapping their wings, the goats are baa-ing and butting their heads. The sheep are baa-ing, too, and one sat on the farmer’s eyeglasses and broke them. The house is loud and crazy and it is starting to smell like a barn.

Completely exasperated, the farmer goes back to the rabbi. “Rabbi,” he says, “I have followed your advice. I have done everything you said. Now my in-laws have no place to sleep because the chickens are laying eggs in their bed. The goats are baa-ing and butting their heads, and the sheep are breaking things. The house smells like a barn.”

The rabbi frowned. He closed his eyes and thought for a long time. Finally he said, “This is what you do. Take the sheep back to the barn. Take the goats back to the barn. Take the chickens back to their Coop.”

The farmer ran home and did exactly as the rabbi had told him. As he took the animals out of the house, his child and wife and in-laws began to tidy up the rooms. By the time the last chicken was settled in her coop, the house looked quite nice. And, it was quiet. All the family agreed their home was the most spacious, peaceful, and comfortable home anywhere.

When I hear this story, I think it would be easy to assume that the lesson it’s trying to teach us is not to complain about our lives, no matter how inconvenient, but I don’t think that’s the point at all.

Dissatisfaction is part of being human. We will always have reasons to complain if someone is ready to hear them. It’s much harder to look for joy and for possibilities.

A while back, I started thinking about today and how it has been a year since our last Flower Communion celebration, a time when we celebrate the return of Springtime — of new life and new beginnings. Flowers are blooming on our cactus and baby birds are popping their tiny heads out of nests. City swimming pools and snow cone stands have opened up, in anticipation of all of the kids who are one grade older, this week or last!

These are all exciting things definitely worth celebrating, but as is human nature, I couldn’t help but think about all that’s happened in the past year. It has been a doozy: all the sad and awful things that have happened in the world, in our country, in Texas, all the loved ones who have died from this very church community… It makes a small house full of barn animals seem like a Zen retreat! I looked up “quotes about Springtime” to try and find some inspiration for today’s celebration and found this one by Doug Larson, “Spring is when you feel like whistling even with a shoe full of slush.”

That seemed perfect. Although spring here in Austin has meant torrential rains and not the slushy mess that it did for the northeast, but we are still a-whistlin’. We can think of so many disappointments, stresses, and tragedies to weigh down our proverbial slushy shoes, and yet we whistle on. We whistle to the tune of forward-thinking, of taking a stand when we know that something is wrong, of inspiring others to do the same. We lift our heads and whistle about hope for tomorrow and resolve for today.

We whistle because life has beauty beyond despair and joy beyond grief. We don’t whistle to forget that our shoes are filled with slush or to ignore the discomfort of it all. We whistle so that we don’t get stuck in hopelessness and grief and disappointment. We whistle because there is still so much for us to do, because being together is wonderful, because flowers are still blooming, because so many reasons…

A much-loved Mexican folk song, Cielito Lindo, sings, “Ay, ay, ay, ay Canta y no llores. Porque cantando se alegran, Cielito Lindo, los corazones.” Which roughly means, “La, la, la, la Sing and cry no more. Because singing gladdens the heart, my pretty darling.”

Whistle on. There is so much room in this tiny house. Let’s celebrate the hope of spring.

Flower Communion

It is time now for us to share in the Flower Communion. I ask that as you each in turn approach the communion vase you do so quietly–reverently–with a sense of how important it is for each of us to address our world and one another with gentleness, justice, and love. I ask that you select a flower — different from the one you brought — that particularly appeals to you. As you take your chosen flower — noting its particular shape and beauty — please remember to handle it carefully. It is a gift that someone else has brought to you. It represents that person’s unique humanity, and therefore deserves your kindest touch. Let us share quietly in this Unitarian Universalist ritual of oneness and love.

Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.

Most sermons delivered at the First UU Church of Austin during the past 15 years are available online through this website. You will find links to them in the right sidebar menu labeled Sermons. The Indexes link leads to tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on the topic to go to a sermon.