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Rev. Chris Jimmerson
January 12, 2025
First UU Church of Austin
4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756
www.austinuu.org

As humans, we make sense of our world by creating stories. Essentially, both as individuals and as groups, we construct ourselves through constructing narratives about ourselves. And those stories not only determine how we feel about ourselves and our world, but they also drive who we are, what we do, and who we are becoming. In effect, they are self-perpetuating. But what if the story we are telling ourselves is harmful and untrue? Can we rewrite or at least reinterpret it in order to create a more life-fulfilling, whole-hearted narrative?

Chalice Lighting

This is the flame we hold in our hearts as we strive for justice for everyone. This is the light we shine upon systems of oppression until they are no more. This is the warmth that we share with one another as our struggle becomes our salvation.

Call to Worship

EVERYTHING THAT WAS BROKEN
by Mary Oliver Everything that was broken
has forgotten its brokenness. I live
now in a sky-house, through every
window, the sun. Also your presence.
Our touching, our stories. Earthy
and holy both. How can this be, but
it is. Every day has something in
it whose name is forever.

Affirming Our Mission

Together we nourish souls, transform lives, and do justice to build the Beloved Community.

Reading

HOW INVISIBLE STORIES HOLD YOU BACK
by Ozan Virol

We all have stories that we live by that aren’t fixed truths. They’re just old scripts we’ve been following without realizing it. If you tell yourself travel is exhausting, you’ll only notice the hassles, the delayed flights, the cramped seats, and you’ll miss the little joys along the way. If you tell yourself you’re awkward in social settings, you’ll tense up before conversations even begin, missing moments that could have been easy and fun.

The point isn’t to force yourself to love every rainy day or magically turn into an extrovert. It’s about creating space. Space to question the stories you’ve been living by and experiment with something new. You’re not committing to anything forever, you’re just saying, “What if?” When you play with the stories you’ve been telling yourself, you realize they’re just that. They’re stories. And if you don’t like the story, you can change the story.

Sermon

NOTE: This is an edited ai generated transcript.
Please forgive any omissions or errors.

There’s at least one story you tell yourself about yourself that isn’t helpful. May even be harmful and probably isn’t even true.” At least if you’re like the vast majority of folks, that’s the case, that’s how the story goes.

  • What title would you give your not helpful, maybe even harmful, probably fictional story?
  • If you could change or reinterpret the story, what would you like the new title to be?

I’ll let you ponder all that as we explore the power that the stories we tell ourselves have over our lives, our emotions, behaviors, even our futures.

 

A field called narrative psychology has found that we humans make meaning of our lives and our world. In essence, we construct ourselves, our very personalities and our perspectives on the world through creating these narratives. And what’s fascinating is that we construct these self-stories with the structure of a novel. We give them chapters, birth, school, first love, et cetera. And we give them a beginning, middle, and end. This helps explain their power to affect not only our present, but also our future. If we’re always trying to give our stories an end even while we’re still in the middle of them, we’re likely to work toward an end that fits with the current story, even if that story is inaccurate, limiting, or harmful.

And the research has shown that our stories even affect the very neurochemistry of our brains. So if, for instance, I read about someone kicking a soccer ball. I don’t just create an image of that in my mind. It actually activates the motor cortex area of my brain as if I were actually kicking the soccer ball myself. The same is true for stories we tell ourselves involving our emotions, values, self-worth, capacity in life and on and on and on. Our stories are actually molding our brains to fit the very stories our brains are telling us. That’s why they can be so hard to change sometimes. So in a way we live as stories. They have this huge power in our lives.

Even religion and spiritual practices are filled with ways of creating narrative metaphor that allows us to explore ultimate understandings that are sometimes inaccessible through everyday language and the current limits of scientific inquiry.

Here is how one narrative psychologist puts it. Our lives and their pathways are not fixed in stone. Instead, they’re shaped by story. The ways in which we understand and share the stories of our lives therefore make all the difference. If we tell stories that emphasize only desolation, then we become weaker. If we tell our stories in ways that make us stronger, we can soothe our losses and ease our sorrows.

Learning how to re-envision the stories we tell ourselves can make an enormous difference in the way that we live our lives. And I would submit that this is not just psychological, it is also what spirituality is all about.

As I mentioned earlier in the service I’ll share how this has played out very powerfully in my life recently. Again what I share may be may bring up difficult circumstances and feelings. Tony and I are available after the service should you need to process something.

I’ve written the story out in case I need the words to hang onto emotionally while I tell it. Many of you know that my spouse of over 30 years, Wayne, died last year after an extended period of time on home hospice. In his final days, Wayne’s disease process resulted in some cognitive decline, he would get confused. And out of that confusion, the panic attacks that had plagued him when he was much younger, but that he had worked to resolve, began to come back sometimes. I ended up needing to manage his medical and hospice appointments, as well as his pain and other necessary medication, of which there were many on a large variety of different schedules, I would sit with him through the panic until it subsided.

Eventually his disease progressed to where he weakened and began to fall a lot. He was no longer strong enough to make it to the bathroom or to shower by himself So I had to learn to lift them without injuring myself. I would help them with these basic necessities of life. And though we brought in some home care help so that I could continue to perform a few church function and take care of household needs like getting groceries, most afternoons and evenings they would leave as soon as I returned. and it would be just the two of us and our pups for the rest of the day and evening. I’d set alarms each night so that I could get up and give him his medications on schedule and put on his mask for the breathing treatment that opened his airways and helped him to respirate more easily.

Eventually, Wayne declined to the point where he began to think about going into an institutional hospice setting called Christopher House, where he would receive the trained nursing care I couldn’t provide and which couldn’t be provided around the clock through home hospice.

We set up an appointment with this hospice doctor for Tuesday, September 3 to discuss that On the Friday before that, while I was making a run to the grocery store, he had a bad fall and couldn’t get back up. I returned to find him that way. I got him back into bed and called for help from the hospice nurses who came right away. They helped me clean up everything where he had fallen and they bandaged the wounds that I didn’t have the knowledge to know how to tend. They told us though that there might be internal bleeding.

Wayne opted to continue only pain management and palliative care. Soon though, He discovered he was no longer able to swallow anything solid, so another hospice nurse came over and showed me how to grind up his medications, dissolve them in water, and then give them to him slowly by flowing the medicated water into his mouth from a syringe. She also had me increase his pain medication and his treatments for anxiety and panic attacks. The nurses offered to go ahead and move him to Christopher House, but Wayne panicked at the idea of not having me and his pups, and so he never went.

The rest of that weekend is still kind of a blur in my memory. I remember having to pick him up and carry him several times. I remember getting up throughout the night to dissolve the medications and administer them to him and give him his breathing treatments. I remember home care workers coming a couple of times so I could take care of some duties here at the church or some household needs and wondering whether I should leave it all, even though they were there. I can remember bringing him the phone several times because he wanted to talk to the hospice folks himself about his own care needs. That Sunday evening he had another panic attack and they increased his meds even more. I remember getting up throughout the night in the early morning hours to check on him and give him his meds.

Early Labor Day morning, Monday, September 2, I got up and put on the mask to start his breathing treatment and went upstairs to make a cup of coffee. When I came back to check on the breathing treatment, he had died.

At first, the story I told myself about those final days was one of difficulty and trauma and self-doubt. I wasn’t trained to provide that level and kind of care, I told myself. Should I have been more insistent that he go to Christopher house, did not going, mean he went through more pain or discomfort. Should I have stayed with him, even when home care was there? The moments of administering his drugs with that syringe or lifting him to go to the bathroom played over and over through my mind as a story of trauma, caught in that story of trauma at first there was no way I could process my grief.

With time and work though, a lot of therapy, help from some wonderful, wonderful professionals and friends, the God of my understanding. I was eventually able to recast the story to one that I think is not only more healthy, I think it is more true.

Here’s how I understand our story of those times now. What a blessing that it was me who picked him up when he fell or needed to go to the restroom that I was the last one who held him that way, that I was the one who loved him through the moments of panic and fear. What a holy act I got to engage in with him, giving him his medications through the syringe, that most intimate of acts of holding it to his lips. It was me who came back to check on his breathing treatment only to discover that he no longer needed it because he had drawn his last breath. I didn’t get a phone call telling me he was gone. I was there for that hallowed moment, and I am so grateful. Wayne didn’t want to die at Christopher House. He wanted to die in the house that he shared with Christopher, and he did.

And so the story has moved from one of trauma and doubt to a story about sacred love that endures all and that is with me always and everywhere. My beloveds, we can rewrite, recast, reinterpret our self-stories.

Now, I wanted to share some tips from narrative psychology about how we might go about doing all that, but my sermon got so long that I had to give you those handouts that you have on the pews.

To summarize very briefly, though, when reviewing yourself’s story, unlike I just did, Get on with it. Be willing to question it and test it with others. Journal about it. See if you can recast it as a story of ongoing redemption. Seeking counseling and treatment when the story is just too strong and won’t let go is more than okay.

I’ll close with inviting you two during the postlude or after the service. Right down on the index cards, we’ve given you the answers to the two questions with which we began. What title would you give an unhelpful, maybe even harmful, probably fictional self-story? If you could change or reinterpret that self -story, what would you like the new title to be? Then I encourage you to spend some time in the days to come on how you might rewrite the story from one of trauma to one that is holy. Or at least from drama to something wholly more heart-centered and life-fulfilling. Rewrite it, then – Go tell it on the mountain.

Amen.

CHANGING OUR STORY HANDOUT

 

  • Ask, is it true? Is it the whole truth or only part of it? Is it a story that helps you live a fulfilled life or does it hold you back? Might it even be harmful?
  • What is your emotional state? For instance, depression can strongly influence the stories we tell ourselves, most often turning them toward the negative and self-criticizing. This of course, can further deepen the depression! Studies have found Un!: simply asking ourselves, “is this the depression talking”, can help us halt our negative stories. Therapies for the depression or other negative emotions can help also. Treatments such as ketamine, may help us ‘rewire” our brains with more affirming stories.
  • Daily Journaling as a practice can help us uncover self-stories about which we may not have been fully aware. Then, writing down, journaling a story we think is more accurate and/or more helpful can help us activate it within the neurobiology of our minds.
  • Rewrite it as story of Redemption. Research has shown that folks who call formulate their stories in ways that are redemptive tend to lead more generative, self-fulfilled lives – for instance, someone who was bullied as child and comes to view the story as about how they learned to set boundaries and protect themselves.
  • Cast the self-negative aspects as the villains of the story. The person who was told they were clumsy and unathletic as a child might cast the “clumsy and unathletic” label as the “Clumsy Monster” – “I am going to capture the Clumsy Monster and make it go to the gym with me, where I’ll show that monster exactly what I’m made of!”
  • Venting isn’t helpful. Studies have shown that venting about our story with a friend or loved one may actually amp up our nervous system, which in turn may only “further neurologically harden whatever story we are telling ourselves. Asking our loved one to help us process our story instead may be more helpful. Processing involves, rather than retelling the content of our story over and over again (venting), expressing our feelings and judgments about it. Processing also means asking others to help us question our assumptions about our stories.
  • Test self-stories only with those whom you know you can trust. This is tricky because it means we need loved ones who we can trust to both be honest and have our best interests at heart. They cannot be invested in our continuing a self-story in some way themselves. With such folks and/or professionals though, testing the accuracy of the stories we are telling ourselves by seeking another perspective can be very helpful and powerful.

 

Extinguishing the Chalice

We extinguish this flame, but not the light of truth, the warmth of community, or the fire of commitment. These we hold in our hearts until we are together again.

Benediction

Fairytales are true not because they tell us monsters exist, But because they tell us monsters can be vanquished.
Amen.

SERMON INDEX

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