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 The Good Treasure |
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7 October 2007 I’m not sure exactly how the tradition started, but when our boys were very young, their birthday parties included two things: a piñata and a treasure hunt. The birthday boy made his own piñata, but the treasure hunt was left to the creative genius of the parents initially, then to the un-birthday brother. Over the years, the treasure hunt became more and more elaborate, with clues sending the birthday boy and his guests racing up and down the stairs, in- and outside, whatever inspiration and the clue at hand suggested. In time, the treasure hunt overshadowed even the piñata. I suspect that part of the appeal of Halloween and trick-or-treating is the treasure hunt—how much ‘loot’ can one pirate or transformer uncover in an evening? Which house marks the spot with the best candy? And when the kids have decided which one it is, they can hardly wait to tell their buddies—it’s the house on the corner with the giant spider web across the front window and the R.I.P. decorations in the front yard! Because that’s the nature of a good treasure. You don’t get any less of it by telling someone else where it is. In fact, your own pleasure actually increases because you are telling others about it. Two Sundays ago, the Open and Affirming Task Force hosted its final presentation before our vote on the 21st. One of our guests spoke of his own love of the church, but of the deep estrangement he has experienced from both family and church when they made it clear that they judge his sexual orientation to be shameful and unacceptable. Then he saw the “bouncer” advertisement on television a couple of years ago, and followed up with some research on the ucc.org website. Which led him to one of our churches in Virginia. Which led him to tell his partner. And then his colleagues at work. And his friends. And his neighbors. Like the kids on Halloween, he says he just can’t keep quiet about the good treasure he’s found in a faith community that is as open and affirming as the ads suggest. Recently, and quite unexpectedly, I heard from a good acquaintance. We’ve lost touch over the years, but as friends do, we caught up quickly on the basics—family, plans for the immediate future, that kind of thing. Then he shared his decision to attend AA. Nothing court-ordered or like some of the hitting-rock-bottom stories we know of, just a recognition that he had developed a pattern of coming home to a drink. And then another, then waking up the next morning swearing he wouldn’t do that again. Finally one evening as he was heading home, he recognized that the pattern wouldn’t change until he made some changes in the pattern. So instead of pulling in his driveway, he went to AA. He’s completed nearly three years, and tells me life is brighter than it’s been in a long time. My friend has found the good treasure, and he wanted to share the good news of his find. I’d like to hold this impulse to share the good news up against a conversation I have had more than once. Sometimes it’s one of those train-ride conversations, occasionally a plane-ride conversation, and when our children were younger, a frequent conversation with other parents of young children. At some level, it nearly always has to do with the other person’s discomfort in talking about his or her faith with their own children. The conversation takes one of two forms. Either the parent feels woefully inadequate in sharing her faith and doesn’t want to be the source of misinformation, or the parent is still dealing with a heavy-handed application of faith in his own background, and didn’t want to impose that on the child. Both parents have valid concerns, of course. But think about it. We share the best of our family stories with our children. These stories tell them something about who they are, about the family into which they are born. Do we remember all the details about our family stories? Probably not. I just called my dad the other night to double-check the date that he arrived in Italy during World War II. Are we likely to misinform our children as we interpret these stories and the lessons they may hold for us? Possibly. But we get a lot of it right, too. Are we sometimes over the top in our expectations of our children—regardless of our best intentions? Of course. Just ask any teenager. But that doesn’t mean we stop parenting—or even that we try one set of guidelines one week and a completely new set the next week on the theory that we want our children to be exposed to a range of parenting techniques so that when they become adults they can choose for themselves. Another one of our guests last Sunday evening was a woman who also grew up in the church: fourth generation Presbyterian. Her experience mirrored that of the other speakers. About the time her brother was turned down as a candidate for the ministry because of “latent homosexual tendencies,” she discovered hers were not so latent. Their father and the church that had nurtured them in faith disowned them. It was left to our guest to care for her brother as he died of AIDS. And it was with her brother’s death some twenty years later that our speaker realized her need for the church, in spite of its abuse of her and her brother. That’s how she ended up in the United Church of Christ, how she came to find the good treasure she thought she’d lost, how she came to she her treasure with others. My friends, just like parents, we don’t always get it right; in fact sometimes we get it terribly wrong. When we do, we can only ask for forgiveness and mercy. But our gift, our God-given gift, is a spirit of love. We are given a spirit of love; we are given a spirit of power; we are given a spirit of self-discipline, not to tear down, but to build up. This is the good treasure, kept and nurtured by the holy Spirit living within us. Like the children on Halloween, even like our guests last Sunday, people are looking for this good treasure and when they find it, are anxious to share their good news with others. But they have to find it. Remember the bumper sticker: if you can read this, thank a teacher? If you have experienced the presence of God, thank the Lois or Eunice or Timothy or Paul that has shared theirs with you. Now, go and do likewise. |