John 6.60-71                                                                                               19 October 2008

“THE THINGS WE MIGHT HAVE SAID”

Do you recall a certain spicy interview late in the presidential campaign of 1976?  Squeaky-clean candidate Jimmy Carter consented to an interview with Playboy magazine. He was fighting his goody two shoes image. His talk went as planned.
Then, as the interviewer was departing the room, then Governor-Carter declared, “I've looked on a lot of women with lust. I've committed adultery in my heart many times.... This is something that God recognizes, that I will do and have done, and God forgives me for it.”  Shock waves reverberated through the media as though Carter’s old nuclear submarine had accidentally launched a sea-to-land missile.

Of course, every wag said something like, “Open mouth; insert foot….Why didn’t he leave well-enough alone! To appear wise, when in doubt, keep your mouth shut!” Carter doubtless regretted that faux pax. But today I speak of another type of regret, really, the opposite kind.  Today my subject is not saying too much at the wrong time. Today we explore failing to say enough when it matters most.

Researchers from Cornell find that in the short run, like Carter, we might regret our actions.  But across the span of our lifetime, what we regret most is our inac-tion. In a word, we most deeply and acutely regret not what we commit, but what we omit.  Not having attempted something new and bold. Not having said some-thing essential, even if we uttered it imperfectly, even if it was misconstrued.  No, we regret most the vital things left undone, the heartfelt words we left unsaid.

Ponder this with me in these moments.  This past year, I sat with three children of their deceased mother, interviewing them to plan her memorial service. My goal in this setting is always to do more than merely obtain information, but even to moderate a conversation they might not have otherwise had, elicit memories they might not have otherwise shared, and allow them to grieve in healthy ways.

Anyway, one son who had wrestled lifelong with substance abuse was about to burst.  Welling up with tears, this large tough guy, said, “I wish I’d thanked her for enduring all that I had put her through. I was lost within myself and my struggles.  I’d no idea how horrible I was making her life.  I wish I’d asked her forgiveness.” Our deepest regret often centers around essential but difficult things left unsaid.

We can describe this same trend in a positive light as well. Cindy and I compared notes on last weekend as we both had daughters home from college.  She des-cribed something I also experienced. When we asked our daughters what special things they wanted to do, both said all they wanted was to hang out with us this weekend.  Get out the Scrabble board. Make your daddy salad. You are so cool. We never hung out enough! Cindy asked Heather, “Is somebody dying soon?” Now compare this to the day not so long ago when nothing we could arrange was entertaining enough. Although strange, theirs was a healthy impulse. For failing to express gratitude to loved ones tops our list of regret. Sometimes it takes a little distance in a relationship before we let ourselves talk from the heart.

One thing that strikes me about Jesus with his followers was how little he left unsaid, even if it painfully laid bare our pride, even if the subject was difficult.  In John, Jesus foresaw the time when he would be gone and the only physical contact his disciples would have with him would be at this table of bread and cup.

In eating my body and drinking my blood, Jesus taught, you will discover what eternal life means. Well, that was crudely put!  Did you know the Roman Empire persecuted and martyred early Christians, suspecting the church of cannibalism?  History attests to this. But Jesus spoke in stark terms because time was short.  When many of his followers no longer fled Jesus because of how direct he was about the cross, Jesus asked Peter whether he would be leaving as well.   Peter responded, “Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life?”  After Peter had denied Jesus three times when it mattered most, the resurrected Jesus deliberately gave Peter the chance to affirm his love 3 times at a fireside. The lesson is this: when you have the chance to say something you need to say, don’t assume you can say it later, don’t wait till you can say it better.  Say it now!

When I was a seminary student intern in Branford, Connecticut, my mentor, the Rev Roger Manners, was fairly pointed and unsentimental in his dealings with us.  In fact, I only recall one time when Roger became misty.  He was talking about his children, all of whom were grown, educated and held responsible positions. One, I recall, played horn in the Hong Kong Symphony.  Roger had every reason to be proud of them, and he was.  But that wasn’t what he was thinking about as he choked up, to my surprise.  “Make certain, Dale,” he began, “when you have children, to tell them in no uncertain terms how much your faith in God means to you.” What he didn’t have to say was that he had not.  It was something he might have said to them, but didn’t.  Something so basic he thought he could assume it.

We have much to learn in mainline churches about sharing our faith. Some take it as a badge of honor as it’s said, “Oh, he never talked about his faith, he didn’t need to. He practiced it.”  But the day has passed on this outlook as has the day when “we didn’t tell our children we loved them, we didn’t have to, they knew it.” Today friends, our environment no longer supports and promotes things Chris-tian as it did 50 years ago. Today it’s no longer enough to breathe the air or drink the water in America to become a Christian. Today we do need to affirm our faith, even though we are reluctant. For although our faith is true, unless people hear us talk about it in heartfelt ways when and where it matters most, it won’t make a difference. Our children and grandchildren won’t know of it. Nor will anyone else.

And this is something we can learn.  Don’t tell me it’s too late.  This is why we had that class in testimony a while back, why we have individuals speak at the start of worship about their mission or stewardship faith, why we did a hymn sing last February where our people talked about what favorite hymns mean to them. So long as we have breath, it’s never too late to utter things we should have said.

Speaking of stewardship, that is the part of our faith where we are most aversive to speaking, most secretive.  And it is unhealthy.  Not only are generations raised unaware how generously our parents sacrificed.  And current ministries of the church suffer from lack of support in this collective amnesia. More than this, we get into habits like living beyond our means with second homes we cannot afford and leveraging ourselves with credit cards.  Before you know it, in this vacuum of vital conversation, a whole way of life can implode with a loud whooshing sound.

I was kidding with the Stewardship Committee two months ago.  For one scholar describes the church’s pathological secrecy around money as the “New Victor-ianism.” He described how 120 years ago folks were afraid to talk about sex. But they spoke freely about money. Of course, even father back, in colonial times, in our New England churches every Sunday the Deacons sat at table and watched as people came forward put their offering in the plate under their watchful gaze.  No one is advocating a return to that, by the way.  But the point is society sees the Puritans as neurotic and uptight. Maybe they were talking about the birds and bees. But they were not about money, prosperity, and the obligations it brings.

Today people are no longer uptight talking about sex. You go to a party and folks casually discuss their implants. (When I said this to the Stewardship Committee, Don Hoyt exclaimed, “You go to more interesting parties than I do, pastor!”)  But people are mortified to talk about money. Hence, money is the New Victorianism. 
We must transcend squeamishness about vital matters begging for our attention.

Something like this happened at our Congregational Meeting last August.  Do you recall it? Our financial people effectively described the pickle we were in. Our Search Committee reminded us of our hopes and dreams.  Because of this open conversation from all sides—no blame, no recriminations--we were thrown into the dilemma of being faithful in response to circumstances that many didn’t even know existed.  Oh, that time had tough moments, twisting in the wind, as no easy answers quickly arrived.  It looked like the meeting would end with no resolution. But three stood and said things they almost didn’t say. Brad Crowell asked what if everyone present put 40 dollars in the plate; Frank Watson invited a group to seek creative answers; Lyle Ashby asked if anyone else could find a thousand or two for our beloved DUC.  Hands shot up.  Weeks later, we had almost $30,000.  Sometimes we need to stand and give voice to the things we almost didn’t say.

Was it a “thank you” to a tough mentor who took time with us, caring enough to make us better? Was it an “I love you” to a friend who stuck by us in tough times with no idea the depth of difference she made?  Was it an “I’m sorry” to someone we too long overlooked? Ordinarily, we fear saying much too much. But why not fear saying much too little? What about all those things we might have said?

The author Reynolds Price tells of one of his teachers in Cambridge, England, a venerable don named Nigel Coghill. Prof. Coghill described visiting his mother in Northern Ireland at her life’s end. On his last day there, he went into her room only to find her asleep. Or, at least she seemed asleep. He gazed at her for a while, and then turned to go, padding very quietly, not wanting to disturb her. As he reached the door his mother said, with urgency, “Remember, Nigel, I only regret my economies.” Now, as the English use that word, she was regretting the times she had been stingy. Reynolds Price went on to reflect on the truth of that in his own life: the times that he was stingy with words of praise, held in reserve expressions of love, was miserly with his attention. Those were Price’s regrets.

May we speak freely words of love and forgiveness such that as we lie upon that same bed, as everyone must, we shall be as free of regret as Jesus and Peter at that resurrection fireside. And having tasted and shared the greatness of God’s truth in this earthly life, we might enter unfettered and joyfully into life eternal.  Amen.

O Lord, in the words of the old prayer, we have said those things that we ought not to have said, and failed to say those things that we ought to have said.  And there is no health within us.  O God, be unto us that health and that healing of others.  A word of grace, encouragement, praise, faith, and kindness can mean more than we realize as we go cascading along through rough and tumble lives.

Let us recall that you place us in specific situations with a given set of people so we can make a difference for good.  That opportunity presents itself every day, new every morning.  While this might seem random or arbitrary, as your ambas-sadors to the world it all becomes part of your larger plan to claim the lost, redeem the moment, and reconcile your children with heaven and earth.
You put within our grasp the power to bless others; may we prove to be such a blessing as we let you bless us through others in surprising moments and places.