High Holidays Sermons 1

ROSH HASHANAH 1ST DAY 5771

There was a country preacher who decided one Sunday that he was going to try to put the fear of God into his parish congregation, and so he came out and began his sermon by saying, “Remember, everyone in this parish is going to die.” And he noticed this one guy up front was kind of smiling. And he looked at him and said, “What are you so happy about?” and the guy said, “I’m not from this parish … I’m just visiting my sister.”

This is a story told by Mitch Albom – the Detroit Free Press & ESPN reporter and famous writer. This year I’m going to base my sermons on themes from his most recent “Have A Little Faith.”

The book begins about ten years ago, when Albom came back to his home town Cherry Hill, NJ to give a talk and after he finished, the rabbi of the synagogue that he had grown up in, now 82 years old, using a cane, pulled him aside in the hall and asked me a question that would change his life forever. This was the question. “Will you do my eulogy?”

To which he answered, “huh?” Will you do my eulogy? Who was I to accept that? I just said I wasn’t very religious and besides, who does a eulogy for the guy who does eulogies? I figured rabbis, priests, pastors, they had this stuff all worked out with one another ahead of time, you know, like “if I go first, you do me, if you go first, I’ll do you.”

So how I got into this loop was beyond me. But not wanting to disappoint him I said, “Well if you want me to speak at your funeral, I need to get to know you as you lived. I mean, it’s true I’ve known you my whole life I guess, but always from the seats and the cheap seats at that. I need to get to know you if you want me to do your eulogy as a man.” To which he said, “I accept.”

And that began a series of visits to this rabbi, Albert Lewis, Temple Beth Shalom; Cherry Hill, NJ. (33 years ago he was my teacher of homiletics at JTS) They were quite funny even from the very first because when I arrived, I drove to his house, I had never done that before; I parked in his driveway, I had never done that before; I walked up to his front door, I had never done that before and so the doorbell kind of threw me because I didn’t know that priests or pastors or rabbis had doorbells. I just thought they sensed you coming.

But we walked in and he welcomed me down to his office. We went inside and sat down in his office, a room I had never been in before. I’d never been to his home before. I’d never seen him in anything other than a robe or a suit before, and now he was wearing Bermuda shorts with socks and sandals... which is never a good look.

And we sat in his office and I looked around and I saw all these books and papers and I saw files on all these shelves. On the top shelf, was this huge big fat file right in the center and across the front it read, “God.” He had a file on God.

I always wanted to ask him what was in that file, but I didn’t have the nerve, so I decided I would begin my little process here with a very appropriate question. I took out a yellow pad, trying to do this eulogy thing very straight with a yellow pad and a pencil. I sat down and the first question I asked this 82 year old man of faith was, “Do you believe in God?” And he said, “Yes I do.” “Do you talk to God?” “I talk to God all the time,” he said. “And what do you say to God?” I asked.
And he had a habit of singing his answer and he chose this time to sing his answer and he said, “These days I say ‘Dear Lord if you’re going to take me, take me already! And if you’re going to leave me here, leave me with enough strength that I can help my congregation.’”
“Do you ever get an answer?” I asked. He looked at me and smiled. “Still waiting,” he said. Return to this theme at the end… Over eight years Albom and Lewis met for laughs and inspiration and the anguish that come from sickness and finally death.

2nd Central Character of the Book is: Rev Henry Covington (talk more about him tomorrow) But let me just mention: Henry had been a drug dealer and drug addict. But God came into his life at his lowest and now he selfless leads a Church in Detroit providing God’s unconditional love as well as food, clothing and shelter to the lowest of the low.

Rev Covington’s Church in the slums of Detroit is a metaphor for life and the quest for meaning and hope. The church had once been the largest Presbyterian Church in the entire Midwest, but that was in the 1880s when it was built. Today it has been left to rot in one of the worst sections of Detroit. Windows broken, bricks falling off of it and a massive hole in its roof and ceiling through which rain and snow literally poured in on top of the congregants when they tried to pray; buckets strategically placed to catch the water pouring through. And it got so cold inside this church that at one point they had to build a plastic tent, made of two-by-fours and plasticine, just to be able to huddle together on Sundays, to have a place that was semi-dry and warm, to pray. A plastic tent, in a church, in the 21st century in the United States of America.

That’s the metaphor I want to talk about today: There’s a hole in every roof
Brokenness is part of being alive.

I feel it even more this year: illness in my own family, sickness and death in the congregation, the demographics changes and costs of synagogue which is a scary Catch 22, and of course, the course of our country suffering through an on-going recession.
The world is broken – there’s a hole in our personal roofs and the rain and snow of living and dying just pours in on us. What can we do with the holes in our roofs and the brokenness of our lives?

One of the most inspiring things about Jewish mysticism is its central story about the fundamental brokenness of the universe. It’s there according the Kaballah by design, part of God’s plan, essential for the human partnership with God. In Hebrew it’s called: Shevirat Hakaylim. When God began creation, God contracted God’s self to make space for the creation. He/She/It made the matter of the universe in that space where God was not fully present. Then God sent the Divine Light into the matter, but the physical could not hold that spiritual light and shattered. The light became enmeshed with the material. The world is broken with the divine mixed up with the mundane. Why did God allow this mistake to occur? So that people could heal the world – so that we could understand the universe (someday) and treat all aspects of God’s creation in a way that will repair the damage of the shattering and bring harmony and peace to creation. When we choose the good, when we do an act of kindness, when we do a mitzvah (ritual or ethical) – we help heal the Universe – that’s a Jewish answer to why we’re here.

Brokenness plays a big part in our rituals on this day, especially in Shofar blowing. The middle note of the shofar cycle is called Shevarim – literally the broken note.
It’s supposed to be the sound of sighing - it reflects our disappointments, bereavements, dreams lost – Shevarim is the echo of the broken heart

What do we learn from this sound? We learn about the preciousness of life. Life is short and because life is so precious every soul is irreplaceable and every passing therefore tragic. We know that life is uncertain, so how do we cherish every day: we take no day for granted. Especially at this Season we remind ourselves: Don’t put off the good deed, the kind word, the phone call of love. Today we feel it in our souls: There’s no guarantee for tomorrow

In one of his books Rabbi Harold Kushner’s explains Mourners Kaddish. You probably know there’s nothing in Kaddish about death. Instead it praises God for the world God has given us. Mourners recite it as a way over time of expressing gratitude for a person’s life, what he or she added to the world rather than grief for the person’s absence. The Shevarim note then is a tribute to life, to how much a single life can mean. Gratitude ten is the spiritual balance to brokenness.

The Kotzker Rebbe used to say: “There’s nothing as whole as a broken heart”
It is through pain and heartbreak we learn how to feel. When our hearts break, they create an opening for all kinds of emotions (good and not so good) to rush in. It creates an experience of cleansing: When we purge our souls of old dreams that never happened, we create space for new dreams, new dimensions of understanding.

Over the years as difficult as it is: I’ve observed in myself and others: We’re so alive when we cry. Our souls are alive in sadness and anguish when we’re sick, when our loved ones are ill and when we’ve lost a friend or loved one. I read an article fair number of years ago, that many people went to see the movie Titanic, over and over again. Not because it was a great movie or even a great story. It was to be in a place where it was OK to express real feelings. Feeling the brokenness of life is about letting ourselves feel – a truly feeling the love which is greater than the loss.

One of my favorite psalms of the service every day, just before the 1st Mourner’s Kaddish in the morning is Psalm 30:
Years ago one of my teachers said this is the schizophrenic psalm: The author says: God’s anger last for a moment and my tears linger for a night
Nothing can shake me if you’re with me but I’m still terrified
What good is it if I die and am silenced, but you are gracious and my help
You transform mourning into dancing and sackcloth into robes of joy
I will praise you forever…

Reciting this Psalm this year though – through all the tragedies and almost tragedies: I feel in a powerful way that while I used to serve God because I had it so good, now I try to serve God – because God is God. I sense the brokenness around me and in me in new ways and I pray for the strength to be there for others – because that is the pathway to healing for us all.

In some mysterious way, realizing what I’ve almost lost and lost this year – make me whole even with what’s missing.
We see the world as it really is. The world isn’t a birthday party where if you’ve been good, you get what ever you want. It’s an unpredictable place, with hours of brilliant sunshine, mixed with hours of excruciating darkness and redeemed by occasional flashes of courage and love.

Last: There’s a story told about a young Chasid, a young student, who approached his rabbi with a problem. He said ‘Rebbe, no matter how hard I try to draw close to God, I’m blocked. I know you taught me, ‘Ivdu et HaShem b’simchah, that we must worship our Creator with joy, but I can’t find the joy. There is just so much suffering in this world, so much hardship, so much loss, so much that I can’t accept. What can I do?’ His rabbi replied, ‘There is one man who can teach how to overcome your obstacle. You must go and see Reb Zusya of Hanipoli. He can show you how to find the joy even with all the hardship of life.’ The young Chasid trusted his rabbi, and so he set out on the journey to find this Reb Zusya. After a lengthy trip, he arrived at what he was told was this great teacher’s address. As soon as the young Chasid beheld Zusya’s home, he understood why his rabbi sent him here: it was the most miserable little hovel he had ever seen in his life. Here was a man who understood hardship and the worst kind of suffering. When the young Chasid knocked on the door and was bid to come in, what he beheld astonished him even more: the conditions of the inside of the hovel were worse than the outside, and this Reb Zusya who stood before him was a man in abject poverty, near starvation, who had clearly been battered by illness and difficult times his whole life. ‘Reb Zusya, thank you so much for welcoming me,’ said the young Chasid. ‘My rabbi has sent me here because he said that only you could teach me the wisdom of learning how to accept the terrible suffering of life, and still find joy and closeness to God.’ ‘He sent you to learn what from me?’ asked Reb Zusya. ‘…To learn how to accept life’s suffering with joy.’ Reb Zusya laughed. ‘Young man, I’m so sorry to disappoint you, but I really have no idea why your rebbe sent you hear to learn such a lesson from me. I have nothing to tell you about such matters. You see, God has been very good to me my whole life. Maybe you should go and learn from someone who has had some real misfortunes, God forbid.”

Zusya isn’t just showing us that if we think about life and its misfortunes differently, if we adjust our expectations, then life will look all right. Rather he says, “When we behold this world through the deepest part of our souls, we no longer have eyes for lack and for loss. We can see the goodness and the bracha, the blessing of life, of all of it... It’s that life really IS blessing. There really IS abundance. It doesn’t matter how bad it seems to be: Life really IS okay!”

That’s why we come together in the High Holiday Season. We come to reflect on all that is broken in our life and all that is blessed in our lives. We use our liturgy and our sacred text as a mirror to gain perspective on where we are, where we’re going and how to heal the holes in our personal spiritual and interpersonal roofs. May God grant us a manageable portion of brokenness this coming year and the healing to know God’s love in our lives.