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A week and a half ago, Reverend Bonnie and I were making the long drive back from Racine, Wisconsin. It had snowed the night before, and it was windy and cold in Chicago. I had been thinking about preparing for this sermon– about what our “box” is, and at what times it is good to think inside the box and at what times it is good to think outside the box, & just what the box was after all.

We stopped at the Hinsdale Oasis, and got some coffee. On Bonnie’s coffee cup the following words were printed:

In my career I found that "thinking outside the box" works better if I know what's "inside the box." In music (as in life) we need to understand our pertinent history... and moving on is so much easier once we know where we've been. –Dave Grusin, an award-winning composer and jazz musician.

I found his quote interesting because most of the time the media talks about “the box,” they talk about getting out of it.

Crawl out, jump out— or leap and spring out of the box. Walk around the box. Get away from the box. Think outside the box. Live outside the box. Stand on the box, look down on the box, kick the box.

Whatever. But we don’t want to live in the box, or stay in the box. We don’t want to be categorized or constrained or have anything sully our uniqueness.

From corporate boardrooms to church offices, there is a lot of talk about escaping the constraints of business-as-usual in order to discover fresh perspectives & new strategies.

But what happens when you get too far outside the box?

It can be easy to forget who we are and what we are supposed to do. Fast Company magazine (November 2005) offers some cautionary tales about organizations that have lost touch with their core identity, and have suffered in the process.

Consider Volkswagen of America. It once produced efficient volks wagens, “people’s cars,” with plain interiors and simple mechanics. The Volkswagen Beetle was wildly popular in the decades after the Second World War, as millions of drivers fell in love with the car’s low price, and affordable running costs. But now, Volkswagen’s cars include a luxury sedan and an SUV.

And who has stepped into Volkswagen’s abandoned niche? BMW, surprisingly enough. Its Mini Cooper is the Beetle of the new millennium — simple, solid and small.

Dell Computers constructed their empire on good hardware and the promise of helpful customer service located in Round Rock, Texas. Now it out-sources its tech support and has become like every other computer company.

So, maybe the lesson is that it’s okay to get outside the box, but don’t lose the box. The box is what got you where you wanted to be. And to help us remember who we are, perhaps we need to come crawling back to the box, climb in, close the lid, sit in the dark and — think inside the box for a while.

Groups can identify the one thing they do best, and let that core ability guide their decision making. “Your next big thing should really be a new beginning,” writes Douglas Rushkoff in Fast Company, “a chance to do what you do, and do it incredibly well.”

What do we do well? Actually, we do a lot of things well. We know this because we hear about it when we do well; and, we hear about it when we don’t do well.

Maybe the Eliot box is our mission, vision, and history. For almost 50 years we have held up a beacon for liberal religion, even as we have been a haven for religious liberals.

Some might say that our vision is for an earth made fair and all her people one. And here’s the current incarnation of our mission:

Eliot Chapel, a Unitarian Universalist community, gathers to foster free religious thought, nurture spiritual growth, and act for social justice.

We foster free religious thought through our educational classes and programming for children, youth and adults; and, through lectures, concerts, courses, and discussion groups.

We nurture spiritual growth via our Sunday services, covenant groups, inter-generational mentoring, multi-generational family worship services, Secret Pal, parent support groups, caring committee, and through connections to the wider UU world.

We act for social justice via Room at the Inn, Meal-a-Month at Hosea House, Partner Church Committee, Welcoming Congregation, Social Action Committee, Split Collection Sundays, and Fair Trade coffee & chocolate.

Keeping that box in shape requires our gifts of time, talent, and treasure.

People give time through being a teacher, covenant group leader, committee work, and attending here on Sundays.

People give talent through the Welcomes, Readers, ushers, singers, musicians, buildings & grounds, art on the walls and coffee in the pots, and by being role models of all kinds.

People give treasure through the offering basket, monthly pledging, gifts of securities, memorial gifts and grocery scrip.

Eliot Unitarian Chapel is a really big box. And there are almost 800 adults and children who keep this place humming week after week. And you are– or you can be– part of that. You are needed– with your unique personality, and your personal set of talents, time, and treasure.

So that is our identity box. But we each have our own box, our own frame, our own set of frames we use to perceive and judge ourselves and the world.

Having our own frame is really useful because it means we don’t have to stop and think every little thing through. You don’t have to stop and think about individual finger movements for tying your shoes. But if your hand and arm end up in a cast, all of a sudden that part of your box is out of commission and you do have to think through every little gesture.

It is important to remember that we tend to see or not see through our own frame. There is a Hindu story which tells of a man who one day set up his dyeing vat in the center of the village. The townspeople came to him one by one with their bolts of undyed cloth.

The first villager said he would like his cloth to be “blue.” The next villager was interested in "red." Into the same pot that had produced blue, went this second villager’s cloth. It too came out as desired, "red." And so it went through the colors of the rainbow. Each time the cloth went into the same pot. Each time it came out a different color.

At the end of the line of villagers, came a man with a bolt of cloth that he handed to the dyer, saying, "I'd like my cloth the color of what is in the pot."

What is reality? And what is our frame? Can the two be distinguished? I’ve been thinking about that a lot lately because I’ve been thinking about violence and destruction involving children in the last month.

A school girl was killed in Colorado, a principal was killed in Wisconsin, and five Amish girls were killed-execution style-in Pennsylvania.

There was a sick and twisted soul. He was a child molester who had recent dreams of molesting again. He feared the evil and corruption within himself, and so he wrote a suicide note to help with his guilt.

With what frame or box should we view this man, his acts, and the aftermath? The Amish did some extraordinary things in the days after. Things that seem very strange at first, and yet were keeping with their faith.

No one would blame the Amish for feeling hatred toward the killer. He shot 10 little girls in the head, and killed 5 of them. But the community set up a fund for his children, and invited his widow to a funeral service for 4 of the victims.

Why is their forgiveness so mysterious? The Amish were living out their faith, right? Jesus was very clear about this: “forgive those who trespass against you,” and, “pray for them which despitefully use you.”

What a test of faith that must be– a mad man kills your children, and you would forgive him and pray for him?

And yet, there is something profoundly disturbing to me about such quick forgiveness. I do not really know whether it is a flaw in my spiritual make up, or something else. And here is the heart of it: in orthodox religion, people talk about “God’s will” as if it were some sort of fatalistic view– that God is in charge of all things, and our best reaction to what life hurls at us is humbleness, forgiveness and acceptance.

The Amish do their best to deny much of the outside world. The live in a self-imposed exile from the rest of us. And when the world intrudes– and violently in this case– their reaction seems to be passive resignation.

It is one thing to forgive someone who has wounded you, it is another thing to forgive a man who slaughtered innocent children (Jeff Jacoby in the Boston Globe).

Religious communities who shrug off atrocities as “the will of God” have little incentive to make the world a better place.

So, I have my box, and the Amish have theirs. Is one better than the other? How do we know? How do we know?

The philosopher and theologian Søren Kierkegaard tells a parable, of a theater where a variety show is proceeding. Each show is more fantastic than the last, and is applauded by the audience.

Suddenly the manager comes forward. He apologizes for the interruption, but the theater is on fire, and he begs his patrons to leave in an orderly fashion. The audience thinks this is the most amusing turn of the evening, and cheer thunderously. The manager again implores them to leave the burning building, and he is again applauded vigorously. At last he can do no more. The fire races through the whole building and consumes the fun-loving audience with it.

Kierkegaard opines: “And so, will our age, I sometimes think, go down in fiery destruction to the applause of a crowded house of cheering spectators.”

While there is the danger of being so immersed in your box, that you ignore the burning world around you– there is also the danger of imagining the outside of your box without actually experiencing it.

Shalom Alekum tells the story of an old man standing on a crowded bus. The young man standing next to him asked, “What time is it?”

The old man refuses to reply. The young man moves on.

The old man’s friends, ask, “Why were you so rude to him?”

The old man answered,

“If I’d given him the time of day, next he’d want to know where I’m going; then we might talk about our interests.

If we did that he might invite himself to my house for dinner. If he did, he’d meet my lovely daughter.

If he met her they would both fall in love. I don’t want my daughter marrying somebody who can’t afford a watch!”

Jerry Neff, “The Good Samaritan,” August 26, 2001, A & M United Methodist Church Web Site, Am-umc.org/sermons/sermon010826.htm http://www.am-umc.org/sermons/Neff-Proctor%20sermons/sermon010826.htm.

So, there’s the danger of living in your own box and forgetting you have a box; there’s the danger of not getting outside your box to new experiences, and there is the danger of having your box re-framed.

Have you heard about the woman who went shopping with her daughter? The crowds were awful. She had to skip lunch because her schedule was so tight. She was tired, hungry; her feet were aching; and she was more than a little irritable. As they left the last store for the car, she asked her daughter, Did you see the nasty look that salesman gave me? Her daughter answered, He didn't give it to you, Mom. You had it when you went in.

There’s a Jewish story I particularly like because of it’s reframing. Especially around the issue of scarcity and abundance and how we can feel scarcity one moment and abundance the next, even though nothing has changed except our attitude.

A poor man came to his rabbi and complained that he was living in one room with his wife and four children and the congestion was impossible to bear any longer.

“Do you have a goat?” asked the rabbi. “Yes.” “Take it into the room.” “What?” “Do as I say.” So the poor man went home and brought the goat into his house. A few days later he hurried to the rabbi, sputtering, “I did what you asked. I took the goat in, and things are even worse than before! Rabbi, what shall I do?”

“Do you have any chickens?” asked the rabbi. “Yes, three.” “Bring them into your house.” “Rabbi!” “Do as I say.” So the poor man brought the three chickens into the house and a week later he returned to the rabbi, wringing his hands. “It’s terrible! I can’t stand it anymore!” “Put out the goat,” said the rabbi. The poor man did as he was told and came back. “It’s a little better, Rabbi, but three chickens in a room with six people!” “Throw out the chickens,” said the rabbi.

And finally the man stood before the rabbi, overjoyed, “Rabbi, there’s no one as wise as you! My house is now a paradise!”

Uh-huh. Sometimes our re-framing, our re-negotiation of our box happens all at once.

Babe Ruth hit 714 home runs during his baseball career, but he played poorly in one of his last full major-league games. It was the Braves vs. the Reds in Cincinnati. Ruth fumbled the ball and threw badly, and in one inning alone his errors were responsible for most of the runs scored by Cincinnati.

As the Babe walked off the field and headed toward the dugout, a roar of yelling and booing reached his ears. Just then a boy jumped over the railing onto the field. With tears streaming, he threw his arms around the legs of his hero.

“Ruth didn’t hesitate for one second, he picked up the boy, hugged him, and set him down on his feet, patting his head gently. The noise from the stands came to an abrupt halt. Suddenly there was no more booing. In fact, a hush fell over the entire park.” Ted Engstrom in The Pursuit of Excellence.

All of a sudden the world looks different, even though not much has changed. Sudden re-framing is often unpleasant. "I used to have superpowers," the bumper sticker says, "but my therapist took them away."

Reverend Bonnie is getting knee surgery to repair some torn cartilage tomorrow. She will be in crutches for a few days. Imagine how her box will change for the next week or so. Not to mention that of her family’s.

But she will have her family, and her community. And I urge you, when your box changes, to call upon your covenant group, your church, your lay leaders and your ministers, to remind us all, that we are a community. We agree to be present to one another in our times of loss and in our times of triumph.

Let us Build A Land, #121.