A few years ago, I volunteered as an after-school tutor for a program in West Berkeley.  My assignment included being something of a playground monitor during the break times.  One afternoon, in the middle of a volleyball game, a couple of the boys got into a physical fight over the ball.  My response was automatic.  I grabbed them by their shirt collars, forced them to stand nose to nose, and then ordered them to say they were sorry to one another…which they did…eventually…but without even an ounce of remorse, at least as far as I could tell. 

I'm not proud of that moment, but I recognize that my reaction was a fall-back onto how I was raised.  You know that familiar nightmare where you become your parents?  I was taught that I 'should' always say I'm sorry, and that when apologized to, I 'should' always forgive.  Don’t get me wrong, I think forgiveness is a very good thing; it’s one of those virtues that we strive to teach our children.  Yet the expressions of hurt and anger on those two young faces are still with me; those boys clearly needed something more. 

Unitarian Universalism is proud to draw on the wisdom of the world’s religious traditions, and today’s service is inspired by Yom Kippur, the most holy of Jewish holidays, which began at sundown on Friday, and ended last night.  I must admit to having some reservations about doing a service on Yom Kippur.  I'm not Jewish, and I am a novice scholar in this area, yet I think there's something very powerful about this holiday, something very important that we can all learn from.  That said, I proceed both with caution and a sense of reverence.  I ask your forgiveness for any faux pas that I may commit.

My first real exposure to Yom Kippur was about four years ago at a weekly chapel service at Pacific School of Religion, where I attended seminary.  A rabbi came to do the service, a female rabbi, and to be able to witness a woman's presence in that role was quite inspiring.  She wore a beautiful prayer shawl and a rather dapper sort of floppy beret…not the usual yarmulke worn by men.  In a very quiet, yet ardent voice, she explained some of the history and the practice of Yom Kippur.  At the end of the service, she called her young daughter forward, an obviously shy and self-conscious adolescent, who with her mother's encouraging hand on her shoulder, blew the shofar, the ram's horn.  The shofar has a mournful and familiar sound, something like a conch shell, or a French horn being played by a beginner;  It pours out a virtual chorus of past and future voices.  Seeing this mother-rabbi gently carrying the tradition forward by encouraging her daughter was a beautiful embodiment of the sound that poured over the pews.  I was so touched by both the memory and the meaning of the holiday, that I left that service and immediately went to my computer and emailed my friends back in MN, asking forgiveness for any unkind things that I had done, intentionally or unintentionally.  The many responses I got surprised me; apparently others have a similar deep desire to feel that they are forgiven…I guess that’s indication enough that we are not very good at saying we’re sorry or at offering forgiveness when it’s asked of us. 

Last week was Rosh Hashanah, followed by the Days of Awe, the celebration of a new year…a fresh start in how one thinks and acts, the time to ask forgiveness of others, and the time when God inscribes one's name in the Book of Life for the coming year.  My favorite thing about Rosh Hashanah is Tashlikh.  Remember this from the children’s story?  This is the emptying of your pockets into a river or stream, thereby symbolically casting off one’s own sins, while also letting go of grudges and hurts.  At the end of today's service, you'll be invited to practice tashlikh for yourself, by emptying your pockets into our small piece of river here in front. 

Yom Kippur follows about a week after Rosh Hashanah, and it is understood that by this day, you have apologized to everybody that you've offended, hurt or trespassed against during the past year.  On Yom Kippur, one seeks atonement for sins against Ha'shem, the unnamable one.  This happens on the last day because, in the Jewish tradition, there is an understanding that Ha'shem will not offer forgiveness unless one is in right relation with others. 

Now, lest you think I’m asking you to become milk toast, to kowtow in every situation, we need to talk a little bit about what forgiveness IS NOT.  According to the International Forgiveness Institute (where, by the way, Cindy Owen’s daughter Amy has worked)….forgiveness is not about ignoring the effects of wrongdoing, so it’s not about condoning wrongful behavior.  Forgiveness does not excuse the wrongdoer.  Here's the difficult part.  Even though forgiveness does not forget the hurt, it also doesn't condemn the other, and it doesn't seek justice or compensation.  Instead, forgiveness is freely given and is an intentional choice to turn to the “good” in the face an injustice.  It is choosing to offer mercy, generosity and love to someone even when it seems they don't deserve it.[1] 

I should remind you that the focus of Yom Kippur is not actually on forgiveness but on repentance, or teshuva.  And this repentance is not taken lightly…it involves no less than five steps.  The first is to recognize one's sin, then to feel true remorse, to stop the offending behavior, make restitution if at all possible, and finally to confess or to ask forgiveness.[2]  And don't forget that this holiday is essentially a full day spent in prayer and fasting.  Lisa Stahl and I were able to participate in a few hours of the Yom Kippur service at Mt. Sinai Congregation yesterday, and it is clear that this in serious business. 

I find it interesting that the steps that Judaism requires for repentance rather mirror the process that the Forgiveness Institute has developed to help people be able to forgive.  Where the repentant is required to recognize his or her sin, the forgiver must acknowledge the pain that has been done to them.  Where the repentant needs to change, to feel remorse and to stop the offending behavior, the forgiver must realize that a change has to occur before any progress can be made toward healing. The changes for both are a kind of heart conversion, a decision to at least explore reconciliation.  Ultimately, the repentant must act…to make restitution and ask for forgiveness, and the forgiver has to act as well.   Forgiveness is hard work.  You have to accept the pain that was unjustly given and then offer goodwill toward the one who hurt you.   But after all of this, the forgiver, says the Forgiveness Institute, the forgiver will experience emotional relief and an increased ability to feel compassion for others.  This is the paradox of forgiveness:  as we give to others the gifts of mercy, generosity, and love, we ourselves are healed. 

There’s a story in the Talmud about an important rabbi who, during the season of Rosh Hashanah, offends a poor beggar.  When he realizes what he has done, he falls on his face and asks the beggar for forgiveness, but the beggar refuses, saying that God must forgive the rabbi first.  The rabbi insists that he will not leave until he receives forgiveness from the beggar.  They’re in a stand-off… the rich and important rabbi on his face in the dust, and the beggar refusing to budge.  Finally, a young woman arrives, and seeing the situation, reminds the beggar that God has already forgiven the Rabbi…that God’s mercy falls on all who would seek it.  She encourages them to start the new year with a clean heart.  Hearing these kind words, the beggar experiences a sense of God’s mercy such as he has never felt before, and in turn, begs the rabbi for forgiveness.[3] 

What can this story tell us?…we Unitarian Universalists who may not believe in God, let alone use God’s word and example as guides for how we should act in the world?  Because of what we believe, many of us don't have the option of leaving forgiveness in the hands of God, and that places a bigger onus on us. But, if no one ever reached a place of being willing to forgive, the world would be full of bitter and damaged people, who are never able to release the hurt.  (Hummm…sometimes I think that’s how it is.) 

I don't suppose it would surprise you to hear that research has shown that people who have a forgiveness problem often have a health problem as well.  Repressing and holding tightly to emotions can be causative of disease.  This is also illustrated by the fact that a common ingredient in the healing practices of native cultures is catharsis, a complete release of emotion.[4]  It's similar from a Buddhist perspective.  In preparation for an Adult Enrichment class that begins here tomorrow night, I’ve been reading a book on Destructive Emotions which dialogues with the Dalai Lama. Here too, it seems clear that releasing, letting go, is a key component in being able to both practice, and experience, compassion and healing. 

The Internet is full of 'forgiveness' sights…where one can read stories of forgiveness, learn the 'simple' steps to forgiveness, and even write-in their personal apologies.  I went into one of these apology rooms…it contained a seemingly endless list, people apologizing for lying, cheating, sleeping around, betraying trust, stealing…  Here people have poured out all kinds of palpable pain onto an electronic page, emptying their pockets of their sins, as it were, on that great information river.  People everywhere are seeking forgiveness, or maybe they're looking to forgive themselves. 

I’ve heard it said that in order to forgive, one must be able/willing to forgive oneself.  This puts us in the position of being both the repentant and the forgiver, but I'm not so sure that the two positions are all that different.  They each require a process of moving through acceptance, to opening to change, and then on to taking action. In this movement, we are simultaneously the repentant, the forgiver, AND ultimately, the forgiven.  Remember the story of the right hand and the left hand?  If we apply that concept of ‘oneness’ with all of existence, when I hurt someone else, I am also hurting myself, and the forgiveness required becomes multi-layered and interdependent, a continuous cycle.  Using this image, it seems that being able to forgive is more of a way of being than it is an individual act.  It’s constant.

I once read a beautiful little book called "The Secret Life of Bees" by Sue Monk Kidd. The title character, a mistreated and mother-less teenager named Lily, becomes part of an unusual household where she experiences unconditional love, yet she continues to struggle with the memory of the abuse she suffered from her father.  Lily observes, "People, in general, would rather die than forgive.  It's that hard.  If God said in plain language, 'I'm giving you a choice, forgive or die,' a lot of people would go ahead and order their coffin."  This is what's at the heart of Yom Kippur’s message.  God is saying, I'll write your name in the book of life, but only if you genuinely repent, do your best to right the wrong and ask for forgiveness.  Otherwise, you might as well order your coffin.

Are you stumbling over all of this "god" language?  I, like many of you, don't believe that there is a really-old white-bearded man who lives in the sky, holding a huge tome, quill in hand, watching our every move and taking notes.  For me, God, or better, god-energy, is a matter of immanence, present existence.  God is the sheer synergy of all of our connections.  I believe that we contribute to the life and power of God by how we interact with others. In other words, we are each other’s gods.   And, the book of life, well, that could be seen to be all of the shared memory of humanity; it's what we feed back into our existence to create the future.  It's the sound of the shofar.  It's a reminder that we have a role in ensuring that the future is life well lived.  As Lily reminded me, if we choose to hold onto our fear and anger, we are not celebrating the cycle of life; we are perpetuating a spiral toward death.           

Another way to look at this is to use the metaphor of the body.  As in the reading from Thich Nhat Hanh, we are each one component, like a hand, of a body that must operate all together, in consideration of the whole, in order to be healthy.  The bad news is that we seem to have forgotten those connections, so that in fact, the left hand IS jealous of the right, and the right hand sometimes means to strike the left with a hammer. 

With the image of our inter-connection in front of us, which is one of Unitarian Universalism’s great principles, asking for forgiveness takes on a different dimension.  We say that we celebrate and respect the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.  So, when I choose to repent for a wrong-doing, I am not only seeking the forgiveness of the person I have wronged, but I also necessarily ask forgiveness of the myself and the whole.  Forgiveness of each other, of ourselves, is a movement of the heart that works for reconciliation, right relation, for the whole of the world community.  This heart movement is a critical part of building the kingdom, not in heaven, but here on earth…just like a favorite UU hymn says, building a land where peace is born.  If we want the future to be better, our oh-so-human beings must be willing to repent and to do our best to make restitution, and in the same movement, to forgive. 

This is not easy stuff, but I believe it is possible.  John Patton, in a book called "Is Human Forgiveness Possible?" says that forgiveness is not so much an act as it is a discovery, a discovery that I am more like those who have hurt me than different from them.[5]  Forgiving and being forgiven pulls us out of a self-centered mire, and lifts us back into a circulating stream of community.[6]  This movement requires a lot of us…it requires walking out into that river, stepping outside of comfortable territory and crossing borders, borders of difference, of shame, of culture…walls of seeking revenge and of needing to be right.  Forgiving and being forgiven helps us to move outside of ourselves, out of our immediate communities[7] and out into the ocean of wholeness.

I think a lot about our world these days, and I imagine that you do too.  Our world seems to be so fractured.  Looking at that big broken picture can be daunting.  I sometimes feel like just a helpless observer…as people and governments far away and out of my control do things that go against my basic notions of peace and goodwill.  But in truth, I see the shadows of that kind of malevolence in my own daily interactions…when I am impatient with a store clerk, or a fellow freeway driver, or when I can't quite abide the 'unusual' way in which someone on a committee chooses to operate.  My reaction is often one of exasperation and closing down, rather than an opening gesture, a movement toward reconciliation and understanding.  Seeking scapegoats, blaming others, ultimately leads to the same old, never-ending violence, and always that violence damages our own hearts.

Let me remind you of one element of teshuva, repentance, that I think is crucial; that is, the promise to stop the offending behavior.  Such a promise, if authentic, makes a new beginning possible.  In the midst of hopelessness, being willing to work toward a different future opens up new possibilities…renewing hope for a different world. 

Marc Ellis, a Jewish ethicist, talks about something he calls revolutionary forgiveness.  This is not about forgetting the injustice, for that will always remain a part of both the victim and the victimizer.  Revolutionary forgiveness carries a desire to create something different, a society beyond injustice.  Though there are never any guarantees for the future, the ability to move forward, to transpose the memory of injustice into a call for freedom, is dependent on a commitment to move beyond past violation and hurt.[8]

I’d like to tell you a story about a Vietnamese Buddhist temple that has existed for over ten years in a working class neighborhood in Boston.  The temple became the target of repeated vandalism at the hands of neighborhood teenagers, which culminated in a statue of Avalokitesvara, the goddess of compassion being smashed.  Though the sangha considered moving, they were reminded that in Buddhist thought, the cause of an action is a co-arising condition, and they realized that they had contributed to the problem by isolating themselves from the community.

So, instead of prosecuting the boys, they decided to get more involved in their neighborhood, holding clean-ups and cook-outs, inviting the vandals themselves to join in.  They chose not to prosecute, but to walk with them, to find out about their lives, and to do what they could to ensure that it wouldn't happen again.  The result of this action was a swell of community spirit, empowerment on every level, and even a neighborhood interfaith tolerance campaign.  The temple ordered a beautiful new statue of the goddess of compassion and chose to put her outside of the building, where she could see and be seen by all. 

When asked about the choice to forgive, a member of the temple said, "We are not a separate entity from these boys.  Everybody is like a cell in our own body.  To strike back at those who harmed us is like hitting our right hand with our left hand.  The whole body hurts."[9]

Rosh Hashanah is a time of new beginnings.  Yom Kippur focuses on repentance, and to move beyond that and to come to a place of reconciliation requires acts of forgiveness.  Just so, the Buddhists in this story understood that forgiveness is a revolutionary act that allows for new beginnings,[10] beginnings that hold the promise of a different future.  Holding grudges, demanding vengeance, and remaining in fearful isolation does indeed fuel the illusion of separateness.  Pero recuerda esto; Remember this.  It is only an illusion, because in fact, all people, all neighbors, all countries…we’re all parts of the same body.  As we enter this new year, may we walk every day with open hearts, and a willingness to participate in random and radical acts of forgiveness.  Forgiving ourselves and each other, may we begin anew in love.[11] 

La Shana Tova.   May you be inscribed and sealed for a good year.[12]