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September 2010

REsources For Living
BY LYNN UNGAR, MINISTER FOR LIFESPAN LEARNING, CHURCH OF THE  LARGER FELLOWSHIP

September is a time of new beginnings. For many of us it’s the start of a new school year, and for some of us it’s the start of a new church year as well. And hey, my birthday’s in September, so it’s certainly the start of a new year as far as I’m concerned. It turns out that in the Jewish tradition it’s the world’s birthday as well. OK, I have no idea how one comes to the conclusion that the world was created in the fall, when there was no earth yet to have seasons. Some things are just a mystery. But the first day of the Hebrew month of Tisrei marks the day of Rosh Hashana, which means “the head of the year.”

Rosh Hashana isn’t just a birthday party for the universe, however. It also marks a particular kind of new beginning for every Jewish person. You see, Rosh Hashana ushers in the ten Days of Awe, or Days of Turning, which end with the holiday of Yom Kippur. And those ten days in between the holidays are all about making a fresh start. They’re called the Days of Turning because they’re a time to adjust the direction you’re heading, as if you were a ship that had gotten blown off course. People get blown—or wander—off the course to our best selves all the time. We lose our tempers, we choose to do what’s convenient rather than what’s right, we get jealous or lazy or scared or greedy. We hurt the feelings of those we love (or those we just have to be around) and we hold grudges against those who have hurt our feelings.

The Days of Turning remind the faithful that it is always possible to make a fresh start. We can remember the ways we strayed from being our best selves and work to do better. We can apologize to the people we’ve hurt, and ask for their forgiveness. And we can find ways to forgive those who have hurt us.

Of course, forgiving others can be a very tricky thing. What if they don’t apologize? What if they haven’t changed their behavior and you don’t know that they’re going to? When you’ve had a fight with a friend it can be pretty simple (although not always easy) for both of you to say “I’m sorry. I said things I didn’t mean. Let’s try to go back to how it was.”

But as I write this, I’m thinking that who I’m most mad at right now is the oil company BP. They saved some money by not installing the best safety equipment that was available and eleven people died when their drilling platform exploded, and now millions of gallons of oil are polluting the ocean and shore. They haven’t made their other drilling operations safer, and although they’re working on stopping the leak and cleaning up the spill, there’s simply no way that they will be able to prevent terrible damage to wildlife and the people whose lives and work depend on the oceans and shorelines.

In a situation like this, what does it mean to forgive? How do we make a new start? What do we do with the anger and sadness that can feel overwhelming?

There aren’t any easy answers, but perhaps the ritual of Yom Kippur offers a start. On Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement that comes at the end of the Days of Turning, Jewish people gather for a day of prayer and fasting. The central prayer of the holiday involves the whole gathered community asking for forgiveness for a whole long list of misdeeds, from stubbornness to giving or taking bribes. Here’s the thing. Everybody asks for forgiveness together. You don’t just ask for forgiveness for giving rude looks but skip the part about embezzlement because you never stole money from your boss. Everybody asks for forgiveness together, because we all participate together in the life of our community.

I will never be guilty of leaving safety equipment off of an oil rig. But you know what? I drive a car. I buy things that were moved around by trucks. I heat my house with natural gas, the kind that caused the explosion. I’m not guilty of the oil spill in the same way that the executives of BP and other companies are guilty. But by using the product that they sell, I’m not totally innocent either.

I can’t do much about the bad choices of an oil company. But I can tell the government that we should stop drilling in the ocean—or at least have stronger safety laws. I can try to walk instead of drive, or turn down the heat in my house or buy food that comes from nearby rather than from across the world.

I don’t know if I can find it in my heart to forgive the executives at BP. But I can move beyond anger and grief to finding not only my part in the problem, but also my part in the solution. I can choose for myself to begin again in the long journey toward what is good and true and right.

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Last updated August 17, 2010