Close, But Not Quite

I’d like to begin our time together with the words of a favorite poet, Dorothy Parker

A single flow'r he sent me, since we met.
All tenderly his messenger he chose;
Deep-hearted, pure, with scented dew still wet -
One perfect rose.

I knew the language of the floweret;
'My fragile leaves,' it said, 'his heart enclose.'
Love long has taken for his amulet
One perfect rose.

Why is it no one ever sent me yet
One perfect limousine, do you suppose?
Ah no, it's always just my luck to get
One perfect rose. 

How often have you found yourself in a similar to position to Mrs. Parker? By that I mean, how often have you gotten something from life that one should be grateful for, but the gift doesn’t quite hit the spot?

Sometimes the thing that comes into your life isn’t a gift at all, but the result of a mistake that you’ve made. Some of you may have listened to the episode of This American Life from this week’s Weekend Update, if you were able to, you’ll know the story about the couple just out of graduate school who bought what they hoped was going to be their dream dining room table, only to receive, via eBay, a piece of doll house furniture.  Well crafted, and as lovely as the picture in the advertisement, but not large enough for their desires.

Of course the conundrum isn’t always humorous, and sometimes a “buck up” attitude isn’t all that is needed to fix the situation.

One of the most difficult challenges in doing the kind of work that helping professionals do, and by this I mean people in Social Work, ministry, health careers, law enforcement and education…a small and incomplete list, the most difficult thing to face is what I’m going to call “layers of barriers.”

It’s not enough to be out of a job, that’s a difficult enough position to be in, but when you’re out of a job and your car, which isn’t paid for, breaks down, and the electric company is sending you notices with a red stripe at the bottom and your fridge is on the empty side…

This is an example of layers of barriers.

You might be able to address one or two of the problems, but when it gets to be three or four or six, it can prove to be overwhelming.

And if you’re in a helping career, and it may not be your own fridge that’s empty, or your car that’s broken, you know the helplessness and desperation of the person on the other end of the telephone, or sitting next to you at the table.

And you think, either on behalf of this other human being or yourself…this isn’t what I wanted.

It’s moments like these that we need others. What isn’t helpful is when “others” tell us to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps.

In the film clip from On Golden Pond, you can see Henry and Jane Fonda acting out a scene that may feel a little familiar to you. You’re trying to communicate with someone you’re supposed to have an easy relationship with, and it’s frustrating.

Fathers and daughters are supposed to get along like two peas in a pod…everyone knows that. There are Father/Daughter dances that promote that kind of thing. They are related for the Love of Pete, and they’re supposed to have an innate affection for each other.

And if they don’t, somehow, one of them has failed, right?

Jane Fonda has said in interviews that On Golden Pond was a very difficult film for her to make, and a great joy,  saying that sometimes the line blurred between fiction and real life. She and her father had a difficult relationship, and there were plenty of things that she did that her father didn’t approve of.  This scene in particular, she said, was very raw for the pair.

The daughter is trying to be seen and validated by her father, most of us have had moments when we didn’t feel seen and understood.

And all of this is taking place in the middle of a family vacation, on a beautiful lake, wish fishing and family all around.  The kind of thing that is supposed to be amazing and fun-filled.

Except it’s more complicated then that.

It’s the complicated that I bring to you this morning.

When I was younger, adulthood seemed so simple. You go to work you pay your bills, and there’s always just enough money to do that and have pizza once in a while. You have a spouse you love, you may have 2 or 3 children, and you have a swimming pool.

That’s what I thought adulthood would be like when I was 8 or 9.

That and you got to go to bed whenever you choose to do so.

It turns out that adulthood is far more complicated then that.

I am very happy in my life, and I live a comfortable life. This was not always the case, and because it was not always the case, my awareness of this I hope inspires an ever-preset sense of gratitude.

Like the thought of Allah in the spiritual life of a Muslim, I try to keep gratitude in my every thought.

There are times when this slips, of course, but I dust myself off and try again.

Do you remember a few weeks ago, when I opened our worship service with the words of The Rev. Leslie Takashi?  She wove for us a new interpretation of a poem by Rumi.

Come, come, whoever you are

Come with your hurts, your imperfections,

your places that feel raw and exposed.

Come, come, whoever you are

Come with your strengths that the world shudders to hold

come with your wild imaginings of a better world,

come with your hopes that it seems no one wants to hear.

Wanderer, worshiper, lover of leaving we will make a place for you,

we will build a home together.

Ours is no caravan of despair.

We walk together; Come, yet again come.

Part of what speaks to me so deeply about the hymn in our gray “Come, come whoever you are” is that we are invited to try again and again, allowed to make mistakes and to be fully human, and still yet be invited to travel with companions.  

I am in a position of great comfort, and yet my heart breaks on a regular basis. I have the great joy of being the minister to a congregation of really terrific people. I am the public figure of ministry for this church, and I do my work both inside and outside of the walls of this sanctuary.

But the people in this congregation and world I serve have problems, and since I care for them, since I care deeply for the people who I was called to serve, their heartbreak breaks my own heart.

What did I want when I stepped my foot into my first classroom at University? A good job that made good money that I could be proud of.

I got that.

I also got regular opportunities to shed tears of sorrow.

And also tears of joy.

It isn’t exactly what I thought it was going to be, this job I pictured when I was 19 stepping onto a college campus for the first time.

But I embrace my job in its entirety.

Life says to me, as Ava Gardner said to Howard Hughes as he asked “Does the water look clean to you?” She says “Nothing’s clean, Howard, but we do our best.”

We do our best. If we do our honest, truth be told, cross my heart best…it is enough.

Even when it may not feel like it’s enough. It is, because it has to be.

Most of us want to be helpful. We want to lead lives that make the lives of others easier. Whether we are teachers, code monkeys, nurses, librarians, police officers or conscientious wait staff.

But no matter our gallant efforts, there is always going to be a gap between what we, as mere human beings can do and the need that there is to be met.

So what is our response to this conundrum then? Since we are people on a spiritual journey in a house of religious worship, I would like to recommend a spiritual answer.

Our friends who practice Buddhism might suggest that we let go of our need to make all things better. Kindness and caring are very important practices, of course, but if your attachment to solving all problems causes you to suffer, you must release that which makes you suffer. Your suffering benefits no one.

Ralph Waldo Emerson said it like this: Not everything that is more difficult is more meritorious.

Our Christian friends, indeed those who practice Abrahamic religions, which would also include our Jewish and Muslim neighbors, might turn to their understanding of G-d. We have in our own hymnal remnants of this theology “Oh, God our help in ages past.” G-d is there to help share the burden one feels.

Friends of ours who are Pagan and Pantheistic may have Gods and Goddesses they pray will accompany them while struggle.

And for those who cannot in good conscience turn toward the supernatural, I offer you this possibility…there is something greater than the individual who struggles alone, there is a community here. We have a covenant between us that is greater than we are as individuals. Our covenant, our relationship, is our strength.

We are the place we can turn to for aid in troubling times. We are the place where our joys are multiplied by the celebrations of others. Where our victories are hailed, and our sorrows comforted.

When life is not exactly what it is you wanted, you are being offered the chance to grow as a spiritual being.

You can respond to this challenge in many ways, the healthiest of which, I think, is to accept it, but not too easily. Also remember that to accept a reality is not the same as bowing down to it, or allowing reality to keep you from growing despite limitations.

Those limitations should serve as inspiration for growth.

I had a friend, a colleague really, who accepted a call to a church near Detroit. She and her husband wanted to live in a certain, quirky part of the city which is known for it’s great architecture and history.  She was unable to find a house there they liked and could afford.  So they chose a different city. As she told me the story of the house they chose out of necessity, and I, not having seen it, was able to describe to her the house in detail.

Not because I had a psychic vision, or anything. But rather because an aunt of mine had a duplicate house of my friends, just 3 miles down the road.

Three miles of houses so similar that I could see it in my mind’s eye, right down to the half wall in the living room, and the step down into the family room from the kitchen.

For my friend, who is far from a cookie-cutter human being, to buy this cookie-cutter house, well, it felt like a giant defeat, and she was struggling with how she was going to feel at home in a house such as this.

It was what she should have wanted, right? A solid house, in a solid neighborhood.

But it wasn’t what she wanted, and she struggled with not wanting what should have been a perfectly good option for her and her family.

We talked though, about how art requires structure for tension, and it is within the dance of structure and spirit that the artist thrives. That she could use this cookie-cutter structure to help her to frame her idea of home, but not constrain it. 

May you have the wisdom, when life offers you that which isn’t exactly what you wanted, may you have the wisdom to find the good in what you must. If you cannot may you find someone who may help you to do so.

May you gain the wisdom in this world to take joy for what comes your way, and to let life’s curveballs perchance show you a new direction in which to grow.

And when the news you get is truly, truly bad, please remember our relationship here in this congregation. Remember that there are friends here for helping you, for helping you grow.

It is my prayer that the people who come through the doors of our sanctuary find always that, a sanctuary. A place for sorrow, a place for joy, and a place for love.

May it be ever so.

Amen.

ἀγάπη Agape

On the night of December 21, 1988, a bomb exploded on board New York– bound Pan Am Flight 103 and ripped the aircraft apar, its wreckage then raining down on the sleepy Scottish town of Lockerbie below. All 259 passengers and crew perished, as did eleven local residents. One of the passengers was forty-five-year-old Frank Ciulla, who had been traveling home to his wife and three children in New Jersey for the Christmas holidays. His body was discovered on Margaret and Hugh Connell’s small farm in Waterbeck, nearly eight miles from the main crash site.

Almost four years later, the Ciulla family finally found the strength to visit Scotland. They went to Minsca Farm and spent time with the Connells; and they saw the quiet spot where their father and husband came to rest, far away from the chaotic scenes in Lockerbie; and they asked all of the questions they had been desperate to ask since getting the news. After the visit, the Connells wrote a beautiful, thoughtful letter to the Ciullas. It was cherished and read aloud on the seventh anniversary of the tragedy, as the Lockerbie Cairn, the red Scottish sandstone memorial to those killed, was dedicated in Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia. The two families remain close. 

Here is the letter:

My Dears Lou, Mary Lou and family,

I can hardly believe that I am writing to you. This is something that I had longed to do since 21st December, 1988. When your dear one came to us from the night, it was so unbelievable, haunting and desperately sad. You said that your visit altered the picture for you in many ways; this is just how it was for us too. Frank was a young man with a name but connected to nobody. Now at last we can match him with a loving family. Sometimes I would stop to think as the months went past, “I wonder how his loved ones are coping now, I wonder what they are doing?”

We were told maybe some of the relatives would never come; we were afraid that you’d come and not want to get in touch. I was so thankful that you made the effort to come and ask all the questions you had always wanted to ask. You had at last found someone who could fill in those last hours, that piece that had always remained a mystery. It’s the “not knowing” that can bring so much pain and bewilderment. We all have imaginations that can run riot in us, and I’m sure your dear souls must have had untold agonies wondering and worrying.

It was just wonderful to meet you face-to-face. We needed to talk to you all too. As you said, we will get to know Frank through you. He was never just “another victim” to us. For months we called him “Our Boy.” Then we found out his name. He was “Our Frank.” Please believe me we were deeply affected by his coming to us. We will never forget our feelings seeing him there, a whole-bodied handsome man, the life gone out of him in a twinkling. We were just past trying to grasp the whole thing.

Then to have to leave him there, but he was visited throughout the night by police and a doctor and we went back again in the morning. He was a fellow man and he had come to us in the saddest way. So now through him we have you in our hearts, and please, we want you all to know that you are welcome here whenever you come.[1]

The Connell Family  

Agape is a hard concept to define.

On the surface, it’s easy, I suppose. The Greeks had four distinct words and concepts for love, whereas in English we have just the one word.

The Greeks have Storge, the kind of love that exists in families, particularly between parents and children. It’s defining characteristic is it’s natural state of being.

There is also Phillia, an affectionate regard between equals. This can be felt between friends, community and lovers even. Being of equal social standing seems to be the place where this rests.

Eros, is of course love in the sexual passion realm. 

Agape is the version of love that is most entangled in our world with 1 Corinthians 13, the Love Chapter:

If I speak in the tongues^[a] of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. ² If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. ³ If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast,^[b] but do not have love, I gain nothing.
⁴ Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. ⁵ It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. ⁶ Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. ⁷ It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
⁸ Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. ⁹ For we know in part and we prophesy in part, ¹⁰ but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. ¹¹ When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. ¹² For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
¹³ And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.[2]

Jesus taught his followers to engage in this kind of love, this agape form, brotherly love, charitable love, love for the others who share our planet.

Even though the concept of agape was not created to illustrate the story and lessons of the man known as Jesus, in 2,000 years the two concepts have become so intertwined that it is hard to see one as clearly and distinct….without the other.

The story of two families, connected by tragedy, though, is one example of people doing it. No one in the story, not the Ciullas, and not the Connells are divine, they are just ordinary human beings, brought into relationship with each other by an event.

We have our own examples of agape as well. 

(Here I told the story of 18 of our members--nearly 1/3 of the whole congregation--going to a Olivet Institutional Baptist Church as part 1,151 religious people to make a statement about the police brutality in Cleveland.)

My question to you, is how can we as a body, and as individuals return again and again to practicing this kind of love of our fellow beings?  What inspires us to do so, and what might inspire others to join us.

We have been talking about wanting this congregation to grow, to become even more relevant to the world outside our sanctuary.

I say that there are people out there in the world who are looking for us, even if they don’t yet know we’re here. There may be students at Case, or Triple C or CSU.  Or maybe even professors and staff.

There may be people right down the street from us who are looking for a way to bring more meaning into their lives, but don’t know which avenue makes sense to them.

Like you, they may feel that a more orthodox Christianity doesn’t speak to them, or that they never went to church, and so church doesn’t come to mind when they think about matters of the soul.

They may describe themselves as “Spiritual, but not religious,” only because their understanding of what religious means has been narrowly defined by big box churches, pastors who tell their congregations that gay people are hell-bound. Their whole view of a religious person might be an image of Jerry Farwell, or of the person at work who talks about their Bible constantly but shows no evidence of having read it in their actions.

We are a congregation that practices the kind of love and regard for others in this world. We care about those we don’t know, and we care about those who sit in this sanctuary with us week after week.

Like all love, agape isn’t perfect and we don’t always do a perfect job of expressing how agape makes us feel in the world, but we do feel it.

And we are not alone.

Ask the 1,1151 people who gathered together in Olivet Institutional Baptist Church this past Tuesday.

Ask the people who went to the March on Selma almost 50 years ago when they could’ve stayed home, comfortable.

Ask our Universalist and Unitarian ancestors who pushed for the abolition of slavery. Those who helped fund the beginning of the African Methodist Episcopalian churches, just after the Civil War.

No, we do not practice agape love in the same way as more orthodox churches, we don’t follow the example of Jesus as directly as they might—but in not just words, but in deeds, with our pens, with our bodies—we demonstrate our affection for those with whom we share our planet, and those who will share it in the future after we are gone.

As Dr. King said in the video clip that served as our Reading from the Global Scripture, Jesus didn’t teach the world that we should like our enemies, but that we should love them.

“Agape is more than friendship, agape is not simply affection, agape is understanding creative, redemptive good will for all men. It is an overwhelming love that seeks nothing in return. Theologians would say that it is the love of God operating in the human heart.”

Agape is love, operating in the human heart.

May we be ever open to the works of love in our heart that call us into action.

Blessed be.

---

[1] Usher, Shaun (2014-05-06). Letters of Note: An Eclectic Collection of Correspondence Deserving of a Wider Audience (Kindle Locations 1739-1755). Chronicle Books LLC. Kindle Edition.

[2] https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1+Corinthians+13

I Blame Jane Austen

Jane Austen is a giant figure in literature. Her six novels were written before her death at age 41, two having been published after her death by her brother, Henry Austen.

There are really three Janes I would like to talk about this morning. There is Historical Jane, or the question of Where is Jane’s place in actual history.  There is Jane the Writer, or What did she write about? And then there is Jane Austen, literary figure, or What have people made of her writings?

The title of this morning’s sermon, I Blame Jane Austen, is as good a place as any to begin.

I first encountered Jane Austen, as many do, when some of my friends started reading her in middle school, and then high school.  I will freely admit, perhaps to my peril, the books were of little interest to me. I thought, by looking at the covers, that they would be silly and full of the kind of romance that I was just not interested in.

Clearly, I am not the only one to have made this mistake.

It seems that Jane Austen’s novels have been mistaken for silly love stories by many, including many people who make costume movies. And looking at these movies in previews, still I was uninspired to look into the world of Jane Austen.

Miss Jane Austen was born in the Rectory at Steventon, in Hampshire England, where her father served as Rector, a clergy position in the Anglican Church. Jane was born a mere 5 months before the Colonies in America told the King of England they wanted to separate.  Steventon Rectory is about 65 miles south and west of London. In those days, Steventon was very far from London indeed. Her family did have some social standing, meaning that there had been lower titles and land in her family; she was not a peasant, or a member of the underclass, but also she was not wealthy growing up, and her prospects at marriage would’ve been limited. In fact neither she nor her one sister, Cassandra, married. She had six brothers, one who was adopted by a distant relative, and the brother she was closest to became a banker, and when that failed a clergyman like their father. He also became her literary agent, and this brother, Henry, is largely responsible for us knowing about her at all.

Jane and her sister were well-educated, which in itself was somewhat rare for the time. They had tutors and learned alongside their brothers. This hints at her Father’s liberal views on women. A book that was of great influence on Jane was written by Mary Wollstonecraft, On the Vindication of the Rights of Women.

Mary Wollstonecraft’s seminal work, a book which is credited as if not THE FIRST certainly A very early and influential book on feminism was published with great help some male members of her church, the Unitarian Chapel at Newington Green. Through her membership at the Chapel at Newington Green, she met two men whose names may be familiar to you. Thomas Paine and Joseph Priestly.  Thomas Paine of course is better known for his role in the American Revolution, but Joseph Priestly was the physician who “discovered,” and by that I mean was able to prove the existence of, Oxygen, and he is frequently credited as being the father of American Unitarianism.

Wollstonecraft’s book was the inspiration for much of the 18^th and 19^th century feminist movements, and as a side note, her daughter was also an author—Mary Godwin Shelley. Mary Shelley wrote, of course among other things, Frankenstein and was married to Percy Shelley. Practioners of Free Love, it seems that Mr. Shelley never divorced his first wife before marrying Mary Godwin, and there is some indication that he and Lord Byron of the poetry fame, were lovers as well.

Their tale seems like a more salacious version of a tale worthy of Jane Austen!

Generally, when one thinks of Jane Austen, one thinks of bucolic country estates, and long afternoon teas, not the kind of social radicalism of the likes of Mary Wollstonecraft, but this was the reality of Historical Jane, not the Jane, the Literary Figure.

It is Jane the Literary Figure that I have a beef with, and really, that’s not her fault at all. It is really the fault of those who have re-interpreted her work to be shallow costume dramas.

Here’s what my impression of the work of Jane Austen was: In every story, there is some young woman, and some young man. There are some complications, often having to do with arcane social restrictions and expectations, but in the end, all works out and there is a wedding.

Perhaps you have had a similar expectation.

And in every novel by Jane Austen, this does happen.

The problem comes, though, if one dismisses this as the only thing that happens.

Jane Austen is not just some spinster who writes fantastical stories about how romance comes to young women who are saved by marriage.

She is a woman aware of her own social place in the world, and she uses her literature to comment on the social structures of the world she lives in.

Jane’s father, George Austen was a somewhat radical clergyman in that he allowed his daughters to be educated well beyond what was generally considered to be normal in their day and age. I have to tell you that even saying that last sentence makes me feel very awkward. This education in conjunction with her own natural-born intellect, is what gave Jane Austen the tools she needed to write these novels, which are both so studied and so misunderstood by us, these 200 years later.

With a few brief quotes, because truthfully one could spend a lifetime in analysis of Ms. Austen’s works, I want to lift up a few themes.

From her first published novel, Sense and Sensibility, she comments on the duties of woman and motherhood “Mrs. Jennings was a widow, with an ample jointure. She had only two daughters, both of whom she had lived to see respectably married, and she had now therefore nothing to do but to marry all the rest of the world.” 

Here Austen reflects on the limited scope of work for women in her own landed class. Their job was to produce sons so that property could be passed along, and daughters to help secure the future for her and her husband’s care in their old age.

From Pride and Prejudice, “I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding— certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of other so soon as I ought, nor their offenses against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.” 

In this passage Jane Austen demonstrates the awkward social position that she and others like herself are trapped. No matter what Jane’s internal gifts, she is a cog in a system.

It’s hard for us to understand, as twenty-first century people to understand the depth of the importance of reputation in Jane’s time. Any wrong step for a young woman of position could mean immediate ruin not only for herself but for her family’s reputation, and thereby any sisters as yet unmarried.

If you think about it, this system was incredibly restrictive. Even if you didn’t care about your own reputation, any decision you made in public might condemn your family. Conversely, if any member of your family did something scandalous, you might be ruined forever.

Of course there were rules for the young gentlemen as well, but they seem largely and unfairly less restrictive.

And a very touching quote from Mansfield Park, a quote that many this room might easily identify with “…but then I am unlike other people I dare say.”

Even though I wanted to be able to blame all of the silly ideas that we have about romance winning the day, place that responsibility squarely on the shoulders of Jane Austen, it is clear that she was far more clever, as the British say, and far more an intellect to be reckoned with than I had imagined.

I wanted to blame her for expectations that have become monstrous and lead to things like ten thousand dollar wedding dresses, and setting up this idea that every marriage and love should be a rescue and without complication.

But these are not things that she can be blamed for, really. Those who are to blame are really those who have used Jane’s writings without truly understanding all that she was saying.

One can’t help but wonder what would have happened if Jane had written stories that continued after the wedding.

David Sedaris wrote recently about being in a relationship for ten years.

Last night, Hugh and I went around the corner to see The End of theAffair, a Neil Jordan adaptation of the Graham Greene novel. He sobbed from beginning to end. And by the time we left the theater, the poor thing was completely dehydrated.

I asked if he always cried during comedies, and he accused me of being grossly insensitive, a charge I'm trying to plea bargain down to a simple obnoxious. Looking back, I should've known better than to accompany Hugh to a love story. Such movies are always a danger as, unlike battling aliens or going undercover to track a serial killer, falling in love is something most adults have actually experienced at some point in their lives.

The theme is universal and encourages the viewer to make a number of unhealthy comparisons, leading to the question, "Why can't our lives be like that?" It's a box best left unopened. 

I'm not as unfeeling as Hugh accuses me of being, but things change once you've been together for 10 years. They rarely make movies about long-term couples and for good reason. Our lives are boring.

The courtship had its moments, but now we've become the predictable part two no one in his right mind would ever pay to see. 

The picture ended at around 10:00. And afterwards, we went for coffees at a little place across the street from the Luxembourg Gardens. I was ready to wipe the movie out of my mind, but Hugh was still under its spell. He looked as though his life had not only passed him by, but paused along the way to spit in his face.

Movie characters might chase one another through the fog, or race down the stairs of burning buildings, but that's just for beginners. Real love amounts to withholding the truth, even when you're offered the perfect opportunity to hurt somebody's feelings. I wanted to say something to this effect, but my hand puppets were back home in their drawer. Instead, I pulled my chair a few inches closer, and we sat silently at our little table on the square, looking for all the world like two people in love.[1]

 If Jane Austen had written that Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, three years after winning Elizabeth’s hand in marriage, if Fitz developed simple, chronic halitosis, or breath bad enough to stun a horse. Then he image of marriage might be less romanticized and maybe there wouldn’t be so many Jane Austen movies.

Elinor and Marianne Dashwood, Sense and Sensibility respectively….What would happen is Edward became a minister of a dissenting opinion, which would’ve been illegal in that time period, would Elinor have lived such a happily ever after?  What if Marianne’s Colonel had decided to join the rebel forces in the colonies? How complicated might that have gotten!

The reality is that Jane Austen was a vanguard, a renegade. When SO few women lived by their pen she managed to do so. And she is to be commended for it.

She left us with six novels, which are very much of their time. In them she carefully and thoroughly recorded a way of life that is now lost to us.

The novel itself was a brand new art form, being experimented with during the time while our Miss Austen was working.  It’s true that in all six of her novels love wins over in the end, but they are not simple boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy and girl get reunited and married affairs. Within the pages of her books, Austen critiques her own society with a sharp eye and a keen wit.

So in the end, Jane Austen is not really to blame for my frustration with Jane Austen. It is really the ham-fisted re-interpreters of Ms. Austen’s work that have earned my rebuke.

In film after film, we are shown doe eyed young ladies, handsome young men, horses and wide shots of supposed British Countryside shot through hazy lenses trying to teach us what romance is really about.

Those who would produce a moving like Becoming Jane, who would twist a one time meeting with Mr. Tom Lefroy into a torrid, tragic unrequited love. They deserve my ire, not Jane Austen.

In fact, I would give Jane Austen the last word this morning.

“Give a girl an education and introduce her properly into the world, and ten to one but she has the means of settling well, without further expense to anybody. ” – Jane Austen.

© The Rev. Joe Cherry

Written for and Delivered to

The Unitarian Universalist Society of Cleveland

February 1, 2015

---

[1] http://www.thisamericanlife.org/radio-archives/episode/221/transcript