Opening Words

Good morning, it's wonderful to see each of you on this Labor Day holiday weekend.  There are a few quick announcements I'd like to share with you.  I'd like to announce that we've hired an Interim Music Director for the year, Ms. Nadya Hand.  I'm very much looking forward to working with Nadya this year, and can share with you that she brings a level of enthusiasm and positive energy that is just wonderfully infectious.  If you have any interest in music at all, play an instrument, know how to sing, or would like to learn how to sing, I encourage you to get involved.  This is the perfect time to do so, and you have an amazing individual to work with and learn from.

On another note, we are looking for a small group of people, two or three, who could collaborate in developing our newsletter, in putting it together and making it an even better publication.  If you enjoy writing or editing or have some experience with copy layout, I'd like to invite you to please find me after our worship service today.  It is one of the primary ways our community stays in touch with one another, and we need your help.  We currently don't have any help for putting together the October issue and really need a small group of individuals who could lend a hand with editing and layout.

And finally, I ran into one our congregation members at Albertson's this weekend and was reminded that our church has these little cards which if you scan while purchasing your groceries there, Albertson's donates a percentage of the purchase to the church.  It doesn't cost you anything, but you do need one of the church's cards.  (I actually didn't have a card when I ran into this parishioner at Albertson's, and was delightfully given one right on the spot!)  Please pick up one of these cards, and if you currently shop elsewhere, consider if it might be equally convenient to shop at Albertson's and financially support the church at the same time.

Moving on to the reason why we're gathered here today - Labor Day.  When you think about it, Labor Day is a holiday devoted, really, to each of us.  We all labor or have labored in some way.  The work that we do fundamentally shapes our lives - who we are, what we spend a significant amount of time doing - as well as the world around us.  Each of our efforts in the world combines with those of others, and, taken as a whole, all those interactions create the society we live in: what we do impacts who we are, and what our world looks like.  

As we gather to consider the impact we have on the world and on one another, I'd invite you to join me in hearing the words of theologian Rebecca Parker:

"In the midst of a world marked by tragedy and beauty there must be those who bear witness against unnecessary destruction and who, with faith, stand and lead in freedom, with grace and power.

There must be those who speak honestly and do not avoid seeing what must be seen of sorrow and outrage, or tenderness, and wonder.

There must be those whose grief troubles the water while their voices sing and speak refreshed worlds.

There must be those whose exuberance rises with lovely energy that articulates earth's joys.

There must be those who are restless for respectful and loving companionship among human beings, whose presence invites people to be themselves without fear.

There must be those who gather with the congregation of remembrance and compassion, draw water from old wells, and walk the simple path of love for neighbor.

And, there must be communities of people who seek to do justice, love, kindness and walk humbly with God, who call on the strength of soul-force to heal, transform, and bless life. There must be religious witness."

"In the Midst of the World," by Rebecca Parker

Let us walk the simple path of love for our neighbor.  Let us walk humbly with God, walk humbly with all that we consider holy and sacred.  Come, let us worship.

Reading

As we think about work, and the fruits of our labor, I'd like to narrow in on one specific aspect: class.  Frequently, what we do in the world correlates with the class we either claim or others perceive us as being in.  That class status, in turn, has implications for how we lives our lives, with whom, and where.  Our reading this morning is by Christopher Buckley, one of the founding editors of Forbes magazine, and an award winning author and satirist.  His piece is entitled, "My Nanny Was a Dreadful Snob."  He writes:

Sermon

Aaah, the dreadfully snobbish nanny.  We human beings can be dreadful.  Which is why I've decided that we're too smart for our own good.  If we were dumber, we wouldn't be so classist. 

This is true!  I have proof of this.  Many of you have met my dog Luke.  He's not a terribly bright creature, but he's quite endearing.  You may not know that he's a Labradoodle - that's a lab and a poodle mix.  It's what nowadays is referred to as a ‘designer dog,' a customized mix of breeds, colors, and temperaments.  They are considered quite chi-chi and are extremely expensive.  (Think of that tiny dog that runs around in Paris Hilton's purse, that's a designer dog.)  Among people who know dogs well, these designers are a status symbol - the dog version of Mercedes or Gucci.  And even then, within this illustrious category, there's a hierarchy: Labradoodles are higher up than Cockapoos, but on par with Goldendoodles.  (I bet you didn't expect to be learning so much about dogs on Labor Day...)

Given Luke's prestige status, you can imagine my delight in first taking him as a puppy to the dog park.  He was just coo'ed and caa'ed over.  And even in ultra-snooty, ultra-wealthy southern Connecticut, he was treated with great deference by the other dog owners.  As they should, they recognized his rightful status in the dog universe.  Which is why I was just appalled when he would go up to any mangy, flea-bitten mutt, and start licking their butt.  The more raggedly and filthy the dog looked the more likely he was to be frolicking and rolling around in the dirt with them.  "Why, Luke, why can't you play with that nice Goldendoodle over there?" I would lament.  "Why must you play with the dog that even the SPCA rejected?"

Luke might not be, but, yes, I am a classist.  I think we all are, in different ways and in different degrees.  But in so far as I am, in so far as we all are, it's not something we talk about.  Class status is one of those issues that makes just about everyone squirmy, it's not something we sit around the dinner table and talk about with friends.  The New York Times captures this in a quote:

"We Americans have long thought of ourselves as unburdened by class distinction.  We have no hereditary aristocracy or landed gentry, and even the poorest among us feel that they can become rich through education, hard work, or sheer gumption.  And yet social class remains a powerful force in American life."

We're constantly aware of class, and at the same time we constantly ignore it.  The ideals of The American Dream serve as our rationale in doing so.  This is after all, America.  Anyone can make it here; anyone can better their lives.  It doesn't matter where you fall on the political spectrum, liberal or conservative, we all believe in this American Dream, we just believe it to different degrees. 

So, let's take The Dream to its least common denominator: at a minimum we can say with almost uniform agreement that in our country some people can make it some of the time.  It is possible to break class boundaries.  And, because The Great American Dream is true for some, we all want to believe that it could be true for us or our loved ones.  The end result is that we live in dynamic tension with the notion of class.  We genuinely want to believe in mobility for ourselves and the people we care about, and yet we recognize that The Dream doesn't come true for many, many people. 

Add to this already convoluted picture the fact that, as a society, we have no clear idea what we're talking about when we refer to "the middle class."  I've been in the presence of people earning $150-200,000 a year and heard them refer to themselves as middle class.  Not upper middle class, but middle class, they view themselves as being right smack dab in the middle.  I have heard people struggling right above the poverty line, if not hovering on it, also refer to themselves as middle class.  Not struggling or poor, but middle class.  Apparently, we all get to call ourselves middle class.  The wealthy, likely do so because it's not politically correct to call yourself wealthy, but even more so because wealth implies social responsibility, a responsibility that not everybody wants.  The same thing happens at the other end of the spectrum, no one wants to call themselves poor.  There is shame associated with that; being poor in our country equates in some way with being a failure.  No one wants to claim that mantle.  And so it's no wonder that we almost never talk about class, it's emotionally laden topic, with hopes and fears pinned on it.

Ultimately, human relationships are about human beings, so I'd like to discuss class on a personal level; share some of my experiences in the hopes that they might stir up some of your own, particularly my experiences in Indian and Finnish culture.  When we're talking about class, they represent two radically different worldviews.

The first time I became aware of how deeply Indian culture had shaped my sense of class was about four years ago.  I was in seminary, grounding myself in our Unitarian Universalist history, and theology, our principles - you know, "the inherent worth and dignity of every human being," all that.  I organized a trip to India for a small group of friends and played tour guide for about two weeks, as we traveled around the sub-continent.  While in Bombay, my friends wanted to go to a local Indian bar, see what that might be like, and an ever helpful cab driver took us to one.  The moment we stepped through the doors all I could think about was leaving.  I felt extremely uncomfortable, and just wanted to get out.  My Western friends found nothing in the place uncomfortable and wanted to stay for a while, which we did to my increasing anxiety. 

We eventually left, and my friends pressed me on why I insisted on leaving so soon.  The only real explanation I could offer was that it was the wrong sort of crowd.  It wasn't the kind of crowd we should be hanging out with.  One of my friends asked me if by "we" I meant wealthy Westerners?  What about the inherent worth and dignity of all, he asked.  He was partially right, and in that respect when I actually reflected on it, I felt perfectly awful.  But this experience wasn't just about wealth, it was also about caste, it was about where you fall in the religious and social hierarchy.  In that situation, and even more broadly whenever I'm in India, it's like an autopilot button has been pressed, and deeply ingrained Hindu notions of class are just turned on.  And it is a Hindu notion of class because it's only relevant amongst other Indians, our religious understandings of class have no applicability outside the Indian cultural framework.   

This religious class consciousness is grounded in several aspects of Hindu theology, one of which is belief in the reincarnation of souls. Your body currently has a soul, and that soul has existed in the past, and will exist again in the future.  What you are born as depends on how good of a life you lived the last time around.  (This is somewhat simplified, but essentially correct.)  If you are living a difficult life here in the present it is because of actions from a past life: on a cosmic scale, you have gotten what you deserve.

This understanding of cosmic justice, that you have been born into the life you deserve, intersects with the Hindu caste system.  When you are born, you are also born into a specific caste.  There are literally thousands of castes, usually defined by occupation.  Mobility between vocations really doesn't exist for many if not most Indians.  You are born into a vocational caste, and that is what your profession will be.  Your father was a carpenter, so you will be a carpenter.  Your father was a farmer, so you will be a farmer.  And so on, including even the bottom most rungs of the social ladder - your parents were toilet cleaners, so you will be a toilet cleaner.  It really goes down to that level of specificity.  Whatever caste you are born into, you can't change it, and you're there because you deserve it. 

At the top of all these various social categories are the Brahmins, a category of individuals who have typically been priests and political or community leaders, what one could consider the more esteemed professions of Indian society.  The Brahmins, as religious leaders, are the defenders of this social order.  And why not, they're at the top.  It was no surprise to me, in retrospect, that I reacted to being at that bar in Bombay not only as a wealthier person of Indian heritage, but also as a Brahmin in a non-Brahmin environment.

Now, this says something interesting about class.  Hinduism has clearly defined social categories based on the type of work you do, but within those categories it's possible to be poor or wealthy.  You can be a wealthy farmer, or a poor farmer.  There are wealthy Brahmins, and there are poor Brahmins.  Economic status does not change your social status.  The poorest Brahmin is still more blessed, and has higher social status, than the wealthiest farmer. 

It's an interesting departure from our society, where class tends to be primarily associated with wealth.  There is very recent research out of UC Berkeley, on young adults and class, suggesting that in our society as well, class is increasingly not about economic status, but instead grounded in one's social networks - who we associate with.  This research cites geography, race, and religion as important aspects of class, in addition to or even instead of wealth.

My experience of India represents an unapologetic classism, one that has no parallel anywhere else.  I know of no other culture where religious authority actually works to prohibit social mobility and on top of that accepts open discrimination against those at the bottom.  It's a religious legacy that I've had to contend with and understand, particularly in my relationships with other Indians. 

Let's look at a totally different example.  From the tropics, let's move to the tundra, and my other ‘home' country of Finland.  If India is a case study in entrenched class structures, Finland is one the best examples in the other direction - the ideal of classlessness, the lack of class divides.  In understanding this, it's important to know that the Nordic countries are organized around social welfare principles.  Their values are very similar to ours, but the way they go about achieving those values is completely different.  This comes through in many different ways, in one's day-to-day interactions with Finns.

I was living in Finland as a U.S. diplomat, a very elite status, one with which you move amongst their society's crème-de-la-crème.  I remember, very shortly after I moved there, attending a dinner party and having this amazing discussion about politics and world affairs, and when I finally got around to asking this individual what he did for a living, I was expecting to hear that he must work for some corporation or perhaps a government agency.  He was a car mechanic.  I was floored. And this was not an isolated example.  The person who was to become my best friend, and still to this day is, was, at that point in time, what we would call a "facilities maintenance manager."  In the ritzy building where I had a penthouse suite, he lived in the basement and took care of the building and its grounds.  That kind of friendship was - it is - possible in Finland.  It has never been lost on me that if both of us had somehow met in the U.S., rather than in Finland, I would likely not have the best friend that I have today.

That is something I've sat with very deeply.  I love the fact that what's not socially possible here, or at a minimum would be extremely difficult to pull off, is possible there.  But why is that so?  For starters, education is free for everyone up to and including a Masters degree, if you want one.  If not, vocational schooling is possible and is also free.  Health care is entirely free, so you don't have the case of health correlating with wealth, as we do here.  For those who fall through the cracks, lose their job or can't find employment, there are generous social services that help prevent the creation of a permanent underclass.  Women are valued in the work place, but so is family life; new mothers receive one year of maternity leave, with the possibility of a year and a half. 

All these benefits, taken together, create a system where men, women, blue-collar workers, white-collar workers, are all treated with equal dignity and given a chance to make a pretty good life for themselves.  This type of egalitarianism comes with a hefty price tag.  We typically pay about 33% of our income in taxes; Finns pay about 45% in taxes, with higher-income individuals paying even more.  What's interesting is that none of this is imposed on them; Finns view all of this as consistent with their values.  Every human being matters, and the social structures that surround them are intended to give life to that value.

Two extreme examples - class rigidity and the ideal of classlessness - with American society falling somewhere inbetween, ours acknowledging the existence of class but wanting to hold strong hope in its permeability.  Where does all this leave us, where does it take us?  It leaves me a bit torn.  We live in classist structures, those structures, those barriers, have been taught to us.  As a result, I know that I carry knee-jerk, instinctive assumptions about those who aren't in the same categories I'm in, and I work actively to fight those assumptions.  I know that I feel frustrated living in a country where acknowledgment and discussion of class is virtually non-existent.  In that invisibility we seem to place an irrational amount of hope in the achievability of The American Dream.  And then there is my desire to be idealistic, the part of me that is absolutely in love with the possibility of a society where class doesn't matter, where a diplomat can become best friends with a building and grounds keeper.  And yet I know that eliminating class barriers in a small country of five million people is different than doing it among 300 million, with as many diverse races, languages, and religions as we have.

Perhaps part of the answer lies in the story of the dreadful nanny, with the two Tommys, one rich, one poor, whom Mom loved equally so.  An overly simplistic story, but love was a bridge, it was part of the answer.  And what if simplicity, the kind of simplicity Luke represents, is another part of the answer?  What if we could dumb down the complexity of this issue to the point where we see one another purely in our humanity - meeting one another at the level of our individual life experiences, our joys, and our pains?  It is not easy because we frequently have to work simultaneously against divisions grounded in religion, societal expectations and norms, economic structures, racial biases, geographic stereotypes, differences in our levels of education, and messages we grew up hearing around us. 

It is not easy.  In fact, I'd even say that it's subversive.  But then again, we Unitarian Universalists have never been shy about being subversive.  I hope and pray that it is a heritage we can all aspire to: for all that is our life, and for than can and shall be. 

Happy Labor Day!