The Best We Can Be

Rev. Peter A. Friedrichs

January 3, 2010

READING

SERMON

I am glad the holidays are over. I am glad the holidays are over for one very specific reason: no more commercials from the car companies trying to sell you an automobile as a Christmas present. You know the ones I'm talking about, "Happy Honda Days," and the Mercedes Benz "Winter Event." This year BMW took a swipe at Lexus with a commercial that asked whether you'd prefer a car with a big bow on top or the joy of driving one of their cars (apparently down a ski slope). And it was the Lexus commercials, those of the big red bows, that seemed to be everywhere you looked. They urged us to make this a "December to Remember" and told us that a Lexus is a gift that keeps on giving through all the seasons of our lives. I really wonder why high-end car makers spend so much money trying to convince us that a $50,000 car is the perfect Christmas gift. I mean, how many of us are really going to take out a second or third mortgage on the house for that? How absolutely thrilled would our spouses or partners be if we surprised them with that on Christmas morning?

At some level, I guess the commercials must work, since they're everywhere you look during the holidays, even the past couple years when the nation is suffering its worst economic crisis since the Great Depression. The Lexus commercials strike me as particularly pretentious, as does their slogan. Does anyone know what it is? "The Relentless Pursuit of Perfection." When I hear that term, "the relentless pursuit of perfection," it brings to my mind not just a high-end automobile, but a particular individual who epitomizes this principal. If the world were a perfect place, this individual would be a spokesperson for Lexus and not for one of the more pedestrian American-made cars on the road, the Buick. I am, if you haven't guessed, talking about Tiger Woods.

Tiger's been in the news just a bit the past couple of months, and I'm going to assume that you've all heard about his troubles of late. We don't need to get into all the sordid details, nor am I here this morning to cast judgment on Tiger for his admitted extramarital activities. What interests me about Tiger's life is not how many women he slept with, how much he paid them to keep quiet, or how and how long he kept this all from his wife and from the prying eyes of the public. What interests me is the price he has paid in his relentless pursuit of perfection.

When I was growing up, I learned to play golf. As a teenager I was actually a pretty decent golfer, and on some weekends my dad would let me sub when one of his regular foursome couldn't play. I wasn't even close to being a "phenom," but I could play a respectable round, and through high school I usually played three or more times a week. So, I know how hard and how humbling the game of golf can be. For those of you who have never picked up a club, all you need to know is that it's a game that's easy to play and impossible to master. And that's what makes Tiger Woods so remarkable. He is one of the few, if perhaps the only, human being to have mastered this particular sport. To accomplish what he's achieved in the world of golf takes physical strength and skill. But more than that, it takes an unbelievable level of mental discipline. Laser-like focus minute by minute, day in and day out. And it takes practice. Practice, practice, practice. Hours and hours of monotonous time on a putting green, standing over six-footers, those notorious score-killers. Standing in a sand trap day after day, perfecting your bunker shot. Long hours on the practice tee, working through the clubs in your bag, grooving a swing that's just a little bit different for each different club length. And that's all just preparation for when you get on the course! I don't know of a sport that requires such mental discipline and singularity of focus.

Now, I'll be the first to admit that this isn't brain surgery or rocket science. No one's life hangs in the balance as Tiger contemplates how he'll approach a particular green on a Sunday afternoon. But that's not the point. The point is that to achieve what he's achieved within his particular discipline he has had to devote his entire life, virtually every waking moment from the time he was four years old, to nothing but golf. It takes a relentless pursuit of perfection. And until just a couple of months ago, Tiger was there. He was at the pinnacle, the peak of his game and his life. A spokesperson for countless brands. A brand unto himself. A hero to millions of would-be's and wanna-be's. A beautiful family, wealth, fame, respect from his peers, a brilliant history and bright future. His life, it seemed, was perfect.

And now we know better. We know that Tiger "The Machine" is actually Tiger the human being. That no matter how perfect his life seemed, it was anything but. That like all the rest of us mortals, Tiger has shortcomings and failings. That despite all appearances to the contrary, he is not the image of perfection that he projects. There is, I'll admit, the temptation to gain some smug satisfaction from these recent revelations. A "Lo, how the mighty have fallen" kind of thing. And there's also a deep sadness embedded in Tiger's tale as well. How could he have done this? How could this guy who has such intense determination allow himself to jump the tracks like this? To risk everything for a few moments of carnal pleasure?

One of the lessons that I take away from the travails of Tiger Woods is that no one is exempt from the frailties that make us human. We are all beset by weaknesses and imperfections. Character flaws that stalk us by day and haunt our nighttime dreams. Mother Teresa, I'm told, was gruff and dismissive toward the volunteers who worked in her orphanage. Even Jesus was short-tempered. Just look how he flew off the handle when he encountered the money-changers in the temple. In all the gospels, there is perhaps no moment when his complete humanity is more clearly revealed to us than when he is throwing a fit, overturning tables and screaming at the top of his lungs. We've all been there in one way or another, and we can relate to him getting to the end of his rope.

In his book, The Blessings of Imperfection, author Peter Fleck reminds us that "spirituality and creativity and genius do not exclude messiness, and at times thrive on it. That is why I say to you be suspicious of the absence of messiness. Beware of the fallacy that the good and the beautiful go together and exclude messiness, for that is not so…Beware of the absence of messiness because it may indicate that you are no longer dealing with reality but are acting out a fantasy."^[1] We are reminded time and time again that perfection is a chimera, an illusion. The ancient philosopher Plato taught us that perfection exists only in the idea of something, and that the reality of that thing, its realization in the material world, can never live up to the perfection of its concept.

Rev. Fleck points out that this is one of the lessons from the book of Genesis that is often overlooked: when God created heaven and earth and all the creatures and the rocks and the plants, God looked upon them and declared them to be "good." He did not declare them to be perfect. And if all this is true, then we must admit to ourselves that the pursuit of perfection is both pointless and vainglorious. The fantasies of perfection that we build around our heros, be they golfers or Presidents or saviors are just that: fantasies. And if we cannot expect perfection from the best of the best, we doom ourselves to disappointment and disillusionment when we expect the same from our partners, or our children, or ourselves.

About a month ago I was sitting in the locker room at the gym, drenched in sweat and out of breath. Fernando, my squash partner, had beaten me soundly in several games and I was feeling physically and psychically beaten as well. I know that I'm not in the best of physical condition, but the preceding 45 minutes had shown me just how out of shape I am. Fernando and I were talking about how hard it is to work out on a regular basis, and I was quick to point out to him that it's especially difficult when you're the father of small children, as he is, to find the time to exercise. I, on the other hand, told him that I have no excuses. Fernando's response was compassionate and realistic and he simply said, "Hey, you do the best you can do. Nobody's perfect." And it was in that moment that I made my new year's resolution. It was simple and clean and not overly ambitious. It doesn't set me up for failure, probably because it doesn't contain any measurable goal like "I resolve to lose twenty pounds" or "I resolve to exercise three times a week." Instead, my new year's resolution is this: To strive to be a little less imperfect.

I know this sounds like I'm approaching my goal from a negative perspective, but I think it's much more realistic to say that I want to be less imperfect than it does to say that I want to strive for and seek perfection in my life. To strive to be less imperfect is to acknowledge that we cannot be perfect, to accept that fact and to come to terms with the reality that we do not live in a Lake Wobegon world. But to strive to be less imperfect is no empty promise and no small task. To be less imperfect requires us to make conscious decisions. To be aware of our choices and their consequences. To be sensitive to those around us and to respond to their needs, even when they may be seeking perfection from us or from themselves. To be generous in spirit toward each other and toward ourselves. To be both humble when we succeed and contrite when we fall short of expectations, either ours or others'. And, perhaps most important of all, we must at all times be prepared to ask for and to offer forgiveness. Because none of us is perfect. Not Tiger Woods and not you and not me.

At the outset of a new year, a new decade, this doesn't seem like too much to ask of ourselves and each other, nor does it seem too little. And I'll put in a little plug here for our Unitarian Universalist principles. These, it seems to me, offer up a worthy road map for each of us to follow in the year ahead. Treat everyone with dignity and respect. Let everyone's voice be heard. Pursue spiritual growth and enrichment. Be sensitive to the interdependent web of which we're a part.

And so, I offer up this simple prayer for all of us in 2010: May we excel when we're able. May we muddle through when we must. And at all times, may we strive to be a little less imperfect than we've been, and thus be the best we can be.

Blessed Be.

CLOSING WORDS (Anonymous):

^[1] G. Peter Fleck, The Blessings of Imperfection, 20-21.

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