First Parish Unitarian Universalist“How Much Giving is More Blessed?”
A Sermon Preached by Rev. Diane Teichert
First Parish Unitarian Universalist - Canton, MA
May 13, 2001—Mother's Day
Reading
The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein was published back in 1964. You may know it, if you have had occasion to read children’s books since then.
It starts off, “Once there was a tree...and she loved a little boy. And every day the boy would come...” and on that page, the simple lines of Silverstein’s pen show the leafy branches of the tree reaching out like loving arms as the boy comes running...”And he would gather her leaves...and make them into crowns and play king of the forest.”
“He would climb up her trunk and swing from her branches and eat apples.” And then we see the falling apple cores. “And they would play hide-and-go-seek. And when he was tired, he would sleep in her shade. And the boy loved the tree...very much. And the tree was happy.”
“But time went by. And the boy grew older. And the tree was often alone.”
Well, eventually the boy comes back. He’s older, a teenager. The tree invites him to climb up the trunk, swing on the branches and eat apples, like old times. But, no, he is too big. He wants to buy things and needs some money. She has no money, of course, but she offers her apples. He takes them and away he goes. “And the tree was happy.”
When next the boy came back, he was a paunchy middle-aged man. The tree shook with joy and again invited him to enjoy his boyish activities. No, this time he is too busy. He wants a wife and children, so he needs a house. Of course, the tree has no house to give, but she offers her branches and off he carries them, presumably to build his house. “And the tree was happy.”
Even more time goes by. When the boy comes back, he’s an old man with a small suitcase. The tree was so happy she could hardly speak her invitation to play. “I am too old and sad to play,” he says. “I want a boat that will take me far away from here. Can you give me a boat?”
“‘Cut down my trunk and make a boat,’ said the tree. ‘Then you can sail away...and be happy.’ And so the boy cut down her trunk and made a boat and sailed away. And the tree was happy...but not really.” And in the picture we see, only a short stump is left.
When next we see the boy, he is a stooped and toothless old man. Their conversation goes like this.
“I am sorry, Boy, but I have nothing left to give you-My apples are gone.” “My teeth are too weak for apples,” said the old man. “My branches are gone,” said the tree. “You cannot swing on them-” “I am too old to swing on branches,” said he. “My trunk is gone,” said the tree. “You cannot climb-”I am too tired to climb,” he said. “I am sorry,” sighed the tree. “I wish that I could give you something...but I have nothing left. I am just an old stump. I am sorry...” “I don’t need very much now,” said the boy, “just a quiet place to sit and rest. I am very tired.” “Well,” said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could, “well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest.”
“And the boy did. And the tree was happy. The end.”
Sermon
Many adults love The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein. For those who do, it may evoke strong emotions. For some, it evokes deep gratitude for the sacrifices made for them by others, possibly their parents. More painfully, it may evoke unexpressed gratitude, if one's appreciation is realized when it was too late to adequately express thanks. And so the feeling of gratitude is mixed with sadness and mourning. Or, for those whose needs for love were not adequately met, the story may evoke pain or anger. One must do the work of healing oneself to be able to express gratitude toward someone who should have loved you better.
However, I’m afraid that I have to prepare those of you who love this story, for whatever reasons, to be disappointed in this sermon. I’m sorry. This book tugged on me, too. And, I was touched. At first.
However, I must object to selfless giving that results in the destruction of the giver. The tree gives away her apples. Well, that’s okay. There will be more apples again next year. After the apples, though, she gives away her branches. Well, how will she bear more fruit, provide shade, or be a climbing tree without branches? And, then, her trunk?!! For what? To be left increasingly alone, having given all but the short stump of her formerly proud and strong trunk, to an ungrateful boy-turned-whiny-middle-aged man. Small pleasures will she know now, for a tree that is cut to the ground will soon die.
Speaking of the child, be he boy or girl, look at what becomes of a child who is allowed to take without giving in return. A sad, lonely soul, always looking for a handout, who eventually only wants a boat in which to sail away and escape the difficulties of his life. A perpetual boy, never to grow up. If selfless giving leads to such results, let’s be done with it!
Furthermore, did you notice that the tree was a “she”?
As a mother reading this book to her young children, I recoiled in horror. Was the "giving tree" a metaphor for the ideal mother, for the self-less female? Was this my fate? To be whittled down to nothing, a mere stump? I’d lost my sleep, my figure (such as it was), my vocabulary, my patience...must I lose everything?!
It was after this horrifying thought that I surreptitiously got out my little bottle of “White Out” and covered up all those “she’s” and “her’s” and changed them to “it” and “its’”! I felt better about reading the book after that. At least, it wasn't about my own self-destruction!
But, I did get in trouble for this when the youngest learned to read! You're not supposed to write in books, Mom!
“‘Well,’ said the tree, straightening herself up as much as she could, ‘well, an old stump is good for sitting and resting. Come, Boy, sit down. Sit down and rest. And the boy did. And the tree was happy.”
Perhaps it's really alright that the book ended this way. “And the tree was happy.” Perhaps its true meaning is this: no matter how old or feeble or depressed or difficult a person is, there is always something he or she may contribute to the world or share with another human being. Even if it’s just to be a stump on which to sit. Perhaps the story is really a parable of hope.
But, wait, was Shel Silverstein’s tree truly happy at the end? Perhaps, if that could be truly so, it would be all right. But, how many of us know someone--probably a woman and most likely a mother with grown children--who is bitter with disappointment that her selfless giving has not been rewarded with kind and loving attention from others, notably her children, as she grows old? More often than not, such a person gave of her or himself too much: not only the apples, but the branches and maybe even her trunk.
Where does this glorification of giving and suffering come from? And why does it seem to be an affliction of women, in particular?
What I want to suggest to you today is this. Indeed, there are messages in our Judeo-Christian heritage that encourage sacrificial giving, but, these messages were intended for men.
Even if some of the Hebrew and Christian scriptures were actually written by women, it is safe to conclude that most were written by men. And even if women’s leadership roles among the Israelites and the early followers of Jesus were greater than portrayed in the scriptures (which is likely), it is safe to conclude that power in these traditions has mostly resided with men.
When it came to putting the oral tradition into writing, it was men who decided what would be included and excluded from sacred scriptures of both Judaism and Christianity. Most religious institutions, ancient and modern, were and are controlled by men. These points are so obvious as to sound trite. Nevertheless, keeping these things in mind, I think it is safe to say that our religious heritage from the past is a largely male interpretation of primarily male experience.
What this means, I believe, is that the sins described by the traditions are generally the sins of men. And that the means to redeeming oneself from those sins are appropriate mostly for men. And that how redemption is portrayed is largely a response to male experience.
Of course, I recognize that gender is not the only line along which such sides may be drawn. There is of course class and race as well, and the dominance of the heterosexual, the physically and mentally able, and even personality traits and so on.. All of these factors inter-relate in some quite complex ways, for each of us personally and in our institutions and systems. While we may quibble over how much and in what ways male and female experience differ, it is safe to conclude that there have been and are and will be a range of differences and that they are mitigated by racial and class status. To go any further along these lines today, however, will lead me far astray of my concern about selfless giving.
Doesn’t it stand to reason, though, that the sins of those with the most power in a society are going to be different than the sins of those with the least? I think so. So, Biblically speaking, sin has been identified with pride, will-to-power, exploitation, aggression, and the treatment of others as objects rather than as persons-sins of those with some power and control. Redemption, therefore, restores to man (and I mean “man”) what he fundamentally lacks, namely humility, sacrificial love, reciprocal relationships, and ultimately peace.
It’s like this: the powerful need to hear the message to bow to the will of God. But, when that same message is heard by the powerless, it only reinforces their greater subservience, does it not?
So, if the sins of woman are associated with underdevelopment or negation of the self, then redemption will restore woman to individuality, creative self-expression and empowerment in the public sphere. But, what is redemptive for a man--humility, sacrificial love, reciprocity-- these things just sink woman further under.
And so, I like to lift up “Love your neighbor as yourself” rather than “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” The former establishes a prerequisite condition: love of oneself. It says that the inherent worth and dignity of the giver enables and sustains the giving. It says that the inherent worth and dignity of each one of us is the starting point for our ability to find worth and dignity in others. Loving ourselves, we may better love others.
It's like Judith Viorst pronounces at the end of her poem, "Adult Education."
I have grown to understand that
People whose accents are British
May not be smarter than people whose accents are Bronx,
But British helps, and that
Peace of mind is more to be treasured than rubies,
But trust funds help, and that
While it’s better to die on your feet than to live on your knees,
What about stooping?
I have grown to understand that
People whose best friends are rock stars
Often are duller than people whose best friends are us.
But rock starts help, and that
Inner satisfaction counts more than approval,
But clapping helps, and that
While it’s better to light a candle than curse in the darkness,
First you could curse.
I have grown to understand that
People whose father adored them
Feel just as jumpy as people whose fathers said feh,
But love helps, and that
Self-reliance is braver than being dependent,
But help helps, and that
While it’s better, as everyone knows, to give than receive,
Nobody says that you always have to be Better.
I see no way to redeem The Giving Tree. By changing the pronouns from “she” and “hers” to “it” and “it’s,” I erased the gender bias of the story. That was only a small improvement. Self-less giving to the point of self-destruction is not healthy for anyone, male or female. But, there's another fundamental problem: in the parable of The Giving Tree, sacrificial love seems to have produced very sorry results-a pathetic and dependent human being. Not to mention a dead tree.
May the sacrifices we make for others be done for love. Love that begins with love for ourselves, and then becomes love for others. May we know when it it not better to give! And, then, may the sacrifices we do make-be they for persons we know and love or for principles and purposes we hold dear-may these sacrifices bring us not bitterness-but joy; not a jaundiced view, but justice; not death, but new life and new love. Amen.