Behind The Scenes?

Sunday morning was so icy that church was cancelled.  So at 10:00 I was tuned in to Joel Osteen on Channel 9.

I am not a “born again” Christian. I am not even sure how much of a Christian I am. I go to an Episcopal church because I started doing that when I was ten in order to sing in the choir—in the same church that I attend now. I think of myself as an Episcopalian/Buddhist. I’ve had wonderful teachers, both Hindu and Tibetan Buddhist; I have participated in numerous Buddhist-led meditation retreats and I read Buddhist literature copiously.

When I was ten and singing at Trinity Episcopal Church, my grandmother was faithfully in the congregation. But my grandmother was a Quaker—she referred to me as “thee” and “thou,” which I loved. There was no nearby Quaker meeting, so she attended her husband’s church. My memories of my grandfather’s presence at church are scant. I think the golf course was his real church—certainly in summer-- just as for my father, the sailing club was his place of faith and spiritual sustenance.

I was ordained in 1981 as an interfaith minister at the New Seminary for Interfaith Studies. The New Seminary was founded by an Hasidic rabbi, Rabbi Joseph Gelberman, who, in my book, was one of the great souls of all time.

His essential message to us during our two years of studying the great religions of the world, was, “Never instead of, always in addition to.”

Why am I going on about this? At seminary I was taught to be inclusive, so although the concept of “born again” may cause me to raise an eyebrow, my admiration of Joel Osteen’s work in the world increases. And, as you may know, Osteen speaks to the world in numbers possibly exceeded only the by the Pope.

Back to last-- the very icy--Sunday. Pastor Osteen began by drawing our attention to “who is behind the scenes?” He talked about all the people who work to produce his widely attended and watched Sunday show. He named all the tasks necessary to create the televised service, reminding us that we can’t see any of those people, that we see only him. But, he acknowledged, they make him look good. Without them, he would not, could not, be speaking to us.

Then he posed some pithy questions: Are we willing to be behind the scenes? Can we happily play our role, even when it is not a lead role? Can we celebrate the success of others even when we believe we might have done just as good a job? 

He went on to challenge us by asking: Whom are we helping to succeed without taking any credit for it? Are we content to be invisible or are we constantly worried about being outshined?

I had been a civil rights activist in Ohio during the ‘70s long before my brother—the TV executive—made the stunning and successful film series called Roots. I had marched, had rotten eggs and tomatoes thrown at me as I lined up publically against block busting. I had strategized in endless basements of African American churches in what we, in Toledo, Ohio, at that time, shamelessly referred to as the “ghetto.” I regularly attended a large African American Baptist church in that “ghetto” for the better part of three years in order to give myself something of the experience of being “an only”---in this case the only white person in a religious culture very different from my own.

Years on various committees: serving on the Toledo Board of Community Relations and chairing the Police/Community relations committee of that board, attempting, along with others, to mediate between the police and the African American community. (That situation hasn’t changed much.)

I’m not complaining. Not one bit. I loved the work, felt committed and determined about it. I met Martin Luther King! But when Roots came out, my brother, in one week, by fighting the fight to produce Alex Haley’s book on film, did more for human rights and equality than any of us in our small, but dedicated, Ohio group could ever imagine.

I had gone to California to watch the first three days of Roots with my very nervous brother. On the way home I had to change planes in Chicago and found myself walking behind three Black “dudes,” decked out in jeans and jackets and boots—common garb now, but not in 1977. One of the guys suddenly raised his arm to look at his watch and I heard him say to the others, “Hey man, we gotta get goin’. We’re gonna miss Roots!”

I knew then what my brother had done and I felt a jolt of envy. Those of us—and there were so many-- who were “boots on the ground” during those years could not come close to accomplishing what he could achieve through his medium. I phoned him immediately from a phone booth to celebrate with him over what I had just witnessed.

Can we play our role even when it’s not a lead role and be truly happy for the larger success of another?

Joel Osteen tells us: “True greatness is not how bright our light shines but how we help others to shine.”

Something to think about.

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Our thoughts and prayers are with the Ukrainian people as they struggle for autonomy along their border, particularly in the Donetsk region.