by Rev. Thomas Disrud

A sermon given April 2, 2006
First Unitarian Church
Portland, Oregon

Last week my sister sent me some old yellowed newspaper clippings. One of them was a long story about my grandfather Wyttenbach’s life published in the late 1940s. I never met my grandfather Gottlieb. He was my mother’s father and he died some years before I was born. But his story has always fascinated me. Even if I never knew him, I know that his story is very much part of my story.

He was born in 1879 in Switzerland. At age 23, in 1902, he traveled to Russia to make Swiss cheese. He prospered there and saved money and in 1909 returned to Switzerland to marry my grandmother, Elise, and to bring her to Russia. They had four children in just a few years. All was well until the revolution in Russia forced out many of the foreigners. In 1918, in the middle of the night, they were forced out of their home and all of their possessions were taken, and all of their savings. All they had were the clothes on their backs. It took them almost a year to get back to Switzerland and that time took a great toll. One of their children died of influenza and is buried in an unmarked grave in Greece.

Talking about all of the ups and downs of his life my grandfather lamented the losses but then, as the article says, sat up straight and folded his hands decisively and said “ . . . but I have lived, and believe me, I have learned.”

My grandfather, I have imagined over the years, was an adventuresome spirit. I imagine him to always be ready for the next adventure. One of my most cherished possessions is a photo of him as a young man. There he is, in Russia, surrounded by men in big fur hats, surrounded by cheese-making equipment, looking young and proud and in his element.

Over the years that photo—and my grandfather—have become more and more important for me. There are times that I feel like the odd duck in my family. My whole family lives in Wisconsin. I’m the Unitarian Universalist younger brother who lives in Oregon, etc., etc. When I look at that photo of my grandfather, I know that I am not the only one who traveled far. I know that my grandfather’s life is not my life. And yet I also very much know that our lives are connected. And for that I give thanks.

Another story—this one about another grandfather of sorts—only from the church.

You have probably heard of Thomas Lamb Eliot, the first minister of this church. A wonderful music and worship service some weeks ago told his story.

A person we don’t hear as much about is the first associate minister of this church, a man named Earl Morse Wilbur. His photo hangs next to Eliot’s photo over in the other building. He is the earnest-looking young man sitting in a chair.

Wilbur was born in 1866, the year this church was founded. He studied at Harvard Divinity School to become a Congregational minister. At the end of his time there he ran into some problems that would prove to be a turning point in his life. Congregational ministers of the time were expected to pledge a creed of belief in Jesus Christ. Young Earl, perhaps influenced by all those Unitarians at Harvard, refused to do that. He was denied a license to preach in the Congregational Church.

One of his best friends at seminary was William Greenleaf Eliot, Jr., Thomas Lamb Eliot’s son. It seemed his church in Portland needed an associate pastor. Will encouraged Earl to apply and before long Earl was headed west. It should be noted that Will, too, would become a minister of this church—from 1906 to 1934.

Wilbur arrived in 1890, when the church was just 24 years old. It was thriving with 300 members and a Sunday school that was even larger. The church, in its short history, had grown to be a major voice in the city under Eliot’s ministry.

The church was in its second building, built in 1879 to accommodate the growth of the congregation. In 1891, a fire seriously damaged the building, but the congregation pulled together to rebuild. When the economic crisis hit in 1893 the church almost closed its doors. Wilbur wrote to his parents about how hard it was when the church could not pay him for a time.

Wilbur has been described as an earnest, bookish young minister, a lovable introvert, patiently stoic and naturally optimistic. He was a good pastor. During this time there were lots of boys in the church named Wilbur and Earl. They joined many Eliots and Thomases in the church.

His sermons during this time seem to be aimed at the frontier town that Portland still was, complete with its share of vice. He often preached of the need to live the good and moral life, to stay out of trouble, to rid ourselves of bad habits, and to constantly work to perfect ourselves. His message was optimistic. He called us to continue to move onward and upward forever in our lives.

In 1898 Wilbur married Eliot’s oldest daughter, Dode. Their wedding was the lead feature in the Oregonian’s society page. They went on a honeymoon in Europe and Earl was able to visit some of the great libraries there. This would open the door to what would become his life’s work—the history of Unitarianism.

After the honeymoon they moved on to their next chapter. They went to Meadville, Pennsylvania, where he was parish minister for five years and where he was on the faculty at Meadville Theological School.

He loved the teaching, and in 1904 was called back to the West Coast to Berkeley, California, to be organizer and dean and eventually the first president of a new seminary on the West Coast to be called Pacific Unitarian School. Later on it would be named Starr King School for the Ministry, after Thomas Starr King, the first minister of the San Francisco Unitarian church. He led the school for almost 30 years.

For his time, he did some remarkable things. He was intentional in getting students from around the world at the school, from Japan, from Transylvania, from New Zealand and Burma. He went out of his way to encourage women to study for the ministry. The school had several women graduates in the 1920s.

Wilbur’s legacy is that he was the first person to bring the strands together of our history that connects us to the Reformation when Luther and others broke away from the Roman Catholic Church. He connected us with the so-called radical reformers of the time. Where the mainline reformers like Luther and Calvin wanted to reform in one way, there was a group that wanted to take the reforms further. He showed the evolution of thought and how we are related to people in Poland, Transylvania, Italy, Switzerland and England.

Wilbur is considered a great scholar of the history of our movement. He, more than anyone of his time, changed the way we looked at our history.

Too often we as Unitarian Universalists don’t know what to do with our history. Emerson taught us that what we experience before us is all that we need. That, too, is part of our tradition, but it has also led to a lack of historical consciousness. We have a long and great tradition, but too often we don’t really claim that tradition. It may be that we aren’t always settled on our own religious histories and just want to start fresh. But knowing where we come from and bringing that with us is a very important part of the spiritual journey.

It is in times like these, probably more than any others, that I am called to remember history and to remember the people who have gone before: Those who have questioned authority, those who have not followed the course that everyone else was taking.

Sometimes these days I get anxious about what the future holds. I worry about our country, our planet. I wonder just what difference I as one person can make. I wonder what difference any of us can make. And it is in times like this that I most of all need to be reminded that I am not alone, and that I can look to the past to find guides into the future.

When I walk by Wilbur’s picture in the hallway here at the church, when I pass my grandfather’s photo in my home, I am reminded of their lives. Those photos and their stories remind me that they didn’t know what the future held either. But I can imagine that they moved forward with faith despite being discouraged at times. I am called again and again to remember that the spirit moves, that it moves through me and connects me with all of life, past into present, present into future.

Roots hold me close, wings set me free.

Many things are different from one generation to the next, but many things are the same including the questions we ask: Why are we here? What does it mean to live and to die? What is our purpose and how is it we are to be in relationship with others? How we might make the world different for the next generation and the next and the next.

We are called to discern our own purpose in life, what we are called to do, to discern the people we are called to become. We are called to struggle with the questions that those in the past struggled with and the ones that we are asked to answer. We are all called to find meaning and purpose in our lives. We are each called to live out the life we were called to live out.

The singer Holly Near, who graced this space on Friday evening, talked about big acts of courage and small acts of courage and how all of them are needed at this time in history. She talked about the activism of Cindy Sheehan, the mother whose son was killed in Iraq and who is now giving her life to work for peace. Not all of us are called to do big acts but we are all called to do our part.

And institutions, too, are called to be present with the times in which they live.

I want to talk with you briefly about my support for the Eliot campaign.

For me this building is certainly about more space for classrooms and space for our social justice and adult programs. But the building is a symbol of so much more. This community and this denomination very much need our liberal religious presence and our witness. The building is a symbol of how we take ourselves seriously as a religious people and how we take our mission into the community and the world. The building is the outward manifestation of that mission—of how we are growing and how our witness in the community might grow as well.

I made an initial pledge some months ago along with Marilyn Sewell and our lay leaders. I made what was a stretch gift for me—a total of $18,000 over three years. As we head into this critical phase I’ve decided to increase that pledge to $30,000 over five years. If I’m asking you to push, I need to do that myself as well.

I give thanks daily that I have all that I have in my life. I consider myself to be greatly blessed, and part of that gratitude, I know, is to give back as much as I can to this institution that means so much to me.

This church is at a crucial time in its history and much is being asked of all of us.

I don’t know all that the future will bring, but I do know that we will be here together. That, perhaps, is what history keeps teaching me. We can’t know what the future will bring. We can’t know what struggles there will be in the future. We can’t know what generations down the road will be struggling with. But we live in faith—first and foremost—that we will be together. We are a covenanted community today and we live in faith that they, too, will nurture and know such a beloved community. That faith is what connects us with the past and what connects us with the future.

Earl Morse Wilbur said: “We ought to realize that, although these heroes of our faith bore a good witness in their day, God has also placed upon us a sacred duty to continue and complete their work, since without us they will not be made perfect.”

Just as one generation after another has come together, we come together, voluntarily, that we might find ourselves on a bridge from the past to the present and from the present to the future.

T.S. Eliot, another ancestor for us, said in his “Choruses from The Rock”:

“Of all that was done in the past, you eat the fruit, either rotten or ripe…Here upon earth you have the reward of the good and ill that was done by those who have gone before you.

And all that is ill you may repair if you walk together in humble repentance, expiating the sins of your parents;

And all that was good you must fight to keep with hearts as devoted as those of your parents who fought to gain it.”

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Copyright 2006, Rev. Thomas Disrud.  All rights reserved.