To Thine Own Self be True — With a Little White Lie Now and Then
Rev. Diane Rollert Unitarian Church of Montreal,
4 May 2023
I am not a Shakespearian expert by any stretch of the imagination. In fact, it’s been a very long time since I read Hamlet. But Katharine Childs recently reminded me of the words of Polonius, the buffoon in Hamlet, as he gave advice to his son who was about to leave Denmark for France.
Give every man thy ear, but few thy voice;
Take each man’s censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, But not express’d in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
For the apparel oft proclaims the man, And they in France of the best rank and station
Are of a most select and generous chief in that.
Neither a borrower nor a lender be; For loan oft loses both itself and friend,
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
This above all: to thine own self be true,
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell: my blessing season this in thee!
To thine own self be true. But not so true that you get yourself into trouble.
Sois fidèle à toi-même. Mais pas au point de s'attirer des ennuis.
A number of years ago, I heard an interview with a man who decided to spend a year being absolutely truthful to everyone, everywhere and in every circumstance. He told people very directly how he felt, without filter, without softening the edges even a bit. He was what we would call painfully honest. So painfully that his family and his friends literally severed relations with him. It was too much to take. They said, “Let us know when your experiment is done. We’ll see you then.”
Cet homme, dont je parle, qui a choisi d'être entièrement honnête, a fini par aliéner toute sa famille et tous ses amis.
But, if I recall correctly, the man was so thrilled with his new life of honesty that he preferred being true to his own self, and chose not to make amends to those he hurt. Right now, I’m trying not to think about certain public figures who are so horribly true to themselves that they feel perfectly justified in telling lies for their own benefit. They don’t care what damage they cause or who they hurt. But some people claim to love these individuals for their “authenticity.”
Il y a ceux qui blessent les autres, qui racontent des mensonges et qui prétendent être authentiques. L'authenticité a ses pièges.
I remember sitting in a workshop with the writer Thomas Moore many years ago, when he said that authenticity was highly overrated. “No one,” he said, “is truly authentic. You wouldn’t want to live in a world were everyone showed their authentic selves.” I thought his comment was pretty cynical at the time. But that was then. Last week, I told you that my mother taught me to be truthful and it often got me into trouble. It took a long time to learn how to tell a white lie now and then. (I like the French translation: petit mensonge.)
Quand j'étais jeune, j'étais tellement sincère que je ne savais pas comment dire un petit mensonge utile.
Now, please know that as your minister, I am very truthful to you. It’s just that I had to learn as a young adult how to not to say something that was on my mind if wasn’t going to help the situation. I had to learn how to say, yes, that blouse looks nice, even if I didn’t like it, because it was better to make my friend feel good about something that wasn’t really that important. We all tell white lies, or maybe I should say, many of us do, out of politeness — at least some of the time.
Parfois, nous devons adoucir la vérité pour être gentils avec les autres, mais cela ne veut pas dire que nous ne pouvons pas être vrais avec nous-mêmes.
There’s a deeper aspect of being true to yourself. There’s the deep need we have to find places where we can feel safe and free to fully express ourselves for who we are. It took many years for me to find my own place of belonging, where I could laugh out loud and not be embarrassed. Where I could sing, or share my most profound — if tempered — thoughts. J'ai lutté pendant de nombreuses années pour me trouver. In some ways, I’ve been on a journey of discovery of my own true self right here, thanks to this community. I will admit that when I first arrived here, so many years ago, I thought I had to fit a certain mould of what a minister should be.
J'étais la toute première femme à occuper le poste de pasteure ici. Les gens ont eu du mal à s'adapter à ce que j'étais et j'ai dû m'adapter à eux.
I was stepping into a role that had only been held by men for almost 165 years. White men who had been raised as Christians, even if my most recent predecessor had strongly rejected his Presbyterian formation. I came from a Jewish background. They were taller. I was short. You could see them behind that big wooden pulpit that I now choose not to use. They had booming voices. My voice needed amplification. I got feedback that I told too many stories. That my sermons were not intellectual or challenging enough. That my voice fell into a range that couldn’t be heard. I also got some gentle written parables that assumed I would be too sensitive to receive feedback in any other form.
One of my mentors, who had been an early female pioneer in the clergy, told me, “It’s all code for ‘we’re not comfortable with a female minister.’” I made some shifts. I wrote more sermons that had a colder temperature than was true to my nature. But I never really let go of my warmth. I never let go of the stories. Yet I think I grew in the process. I feel as though I’ve developed a stronger and clearer voice over the years by responding to the push back. It made me stretch even when it irked me, and that was a good thing.
Throughout my life, I have been confronted by anti-Semitism and sexism. But I am privileged. I am a straight, white, cisgender female, who came from a lower-middle-class family that struggled financially, but never went hungry. I am able-bodied. Even if I’ve had recent experience with temporary disabilities, I can’t begin to imagine what it is to live with the constant barriers of ableism, racism, transphobia, homophobia and more. I have only a partial sense of what it must be like to know on a daily basis that whole groups of people are trying to deny my existence or my basic human rights. That’s why it’s imperative for us to create safe and welcoming spaces here and now.
To those of you who are Black or Indigenous or People of Colour here; to those of you who bring your beautiful nonbinary, trans, gay, lesbian or bi selves to this community; to those of you who live with more than temporary disabilities, physical or mental, who have suffered from ableism or ageism; to those of you who struggle with hunger, or lack of opportunities that may be invisible to others but are very present for you, to all who know what it is to be different, to live with too many barriers, I thank you for being here. I thank you for trusting that today might be the day you feel at home here. I thank you for bringing your life experiences. I thank you for sharing your feedback when you need to say “ouch.”
I hope that we can create a space together that enables us all to be true to ourselves, to bring our culture, our ideas, our longings as full members of this community, so that no one finds themselves on the margins. And that means that some of us, myself included, may have to figure out how to be more aware of the ways we judge and exclude, both knowingly and unknowingly. J'espère que on peut créer un lieu d'appartenance pour toutes nos différences.
Of course, I’m thinking a lot about Stephanie Lilly, who died on Tuesday. She was such an inspiration to all of us who got know her over the years. She lived with MS and relied on a wheelchair for most of her adult life. But she had figured out, pretty early on, how to be true to herself. If she couldn’t walk, she could paint, she could write. When she was left with only the use of her right hand and writing became too difficult, she could dictate the words of her books. She told me that every morning she would start her day by saying a prayer of grartitude, and then she’d sing all the songs she loved.
Chère et belle Stéphanie Lilly, partie trop tôt, qui se sentait en sécurité dans son scooter, et qui apportait tant de joie dans ses relations avec les autres comme une façon d'être fidèle à ellemême.
People would often ask her, “How do you do it? How do you stay so positive?” She’d simply answer, “I can only live with acceptance and choose to be positive. Otherwise, I’d have a miserable life.” Of course she had her many moments of pain, but she still found ways to hold on to joy to the very end. She never judged anyone else. She never felt that others should accept their lives and be positive just because that was her choice. She had compassion for the suffering of others. If I had a hard or sad day, just being near Stephanie could lift my spirits. I know I’m not alone in that. She chose to be true to herself, and that was a gift and a blessing to all of us. Whatever your challenges may be, may you find what you need to be true to yourself. To thine own self be true, and if you need to tell a little white lie now and then, so may it be — as long as it’s in the service of love and justice.
Sois fidèle à toi-même tant que c'est au service de l'amour et de la justice.