“Worrying the Right Amount about the Right Thing
And Keeping Everything Else in Perspective”
By Rev. Dr. James Kubal-Komoto
Saltwater Unitarian Universalist Church
Des Moines, Washington
May 16, 2010

            I want to start off talking about baseball this morning, but just for a bit, and here’s the thing I want to start off saying…
            If you want to enjoy watching a baseball game, you have to take sides. You have to let yourself root for one team or the other. You have to let yourself to get emotionally involved. You have to let yourself get sucked into the drama of it. You have to care about the outcome.
            If you want to enjoy watching a baseball game, you have to let yourself care whether the batter who is at the plate gets a hit and drives in the runner on third base, which would give the team you’re rooting for a one-run lead, win the game, and give ‘em a chance to win the division.
            Otherwise, well, it’s just no fun.
            Of course, the same goes for enjoying almost any sporting activity, or for that matter enjoying any game, or for that matter, any kind of story.
            If you’re watching a football game, you have to let yourself care whether the Seahawks will be able to advance the ball another two feet over the goal line.
            If you’re playing Monopoly, you have to care whether your piece lands on Park Place, where your brother - - evil capitalist pig that he is - - has just erected another hotel.
            If you’re reading a novel, you have to care what happens to the characters, despite the fact the entire story is made up.
            The 19^th century English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge coined the term “the suspension of disbelief,” and to enjoy a sporting event, a game, or a novel, you have to suspend your disbelief and believe for awhile that whatever you’re participating in really matters.
            Otherwise, like I said, it’s just no fun.
            A few weeks ago, Hiromi, Kai, and I were at a Mariner’s game. The Mariners were playing the Texas Rangers.
            We were sitting in the cheap seats, in the bleachers. It’s always interesting sitting in the bleachers. It’s kind of the sports equivalent of taking a Greyhound bus. You never know what interesting people you may meet.
            Just a few rows behind us were a whole group of intoxicated University of Washington students. Every time an umpire would make a bad call, this whole row of burly bare-chested beer-swilling young men would stand up and should in unison, “We respectfully disagree.” That’s a big difference, you know, between sports crowds in Chicago, where I’m originally from, and Seattle. Rarely in Chicago do you find drunken sports fans who are still capable of irony.
            The Mariners had been trailing the Rangers for most of the game, but in the bottom of the ninth, the Ms actually had a chance to comeback. The folks in charge of the audio and video equipment in the stadium did everything they could to pump up the crowd, to make us believe in the importance of what was happening in front of us. Right before the Mariners were up to bat, they actually played a film clip on the big video screen from Animal House, John Belushi’s monologue in which he says “Over? Did you say ‘over’? Nothing is over until we decide it is.” Then came the heart-pounding music to further rouse the crowd.
            Yes, it was pure emotional manipulation - - something for which, as a minister, I had a certain amount of professional admiration - - but we were there to be manipulated, to be swept up in the emotional frenzy of the moment - - tens of thousands of people cheering, yelling, clapping, and believing, at least for a few minutes, in the life and death importance of what was happening on the field.
            Sadly, no amount of emotional manipulation and no number of cheering fans could help the Mariners come back, and they ended up losing to the Rangers.
            But for a while, it was fun - - and then heart-breakingly disappointing - - because we had allowed ourselves to be swept up, to care.
            Of course, we all know people who end up caring about such things a little too much.
            There have been some interesting studies about how sports losses by a hometown sports team affect things like suicide rates.
            But it’s not only sports that people sometimes take too seriously. I’ve seen members of this church mope around for a week because their favorite character was killed off their favorite television show.
            I’ve been known to mope around myself after getting to the end of a particularly good book or series of books because the story is over, and I’ll miss the characters I’ve come to care about.
            When that happens, other people say dismissively, “It’s only a game” or “It’s only a TV show” or “It’s only a book.”
            However, I want to suggest - - and I hope this isn’t too big of a conceptual jump - - that there is a parallel between these things I’ve been talking about - - sports and games and such - - and our wider lives themselves.
            One question that many philosophical and religious traditions try to answer is, “How much should we care about things? How much should we be happy about good things that happen? Even more importantly, how much should we worry about bad things that happen, or might happen?”
            How much should we care when we have some sort of setback? How much should we care when we lose a job? How much should we let it bother us when we start to hear our car make some strange high-pitched whirring sound that probably means we’ll need an expensive repair? How much should we care when our child is facing some unexpected difficulty? How much should we care when we suffer one of the most difficult losses in life, the loss of somebody we love?
            In answering this question, most religious and philosophical traditions say that we should worry less than we do, though they give different answers as to why.
            Some traditions say, “Don’t worry about anything in this life because no disappointment in this life will matter when compared to the rewards of the next.”
            Some traditions say, “Don’t worry about anything in this life because everything in this world is really illusion.”
            One more contemporary wit has said, “Don’t sweat the small stuff, and it’s all small stuff.”
            But as a this-worldly focused Unitarian Universalist, who’s not sure what happens after this life and doesn’t want to think that everything is illusion, I’ve found these answers rather unsatisfying.
            But then how should we answer that question, “How much should we care?”
            There is a quotation by the Greek philosopher Aristotle that I like very much. (I just realized I’m about to quote Samuel Taylor Coleridge, John Belushi, and Aristotle in a sermon about baseball, which seems to be a particularly strange mix, but here goes…) Aristotle once said…

Anybody can become angry, that is easy; but to be angry with the right person, and to the right degree, and at the right time, and for the right purpose, and in the right way, that is not within everybody’s power. That is not easy.
           
            What Aristotle says about anger, I have come to believe, is helpful in thinking about our emotional life in general. But how do we learn, say, to worry or care the right amount about the right thing?
            Let me talk a little bit more about baseball.
            Here’s something I like about the game of baseball….It’s played outside. Even in a stadium with a roof, like Safeco Field, even when the roof is closed, you still feel like you’re outside.
            And, at Safeco Field, where I watch most games if I’m not down at Cheney Stadium where the Rainiers play, depending on where you’re sitting, you can sometimes look up and see the Seattle skyline. There are also some places in the stadium where you can look out and see ferries going back and forth across Eliot Bay.
            And if you look straight up, you can often see planes descending to land at SeaTac Airport.
            And there are often a few gulls flying circles above the upper decks.
            And every once in a while, you can hear the horn of a train going by.
            It can be a nice place to be, especially on a warm, summer afternoon.
            And what I like about it is you can sit there and enjoy the game and let it yourself get caught up in the game - - which you have to do at least a little  if you’re going to enjoy it - - but the stadium itself is always inviting you to take a broader, grander view as well, so you never get caught up as much as you might otherwise. It’s inviting you to take this constant dual perspective, to watch the game but to enjoy the day around you as well. There’s the runner on second base who is 10-foot off the base and thinking about stealing third, but there’s a plane flying through bright blue sky over the Columbia Center.
            I’ve come to wonder if this way of watching a baseball game, with this constant duel perspective - - paying attention and caring about what’s happening right in front of you down on the field  while also keeping everything in perspective by looking at the big picture - - I’ve come to wonder whether this dual perspective isn’t also the best way to look at our lives.
            Here’s what I mean…
            Several weeks ago, I was down in Tacoma at the Metropolitan Market. I was driving our family’s minivan, and as I was backing out of a parking space, I backed up too much and hit a car parked on the street behind me, knocking off its driver side mirror.
            I admit that part of me at least thought about driving away as quickly as possible before anybody noticed anything. Instead I wrote down a quick note - - “I’m sorry I hit your car. Call me to get my insurance information.” - - and I tucked it under the other car’s windshield.
            By that night, I still hadn’t heard from the owner of the other car, and I wondered if it rained that night, soaking the note I had left and making my writing illegible, if I was still morally culpable for the accident or if this was the universe’s way of letting me off the hook.
            Alas, it didn’t rain, and during the next few days, I felt myself feeling really stressed and down about what had happened. First, I just felt really stupid and repeatedly castigated myself for not being more careful. I also started thinking, “It’s going to cost a lot to repair this other guy’s car. Should I pay for it out of pocket or should I report it to my insurance company? If I do, how much will my insurance rates go up?”
            Then I started feeling bad about feeling bad, if that makes sense.
            “I shouldn’t let this get me so down,” I told myself. “I should just let it go, and stop thinking about it.” But on the other hand, I thought, “Well, there’s something not quite right about a person who gets into a car accident and doesn’t care about it at all. There would be something irresponsible or even flaky about such a person. Such a person would be lacking gravitas.” 
            As I reflected on this, I began to think to myself, “Maybe the question is not whether to care or not to care, but to keep it in perspective, the same way I watch a baseball game.” You see, this baseball-game-perspective idea had been kicking around in my head for a while.
            Yes, I was stupid to have this accident, but taking the wider, broader, grander view, most of the time, I’m pretty cautious and careful, and will be even more so in the future. Yes, having my insurance rates go up won’t be great, but taking the wider, broader, grander view, it won’t be the worst thing in the world either.
            I still felt bad - - and bad enough so I didn’t feel like a flake - - but not too bad. Just the right amount of bad. Between nihilism and neuroticism, between not caring at all and worrying too much, I had found a happy middle-ground. I felt sort of like Goldilocks eating Baby Bear’s porridge.
            In reflecting on other times of my life, I’ve realized that most of the time when I’m not feeling great about things, it’s because I have failed to take the wider, broader, grander view. I’ve chosen instead to engage in a kind of tunnel vision, taking the narrowest of perspectives and paying too much attention to whatever problem or disconcerting situation is immediately in front of me.
            I’ve noticed this too in observing many of you, members of this congregation, as you deal with the ups and downs, the joys and sorrows of human life. I’ve noticed that those of you who seem to do best…you’re not indifferent to the vicissitudes of human existence, but you too seem more often than not to take this wider, broader, grander view - - not ignoring or denying or suppressing your feelings about whatever is happening to you at the present moment, but also keeping everything in a broader perspective - - whether whatever happening in the present moment is great or awful.
            From my experience, when we pay attention to whatever we are experiencing at the moment as well as to a broader, grandeur view of our lives, this wider view suggests that things don’t always turn out for the best, but they often don’t turn out for the worst either, and we’re often able to get through difficult times better than we thought we would be able to.
            The wider view suggests that while suffering is sometimes a part of our lives, more often than not, so is wonder, beauty, and joy.
            The wider view suggests that while other people can sometimes be incredibly indifferent, unjust, and even cruel, more often than not, people can also be compassionate, fair, and even self-sacrificing.
            The wider view suggests that to be human sometimes means to experience frustration, failure, suffering, and loss, but on the whole our lives are more good than bad, that life is good despite its limitations, and that each of us were lucky to be born and to experience the gift of life.        The wider view suggests that while all of us sometimes experience grief we more often have the opportunity to experience gratitude.
            My friends, may you each find that perfect balance between the necessity of living in the present moment and the wisdom of taking a broader, grander view of life.
            So may it be. Amen.