Heresy at the Church Picnic: My Sermon

How do you write a sermon? First, you walk the walk. As best you can. Then you can speak from the heart about it.

My name is Sarah Coffer. I go by a few other names, though. Overflowingcoffers. The Persistent Fool. That's my pseudonym as a writer. It's hard to translate doing into writing, though. You have to do it enough. So I am a writer. As in, sometimes, I write. But what do I do?

What I do, which is enormously difficult and scary, is BE. I try very hard to be myself, but have always been baffled by Who That IS. So doing has become a process of discovery. Like write now I need to eat. And smoke a cigarette. Because I'm doing being a writer, but what I write is what I hear.

That's Who I Am. Is a Hearer.
The Christians would say that this is my testimony. I'm being a witness. Paying witness.

I'm also a See-er.

What I see and what i hear is GOD. Everywhere I look, everywhere I listen. But I get overwhelmed and I have to focus. Slow down. Pay attention. Meditate.

What your Doing is whatever YOU ARE PAYING ATTENTION TO.

For a long time I was a very selfish girl. Childish, impudent, needy. I only payed attention to myself.

SEE
when you pay attention to something you Honor it. But pay attention to long can be like a form of neglect? If you just stared at your food, you would watch it spoil. I'm a spoiled girl.

Honor something else. Create more meaning for myself. Discover who I am. Eat the meal.

One egg scrambled. I slice wheat toast. Dip it in a side of gravy. And an apple. I can't eat much. Cause I'm very hyper.

I did a lot of drugs for a long time. For a while I did them like an animal. To ease the pain. Then I did them mindfully. And I got in touch with my pain. It's hurts A WHOLE LOT LESS NOW. I think I might be ready to say that I don't need drugs anymore. Others would agree that I don't. I have to listen to them. Cause I can't make any promises. I still want drugs. But I need to focus on what I need.
Go pee. Smoke a cigarette. Listen to the next person I speak with. Pay attention to my boyfriend.

SEEE
i fyou ignor something long enough it spoils too.

Just a minute ago, I showed the Pastor the story I wrote about him. He said he was honored to be included in my story. I thanked him genuinely for paying attention to it. He said, genuinely, that I was worth it. I felt, sincerely, a little, like crying. BUT IT DIDN'T HURT AS BAD TO HEAR THAT TIME.

Tell yourself again and again that you're worth the attention. Or remind yourself again and again to pay attention to something else. Or both. Depending on what you need at the time.

Try to find a balance.

Yes, balance. That's what they keep saying to me. Balance. As though I were a dancer.

I have a lot of self-help books. I've visited many different denominations of Christian churches. I secretly watch Oprah, but would totally deny it if outed. I only have a few really close friends that I trust enough to be myself with-which is someone truly embarrassing-and everyone else I'm almost completely estranged from. My only comfort is that I'm probably actually a lot like the people I most admire. My only reason for living is the spiritual epiphany. I'm a lot like that little girl that is too foolish and stubborn to give up on her dream of being a ballerina, despite mounting evidence that that is not where her natural talents lie. The little girl dances ceaselessly, caring about nothing else. The girl feels at times daring and courageous, other times baffled and guessing. Mostly she rides oscillating waves of embarrassment and glee, never quite aware of anything more than her own body. Her dance itself is the same, sometimes painful to watch, sometimes a pleasant surprise, but perhaps always interesting. William Blake said that if the fool would persist in his folly, he would become wise. I say that if the fool could do anything else, he would.