Life Passed Through the Fire of Thought

© Aaron White

 June 22, 2008

 First UU Church of Austin

 4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

 www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

In January of this year I was astounded to hear that on this planet, a human language dies every fourteen days. The radio program I was listening to said that “by the end of this century, half of the world’s nearly 7,000 languages will be extinct.” One of those languages that died this year was that of the Alaskan Eyak tribe. But, before she herself died, this language’s last fluent speaker did what she could to make sure the legacy, culture, and memory of her language lived on. Before the time of her death at age 89, Chief Marie Smith Jones worked with researchers in putting together both a dictionary and formalized grammar of her Eyak language. Here, something of her story will live on.

Another dying language, however, will face a different set of challenges. Here’s a brief quote from NPR’s Morning Edition from November of last year:

“Two brothers in southern Mexico had a falling out. They aren’t speaking, and that has linguists worried. It might have remained a family feud but the brothers are the last two speakers of the local Zoque language. Experts at the Mexican Institute for Indigenous Languages fear that the version of Zoque the brothers speak will disappear if they don’t come to terms. No details on exactly what drove the two apart.”

Now, while the English I’m using right now is certainly in no immediate danger of extinction, I can’t help but think that all of us are in a situation similar to that of the people I just mentioned. Each of our communities, and each of us as individuals, has such a unique experience of the world. And, unless we express what we want now, much of it will pass with us. How is it that we translate the language of our life into something that will carry on?

When I was in seminary, I commonly heard from fellow students and ministers the notion that every preacher actually only has one sermon that they give over and over again in different forms. This is not to say that the minister only has one good sermon in them, but that for many people, their ministry is driven by a religious motivation so strong, that most of their sermons and material are really variations on that larger theme. I’ll leave it to you to decide if this description fits for your current minister, but I know that it is definitely accurate for me.

One night, some members of my ministerial support and study group were sitting around a table discussing what our one sermon might be. My good friend, Julia, offered hers, and I will never forget it. Julia said that the one theme that runs through all her preaching is this: “Life is weirder, harder, and better than you think.” So far in my life, I’ve found her to be correct.

When I came to my own, it was no surprise to me that as someone with a theatre degree, mine would reflect the title of a musical: “I love you, you’re perfect, now change.” I find that this theme runs through much of my ministry and is grounded in our Unitarian Universalist tradition. Our Unitarian and Universalist ancestors passed down to us the theological notions that every part of creation, every individual participates in what is sacred, but that it is still hard work fashioning a fulfilling spiritual life and making justice in this world.

It is certainly not possible to describe an entire life in one sentence. I have to be honest with you. When preparing for this first sermon of the summer as your Summer Minister, I had a bit of writers? block. This question kept creeping up on me: “What can I say to this place? What is it that I have to offer to this historic, vibrant, and growing community of faith?” I certainly don’t think I could offer any sort of grand wisdom that many or all of you don’t already have. But what I can do is ask you the same questions I was asking myself.

Why does this place exist? If this church were to disappear tomorrow, what language would disappear with it? For each person here today, what is it that your life says to the world, and what do you want it to say?

We are living in a period of time where advertisers are constantly telling us to express ourselves. But they want that expression in our cell phone plans or MySpace pages, with the clothes we wear, the cars we drive, or the music we listen to. I was lucky enough to be invited to sit in with the Young Adult group that met here this week. And, as they wisely said in our conversations, being sold something all the time is not the fullest expression of who we are as human beings. Our religious tradition affirms that the great story, the religious wisdom of the world is not complete without your life. What is it that you want it to say?

I know that, for me, it’s often really hard to find that answer or to say it when I have even some idea. As romantic as I’d like to present it, I don’t spend the majority of my waking hours thinking profound thoughts or acting like some sort of saint. A great deal of the time, I’m worried that I won’t be able to make a difference in this world as just one person, especially THIS person.

I can only speak for myself, of course, but there is so much that keeps me from offering my true self to the world. In this culture, I often feel like I’m just too busy to offer some saving message. I’ve got a job, bills to pay, family to deal with, a house to clean ? there’s just no time for some sort of prophetic message to the world.

I wonder if anyone else here has ever felt like it’s a little embarrassing to seem hopeful in this society? It seems easier to get up in front of strangers, or even my family and friends, to talk about some pain in my past, stories of doom and gloom to come. It seems like it’s easier to get up and show off some scar from when I got hurt than to speak of my real love and hope for this world.

The good news here is that we certainly are not the first people to feel this way or struggle with these types of issues. In the Hebrew Scriptures, the author of the book of Ecclesiastes gives voice to the real frustration we can experience in this life. The first sentence of the book begins like this, “Everything is meaningless,” says the teacher, “completely meaningless.” The more traditional translation makes me think he could have been living in 2008: “Vanity of Vanities,” he says, “All is vanity.” I say, “He,” because as a court author of the time, the author was most probably male.

“What is the use of all this,” he asks. He looks to gaining wealth, power, and wisdom, and finds that each of us in the end shares the same fate. He finds that the sunshine and rain fall upon the just and the wicked equally. In one of the passages where he is perhaps struggling most, the author writes, “History merely repeats itself. It has all been done before. Nothing under the sun is truly new – We don’t remember what happened in the past, and in future generations, no one will remember what we are doing now.”

I can tell you that I have definitely been frustrated enough to feel like this. Anybody else?

In the midst of all this, though, I’m happy to know that what we do and say actually does make a difference. When our congregations came together to adopt the principles of Unitarian Universalism, we included this, that we affirm an “interdependent web of existence, of which we are all a part.” A little wordy and vague, I know, but in my understanding, this is meant to be a statement about the nature of reality -that each and every part of existence affects and is related to all others. Our religious tradition, and what we are learning from science, affirms that the language of our life, what we offer to this world, makes a difference far beyond ourselves.

In his book, Thank God for Evolution, the Rev. Michael Dowd notes that in the evolution of species, we know that one animal looks and acts the way it does because of what its ancestors did. A Rhinoceros is thick skinned and horned because its ancient ancestors chose to stay and fight. A gazelle is fast because its ancestors were able to flee. What will our descendents look like? What will the future of this church and this faith, of this world, look like because you were here?

For me, another piece of good news here is that, in my experience, to make the right kind of difference, we do not have to be anything but who we are. But the challenge is that we do have to be who we REALLY are – our most authentic selves. Our message to the world, what each and every one of us has to give, does not have to be the smartest, most unique, interesting thing to come about. In fact, that is not always what is most helpful. It seems that what really matters is presenting ourselves, not the selves that get bought or sold into an image, but our REAL selves to the world in a way that alters lives.

The former Unitarian minister, Ralph Waldo Emerson, knew something about this when he addressed the graduates of Harvard Divinity School in 1838 and talked about bad preaching. I know that is a dangerous subject to bring up while in the pulpit, but I think it is worth it here. In this address, Emerson asserts that we have the option between choosing to give freely to the world our real selves or something far different. Here is a bit of what he said to the graduates that day:

“I once heard a preacher who sorely tempted me to say, I would go to church no more… A snow storm was falling around us. The snow storm was real; the preacher merely spectral” He had lived in vain – If he had ever lived and acted, we were none the wiser for it…This man had ploughed, and planted, and talked, and bought, and sold; he had read books; he had eaten and drunken; his head aches; his heart throbs; he smiles and suffers; yet was there not a surmise, a hint, in all the discourse, that he had ever lived at all – The true preacher can be known by this, that he deals out to the people his life, ? life passed through the fire of thought – It seemed strange that the people should come to church. It seemed as if their houses were very unentertaining, that they should prefer this thoughtless clamor.

What Emerson taught that day is not just a lesson for preachers, I think, but for anyone who wants their life to matter. We don’t have to present some perfect version of ourselves to the world in order to make a difference. What we give to each other doesn’t have to be, and cannot be flawless, but it does have to be real. When people read the story that your life gives to the world, what do they find? Will they know that you lived, smiled and suffered, “ploughed and planted” as Emerson said.

It is not always easy to feel like we’re in the right part of our lives to give something to the world. Some in this community are moving out of home for the first time, trying out new ways of living that feel right for them. Many of us are just trying to get the basics of life in order: making a living, starting a family, or finding some type of work that gives us meaning while paying the bills. Many people in this community are facing extraordinary or terrifying things, sometimes all at the same time. In this room right now, there is inspiration, loneliness, sickness and suffering, ageing and youth, anxiety and hope all living side by side. Sometimes, it is hard to believe that what is happening here in our lives could be holy, and other times it’s obvious.

I am proud to be a part of our Unitarian Universalist faith. Our living tradition has held for hundreds of years that new truth about reality has been revealing itself in many ways for eons in the past, and is doing that same thing right now. Religious inspiration and revelation about the nature of this world, of our very existence, is happening right now, right here in this room, in me, and in you.

It is easy to be humbled in the face of how big the world is. And, sometimes, it’s easy also to be humiliated by it. I feel compelled to say this in almost every sermon I give, because it’s often so difficult for me to truly comprehend myself. We are so much more than our jobs. We are so much more than where we went to school, how we dress, where we live, or who we voted for. These things surely affect us, and much of it is so important to us, but in the end, we are so much more than all these. In the midst of all this mental chatter, in all these messages that are sent to us in society, how is it that I even find part of a bigger self to identify with?

Recently, I read a passage from scientists Joel Primack and Nancy Abrams that offer one source:

I can trace my lineage back fourteen billion years through generations of stars. My atoms were created in stars, blown out in stellar winds or massive explosions, and soared for millions of years through space to become part of a newly forming solar system ? my solar system – Intimately woven into me are billions of bits of information that had to be encoded and tested and preserved to create me. Billions of years of cosmic evolution have produced me.

It’s a good thing that we don’t have to believe this, because we know it’s true. Looks like each of us can speak from a very spectacular place.

As I said in beginning this morning, over the course of the summer, I know that I have much more to learn from your community than to teach it. But I will begin with at least with these questions. What it is that this place gives to the world? What is it that you want your life to say, and what is it saying? At a White House Conference on aging 1961, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel said, “There is no human being who does carry a treasure in [their] soul: a moment of insight, a memory of love, a dream of excellence, a call to worship.” What is yours?

My spiritual friends, each of us has the chance (and a very brief one at that) to let our lives speak something true to the world. It may be something grand, something beautiful, a call to justice, a subtle compassion, or a quiet wisdom. No matter what, know this, even in our silence, our very existence will present a message. The interesting this about being a free religious community is that we do not have one book, authority figure, or set of rituals that will continue after us all by itself. The future of this place and its saving message is up to us.

I am sure you have noticed, but a lot of the world is in trouble right now. So many are suffering. So many here are suffering. We do not have the privilege of letting our lives remain silent, or say anything less than prophetic to the world. In this community, our lives must speak to the deepest growth and potential of existence itself.

The term gospel means “good news.” But I have to tell you, I am convinced that good news will not be enough. Your life, and the life of this community, needs to show the world some great news: The great news that the potential for what we can say and be in this world is amazing. The great news that there is always more love, more joy, more truth to be found in this world. The great news that there are no saved and damned, none excluded from the sacred. The great news that gay or straight, conservative or liberal, any race, creed, or nation – each of us shares in one humanity and one fate.

However, I believe that the call to action in a Unitarian Universalist community and in those of other religious liberals is not an easy one. This is not some sentimental view of our role here ? not just some religion where we can say “we’re all ok as we are so we have no work to do.” This is a call to the most radical reimagining of society we have ever seen, where we each cultivate a radically free mind and heart. Its starts this very moment. In how we greet those who come into the doors of this church as if they were in our own home. It starts in how generous we can be to this living tradition and to our communities. It starts in seeing the history, the essence of being itself, something sacred in every single human, including those who differ with us (especially in this election year).

The call of our community is one to give genuinely of yourself to the world ? all of you, the real you ? to give forth our life “passed through the fire of thought.” This does not have to be the “you” defined your religious group, political party, or any other single label we use to confine ourselves. This might be the simplest and most challenging thing any of us could do, but I believe this is exactly what is going to have to happen if we want to see the beloved community on earth.

Just like the languages dying of every fourteen days, something of our lives? song will go with us unless we give what we can right now. May we at this very moment find the courage to give voice to our hope; may we breathe our most authentic selves into this world, and may the language of our lives, sing songs of justice. What better time than now?

Amen.

Brokenness

© Davidson Loehr

 June 15, 2008

 First UU Church of Austin

 4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

 www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PRAYER:

Let us give thanks for this amazing and miraculous gift of life, and let us work to complete it. Life comes to us in kit form, with some assembly required. But most of the pieces are blessed indeed – far more than are not.

Let us never doubt that we are a gift to this world, and let us pray that our world will be a blessing to us as well.

So much is uncertain in life: how long we will live, how well we will live, the balance of our happy and our sad days, how we will love and be loved. So much is uncertain.

But all the uncertainties take place within the larger miracle of life itself. The miracle and the gift is the fact that we are here at all. Let us not become so confused or jaded that we let ourselves become numb to that most important of facts.

If the only prayer we ever uttered was simply “Thank you,” it would be sufficient. Thank you to Life, the universe, God, the unnameable mystery by whatever names we call it forth. Thank you.

Let us give thanks for this amazing and miraculous gift of life, and let us show our gratitude by becoming a gift to ourselves, and to others. For we are not only gifts, but the bearers of gifts, and the world would not be as complete without us. So let us, above all else, remember to give thanks for the sheer gift of just being alive. Just being alive.

Amen.

SERMON: Brokenness

I’ve never preached on “brokenness” before. When I Googled it, I found it is a very popular word among many Christian writers. I love good and insightful thinking from all religious traditions, but the things I read on this word “brokenness” have an odd, even morbid, undertone. Let me read you the comments of six different authors who were among the first dozen or so to come up on the Google search, and you’ll see what I mean:

One says, “An unbroken person cannot be trusted.” (Gary Rosberg)

Reknowned Catholic priest Henri Nouwen wrote (in his book, The Return of the Prodigal Son) that “it is often difficult to believe that there is much to think, speak or write about other than brokenness”.

Another author (Mark Buchanan) wrote that brokenness “molds our character closer to the character of God than anything else. To experience defeat, disappointment, loss”the raw ingredients of brokenness”moves us closer to being like God than victory and gain and fulfillment ever can.” This sounds like some of the teaching of 12-step programs, and it’s true that sometimes we have to hit the bottom before we’re willing to wake up. But as a model for living our lives? We can do better.

Another (Alan Redpath) says, God will only plant the seed of his life “where the conviction of His Spirit has brought brokenness.”

A fifth author (Charles Brent) says that every call to Christ is a call to suffering, and every call to suffering is a call to Christ.

And a sixth says that “Worship starts with a broken heart.” (Calvin Miller)

I want to say that these voices are coming from another world, but not the one most of us are living in or would want to live in. They are speaking from within only one vehicle of insight and wholeness, the vehicle of one popular version of modern Christianity, and I want to suggest that what’s broken is not us, but that vehicle. I want to bring in a couple evangelical writers who speak to that, and then offer you some wisdom from a very different, perhaps unexpected, source.

A couple weeks ago, I talked about a new book by Christine Wicker called The Fall of the Evangelical Nation: The Surprising Crisis Inside the Church. She was raised in the evangelical Baptist church, came to Jesus at age nine, then grew away from the church, but kept a soft and warm spot in her heart for it. A major publisher asked her to write a book about what great successes the megachurches were as the spearheads of the evangelical movement. But after more than a year of research, the leaders within the churches convinced her that she was writing the wrong book. She went back to her publisher and took another year to write, instead, about the unreported fact that evangelical churches and numbers are declining, have not kept up with population growth for the past hundred years, and that we”ve been duped into thinking they were strong because they learned to manipulate the media very cleverly. They represent perhaps 7% of Americans, not the 25% we”ve been told – and the churches know this. She includes herself among the duped, as she was a religion writer for the Dallas Morning News for seventeen years.

The reason for the decline is the same as the reason for the decline of almost all traditional churches: our world has changed, our minds and hearts have changed, we no longer need the kind of God traditional religion has to offer, and we need other important things that it can’t offer. If you think about it, that’s a revolutionary statement. On Father”s Day, this stands out to me more, because this sounds like the data that say far more women attend church than men, because men want more hard-nosed empirical stuff than all the airy-fairy poetry of religions. I don’t think it’s quite that simple, though there’s something to it. But I think it is more about parents than just fathers.

In the world today, we need to be able to act, to adapt quickly, to think on our own, rather than blindly following authority. We feel a visceral imperative to be more open and flexible than humans have been in the past, which is another reason we may see the blind obedience taught by evangelical parents as dangerous thinking that will not prepare their children to live in the real world after they leave home (Christine Wicker, The Fall of the Evangelical Nation: The Surprising Crisis Inside the Church, p. 171).

It’s in families, raising children, where the real world and the world of religious dogma are most incompatible. Evangelical children, says Christine, are learning to obey authority while other American children are learning to question authority, to voice strong disagreement, to follow their own ideas. While evangelical parents may protect their children from growing up too fast, other American parents – both fathers and mothers – begin preparing their children to make decisions at earlier ages. These deep-seated differences in what parents believe their children must have and in how children are being formed as a result are the greatest reasons Americans will never, and cannot ever, return to the old-time religion. (Christine Wicker, The Fall of the Evangelical Nation: The Surprising Crisis Inside the Church, p. 173)

The idea that a happy, self-reliant person with adequate self-esteem is more likely to be a moral, good citizen has replaced the Christian image of humans as sinful, broken creatures in need of outside salvation. What was once called sin is now considered sickness. So health rather than holiness is the modern parent’s goal. And I want to say, that’s a good thing. (Christine Wicker, The Fall of the Evangelical Nation: The Surprising Crisis Inside the Church, p. 185)

It seems that a new way of judging what’s moral and what’s not is coming into being. It means people don’t feel the same need for the kind of God traditional religion supplies. (Christine Wicker, The Fall of the Evangelical Nation: The Surprising Crisis Inside the Church, p. 187)

This kind of thinking makes our children flexible, thinking, reasoning, searching, very unorthodox people. (Christine Wicker, The Fall of the Evangelical Nation: The Surprising Crisis Inside the Church, p. 187)

It leads to deeper, more aware, honest, nuanced and integrated kids. This state of hopeful wholeness was once called “salvation,” but today we call it health. So one point is that traditional religion has lost its roots in, and lost the ability to prepare us for, the real world outside the walls of the church and many fathers and mothers don’t trust their kids to it.

Let’s hear from one more evangelical who”s writing from inside that faith, rather than having left it as Christine Wicker did. Alan Jacobs is a professor of English at Wheaton College , and wrote this for the Wall Street Journal just over a week ago. (“Too Much Faith in Faith”, 6 June 2008, p. W11). Here’s some of what he wrote:

“If there is one agreed-upon point in the current war of words about religion, it is that religion is a very powerful force. Is it, though? I have my doubts, and they begin with personal experience. I am by most measures a pretty deeply committed Christian. I am quite active in my church; I teach at a Christian college; I have written extensively in support of Christian ideas and belief. Yet when I ask myself how much of what I do and think is driven by my religious beliefs, the honest answer is “not so much.” The books I read, the food I eat, the music I listen to, my hobbies and interests, the thoughts that occupy my mind throughout the greater part of every day – these are, if truth be told, far less indebted to my Christianity than to my status as a middle-aged, middle-class American man.

“When people say that they are acting out of religious conviction, I tend to be skeptical; I tend to wonder whether they’re not acting as I usually do, out of motives and impulses over which I could paint a thin religious veneer but which are really not religious at all.”

Now this man isn’t a Christ-hating savage. He teaches at Wheaton College in Illinois , the alma mater of Billy Graham, which has never been known as a bastion of liberal thought.

So one former evangelical author says the membership in the churches is declining, that they can’t convert enough new people to keep from shrinking because they’re too out of touch with the world we’re really living in. And a current professor at evangelical Wheaton College says that even within the religion, the truth is that the religion has very little to do with what we think, read, feel or do. This is a measure of a religion that has become a broken vehicle for helping us find more meaning and purpose in life. Its wheels have come off.

So I began with the idea of brokenness, which is a concept deeply embedded in a lot of modern religious thinking in our culture. I shared some of the research by a former evangelical who now, as an outsider to that worldview, reports that even the churches know they are losing more members and more appeal every year. She suggests it’s because their message is grounded in biases that have lost their roots in the world we’re really living in, and a growing number of us prefer the real world. Then Alan Jacobs, who is not only still an evangelical, but teaches at one of the flagship conservative colleges, says that even as a believer, he has to admit that his religious beliefs actually play almost no role in how he thinks, feels, or lives. I think there’s good evidence that many of the loudest religious voices telling us we’re broken and need their special salvation are, in fact, themselves broken, and failing as useful vehicles for our most important hopes, fears, dreams and yearnings.

So what if, instead, we were to seek out some wise figures who live in the real world, are at home in it, and are also asking questions about life, meaning and purpose? How different would their advice sound than these messages insisting that God only cares for broken souls?

Well, it just so happens that we have some of these voices among us. So I want to read you a few things from their wisdom, so you can hear and feel the difference. Remember, the question guiding us this morning is the question of brokenness: are we broken, is brokenness really a healthy and useful way of looking at our lives, or is there a way of understanding ourselves that is not broken, and is better for us? Some of you have already heard these voices, because they are four of our own high school students, who presented short homilies during their Youth Service last Sunday. If you missed it, you missed something very special. Listen to a few insights from four teen-agers who live in the modern world, are creatures of that world, and believe what they’ve learned in this church – and I hope could learn in any good liberal church – that their questions and feelings matter, that they can trust their minds, and can find their own healthy and whole path through life if they choose to.

Now as you listen, don’t mentally patronize these young people. Don’t think “Oh, that’s so good for a kid, it’s just swell.” Don’t mentally pat them on the heads. Be tough. Listen to them as you would listen to anyone offering wisdom, and see how it stacks up. See, especially, how it stacks up against advice about how we’re broken or sinful. They didn’t come here to show off; they came here to try and offer something that might be both true and useful for you, so hold them to the high standards they’ve requested.

Josh is one of our students, and says, “As our lives change, we lose and discover things about ourselves. We change from what we were, to what we are, to what we could be. Sometimes we also find friendships we thought we could never have, without even trying. In my short 16 years I have moved a total of 10 times and every time I seem to find these wonderful and amazing people without even looking. They seem to pop out of nowhere and change my life. That I think is the greatest thing anyone could find: the love and joy of friends.” He doesn’t sound broken.

Listen to the trust here. He has found a way to back off and see life as a moving picture. He isn’t trying to cling to a dogmatic truth, he knows already that life is about change. He isn’t looking for water wings, but for swimming lessons, and he’s swimming pretty well.

One youth reflected on a Rolling Stones song from her parents” generation, about how “You can’t always get what you want”but if you try sometimes, you can get what you need.” She says, “No matter how much we want something or how much we think we must have something, or how hard we try to get it, sometimes the universe just won’t let it happen. But, if you try sometimes, if you try new things and expand your world, you can get what you need,” even if you hadn’t known you needed it.

She told a story to illustrate this, about a time she was digging through the family couch, looking for loose change to buy candy at the movie. I imagine nearly everyone here remembers doing that. She didn’t find enough change to get the candy, but she did find something without which many teenagers might not be able to survive for even one day – her cell phone. She didn’t even know she’d lost it. And so the world, she said, is like a big couch, “littered with all sorts of random objects, and waiting for us to dig around in it. Maybe we will find what we want. Maybe we will find what we haven’t been looking for, but need more than we thought. Nevertheless, the choice is ours whether or not to look in the first place.” And she thinks we should be out there digging around in the couch of life. She doesn’t sound broken.

Our third student, Shane, thought about the whole idea of gaining experiences. He said that unless you live under a rock, you’re experiencing things every day. And that even if you do live under a rock, you’re probably experiencing things too, like pain and boredom. But it’s not like you can go to the movie store and pick out which experiences you want, and skip the bad ones. If you want to have really valuable experiences, you have to be patient, because not all experiences are either valuable or pleasant. And when the really valuable experiences do happen, it may not be when or where you expect. Does this sound like a modern teenager, or an ancient sage?

Then Sierra talked about happiness. She’s already learned that you can’t buy it – even with money from the couch. “You have to know where to find it. And this is the tricky part. How can we get it? You can try as hard as you possibly can to reach this happiness, and still not get it. You can’t control it. You can alter your mood and surround yourselves with things that supposedly “make you happy”, and some days the happiness just won’t come.”

She decides that maybe happiness is more complex than we think. Maybe it has to include the sadness, the fear, the satisfaction, the contentment, the surprise, and the regrets. Like Natalie, she invents an analogy for us. She says maybe happiness is like white light. White light is made up of all the colors, and if one color were missing, it wouldn’t be pure white, just like if one of our experiences was missing or an emotion was suppressed for a lifetime, it wouldn’t be as full, as complete a life. It isn’t about pretending we can only have happy, fun experiences. I”d say that’s not the real world; that’s Disneyworld . She says, at age 15, that in our real-world pursuit of happiness, we are gathering experiences that at the end of our lifetime might just combine and finally give us our greatest happiness – the most full and satisfying life – the way all the different colors combine to make pure white light.

These young people are not finished growing, but they’re not broken. They see the good and bad as inherent parts of life, and see happiness as living in a way that can let them integrate all of our experiences, and weave them into a character with depth and nuance.

We are completely at home in the real world. Whatever is sacred, is there – which means that whatever is sacred is already within us, too. We are linked with all other life on earth. We are part of this world, all the way down. We are at home here, all the way down. And our salvation, our wholeness, must be rooted deeply in the real world around us to its most profound and life-giving parts, all the way down.

That’s the voice you hear coming from our own high school students. Not because they were taught a doctrine or dogma, but because they were taught that they must think, they must interact with the world and that it can mostly be trusted, and so can their own powers of reasoning and meaning-making. We are saved, today, not by dogmas or orthodoxies, but by an empowered imagination, and our ability to imagine our own most fulfilling paths through life.

we’re not broken. we’re unfinished. We don’t need to be made holy; we need to be made whole. And that has changed everything. We can trust life. We can trust ourselves, we can trust in the best of human relationships, and it’s ok when we occasionally fail, because failing is part of living, just as succeeding is part of living.

Let me sum this up in the words of some local sages. As we go digging through the big couch of life, we can find things we want, and things we need, as we change from what we were, to what we are, to what we could be. If we want to have really valuable experiences, we have to be patient, because not all experiences are either valuable or pleasant. And when the really valuable experiences do happen, it may not be when or where we expect. But don’t be afraid of the wide range of life’s experiences, because in the end they can all go together like rays of different colored lights to create a kind of white light so complete we can call it by its ancient religious name: Enlightenment.

That isn’t broken. It’s whole. It’s blessed. And it’s very, very good.

Can Evangelicalism be (Gasp!) Dying?

© Davidson Loehr

 1 June 2008

 First UU Church of Austin

 4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

 www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PRAYER:

Let us not confuse hype with hope. We know all that glitters is not gold, but let us not be misled when the glitter looks good anyway. Let us not be taken in by someone else’s excited messages that don’t feed our enduring hungers.

We are here to grow into our highest callings as children of the universe, children of God, the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself. Let us not accept messages that don’t bless us.

May we learn to shun voices that say, “You’re nothing without me. You’re nothing without Jesus. You’re nothing without God.” These messages don’t come from Jesus or God, but from those acting like “used God” salesmen who hawk them for personal profit or power.

Our good news – the kind of truth that can set us free – may indeed be a truth that passes all understanding, but not a truth that bypasses understanding.

We are all looking for good news. We need truth that makes us feel more cherished, more alive and whole, a truth that commands us to serve higher ideals than we might otherwise have done, and live a life of greater integrity and courage than we might have stumbled into. And it must bless us and make us feel beloved of this place. Without these things, it isn’t our good news, and we need to keep listening. For it will come, our good news. Let us keep listening for words of truth and empowerment, the good news that can make us free. For it will come. Amen.

SERMON: Can Evangelicalism be (Gasp!) Dying?

We’ve been told, for years, that Christian evangelicals make up 25% of the U.S. population and are growing, that evangelicals and “values voters” delivered the last two presidential elections – rather than that both elections were stolen. We’ve read that atheists are the most distrusted group of people in the country, and that they are at any rate far less moral than the kind of evangelicals who have given the Religious Right so much political power since 1980. Now I like evangelism, and even think of myself as an evangelist. The word means spreading the good news, and I think that’s what honest religion should be about: spreading the good news. But when evangelism isn’t done honestly, when it’s more about deceit than delivery, then it’s a bad thing, the good news lies elsewhere, and we need to know about it.

An author named Christine Wicker has written a new book called The Fall of the Evangelical Nation: The Surprising Crisis Inside the Church. She was in town for a presentation last week, and I had several hours to talk with her over a long dinner and longer lunch. I’ll draw on some of her work for the sermon in two weeks. But I want to introduce you to it today in the time we have left, and talk about why she sees the evangelical movement dying, how she says we”ve been duped about the strength of the movement for almost 30 years, and what it might all mean for us: what the good news really is.

Christine was raised an evangelical Baptist, came to Jesus in an altar call when she was nine years old, left the church some time later, and still has a warm place in her heart for evangelicals, though she says she can’t imagine ever wanting to go to church again. She was a religion writer for the Dallas Morning News for seventeen years, and understands how to find good sources. She quotes a lot of figures that are quite damning to that picture of evangelicals in America, but all the figures come from inside the churches themselves. Here are a few of the things she says.

Evangelical Christianity in America is dying. The idea that evangelicals are taking over America is one of the greatest publicity scams in history, a perfect coup accomplished by savvy politicos and religious leaders, who understand media weaknesses and exploit them brilliantly. (Christine Wicker, The Fall of the Evangelical Nation, p. ix)

The facts are that about a thousand evangelicals walk away from their churches every day and most don’t come back (Christine Wicker, The Fall of the Evangelical Nation, p. xiii). As a whole, American Christians lose six thousand members a day – more than two million a year. (Christine Wicker, The Fall of the Evangelical Nation, p. 123) The real figures are that fewer than seven percent of the country are really evangelicals – only about one in fourteen, not one out of four. The fastest growing faith groups in the country are atheists and nonbelievers. In just the eleven years from 1990 to 2001, they more than doubled, from 14 million to 29 million, from 8% of the country to 14 percent. There are more than twice as many nonbelievers and atheists as there are evangelicals. And since it’s hard to believe everyone would have the nerve to tell a pollster they were an atheist or nonbeliever, I suspect the real figures are higher. You don’t read this in the media because there are no powerful groups pushing the story.

And as far as respect goes, when asked to rate eleven groups in terms of respect, non-Christians rated evangelicals tenth. Only prostitutes ranked lower. In an almost comic side note, I wonder how the prostitutes feel about that. (Christine Wicker, The Fall of the Evangelical Nation, p. 143) Atheists and nonbelievers are looking pretty good.

Misbehavior is so widespread among evangelicals that one evangelical author (Ronald Sider) calls the statistics devastating. When pollster George Barna, himself an evangelical, looked at seventy moral behaviors, he didn’t find any difference between the actions of those who were born-again Christians and those who weren’t. His studies and other indicators show that divorce among born-agains is as common as, or more common than, among other groups. One study showed that wives in traditional, male-dominated marriages were 300 percent more likely to be beaten than wives in egalitarian marriages. (Christine Wicker, The Fall of the Evangelical Nation, p. 80) Evangelicals make up only seven percent of the population, but about twenty percent of the women who get abortions (Christine Wicker, The Fall of the Evangelical Nation, p. 81).

Every day the percentage of evangelicals in America decreases, a loss that began more than one hundred years ago (Christine Wicker, The Fall of the Evangelical Nation, p. 198). This is part of the bigger picture of the continual decline of Christianity in our culture, which is another story that’s been underreported.

These are just some of the headlines. I’ll go into more facets of this in two weeks, because they have deep and compelling implications for us and for all liberal churches.

Who’s to blame for all this? Not the bible, not God, and not the churches. Modern life, changed circumstances, the new realities that we live among are to blame (Christine Wicker, The Fall of the Evangelical Nation, p. 4). Evangelicals tried to fight the modern world and the world won.

What’s eroding Christianity is the rise and victory of the more scientific and humane worldview we’re a part of: a worldview that incorporates almost all the basic assumptions of liberalism. It affects all religions, but in different ways.

I’ve heard for 25 years that 95% of Unitarian kids leave the church after high school. I don’t think anyone has actually done a methodical study that could produce reliable numbers like that, but I suspect that it’s probably in the ballpark. Why? Because evangelical youth are leaving at about the same rate. Josh McDowell, who has worked for Campus Crusade for Christ since 1964, says that 94% of high school graduates leave the faith within two years. The Southern Baptists estimate that 88% of their kids leave the church after high school. So this is not an indictment of liberal religion; it’s a description of American 18-to-20-year-olds. On the surface, it looks like we’re all in the same situation.

But when you look at why evangelicals or religious liberals leave their church, it gets more interesting, and suddenly we’re not all in the same situation.

The world evangelical kids enter when they leave the control of the church isn’t much like the world the church has offered them. There’s more freedom to question, no subjects declared off-limits, less self-righteousness, more science, more independence. And nineteen out of twenty of them find the real world more appealing than the world the church had given them. Evangelicals lose their kids to the modern world. But we don’t lose our kids to the modern world, because we”ve worked to prepare them for it. It’s the worldview they learn in churches like this. We just want them to find more depth of fulfilling meaning and purpose within it than the soul-killing “market value” idols offer.

During the past century, evangelicals have never kept up with the population growth in this country. Not for a century. They don’t have anywhere near the real power they have claimed. They have fought to make abortion illegal for 35 years. It’s still legal. They have fought for a Constitutional amendment to outlaw homosexuality. Nobody’s buying it. And though they have done harm to and through the Republican Party, they don’t have anything like control there either. Remember that the recent court decisions permitting homosexual marriages in Massachusetts, California and New York all came from Republican judges. They have censored some school textbooks, but one result is that American students now lag far behind students in Europe and Asia, especially in science education, which will make us less competitive. Eventually, even market forces will have to improve the quality of our public education, because we need independent thinking workers, not just obedient ones. They are training for the world of yesteryear, but we and our children are learning to live with imagination and hope in the world of tomorrow. We and the modern world are winning, and will win.

What is at stake is whether children must become independent minded and able to reason through tough decisions on their own at early ages or whether they will be sheltered from such decisions until adulthood by families in which obedience to parental and allegedly godly authority is more highly valued. Parents who”ve changed their parenting style have come to believe that their children need new strengths as they face a rapidly changing world, and those strengths need to be developed early. For these parents, physical punishment encourages violence in later life. Bolstering the child’s self-respect and autonomy is important. The idea that a happy, self-reliant person with adequate self-esteem is more likely to be a moral, good citizen has replaced the Christian image of humans as sinful creatures in need of outside salvation. What was once called sin is now considered sickness. So health rather than holiness is the modern parent’s goal for their children and for themselves (Christine Wicker, The Fall of the Evangelical Nation, p. 185). This is the way you’ve raised your own children, but so have a growing army of more conservative parents. As Christine says, when was the last time you saw a child being beaten in public? Public standards have changed, and have become more humane and civil than those of the conservative churches. That’s one way to lose parents and children by the drove.

Trying to hold back the modern world and our sciences and our intellectual freedoms is not like the old picture of the Dutch boy with his finger in the hole in a dam trying to keep the water from squirting through. It’s more like a crowd of believers standing side by side in a river, imagining they can stop it. But the water just goes between, around and through them, and the river goes on as if they weren’t there.

The saving message here, the good news, is that America is a very different place than many of us have been led to believe it is. And Americans themselves are a very different kind of people. More thoughtful. More reasoning. Less doctrinaire. More changeable. More flexible. Less religious. This is news of a new and powerful form of salvation that comes from knowing the truth, being aware, and acting in fair and compassionate ways. And growing numbers of people are finding it offers better salvation than the traditional Christian stories (Christine Wicker, The Fall of the Evangelical Nation, p. 56). Sometimes they find it in more liberal churches like this one. Sometimes they just find it on their own. But more and more, they know where they’re not going to find it.

Another way of putting this is that repressive and regressive religions tried to fight the Holy Spirit, and the Spirit is winning. The spirit of truth, freedom and empowerment is winning, and religions that can’t embrace that spirit cannot make their people whole. Any way you cut it, from any informed religious, ethical or moral perspective, that’s good news. It’s the kind of good news that can save you – It’s the kind of good news that can save your mind, save your souls and save your children. It’s the kind of good news that can save the world. You can get that good news at a lot of liberal churches. You can get it here. That’s not just good news. That’s Halleluja news! And that’s worth an Amen!

Understanding Evangelical Christianity

Eric Hepburn

Sunday, May 25, 2008

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button below: [display_podcast]�

Invocation:

A wise person once said to me, you get to choose how to live, and there are basically two choices, you can choose to be right or you can choose to be peaceful.

The more I have reflected on this the more clear it has become that choosing to be right is about ego, while choosing to be peaceful is about wisdom.

Peace be with you.

Let us join together in song.

Prayer

How can we become more compassionate?

It is helpful to think of a generic situation where you are engaged with another person.

You perceive their actions, and from this perception you normally confer onto them motives and thoughts.

It is by these motives and thoughts, which we have imagined, that we determine how we will react to their action.

One form of compassion happens when we are clear and honest about the actions of others, but kind and generous when we infer thought and motive.

There is an expression for this in English, it is called ‘giving the benefit of the doubt.’

One way to cultivate our capacity for giving the benefit of the doubt is to keep in mind that we do not know what others are thinking.

Another way is to confer to others a range of possible thoughts or motives, and to be intentional when we treat them as if their motives are the noblest ones.

One of the side effects of this practice, is the way that it helps and encourages others to live up to the generosity of your interpretations.

Let us pray this morning that we can learn to become masters at giving others the benefit of the doubt.

Sermon: Understanding Evangelical Christianity

My first chosen religion was evangelical Christianity, I was a holy roller, I sang and danced and spoke in tongues, and I shouted Amen, whenever I was moved. My second chosen religion was Atheism, I was a professional skeptic and debunker, proud in my claims not to believe in anything that hadn’t been proven. And now my chosen religion, they say the third times a charm, well my chosen religion now doesn’t have a name, I attend this Unitarian Universalist church and I stand in this pulpit from time to time, I search for the truth, and I am honored that you have agreed to spend this morning with me so that I can share some thoughts with you about this journey.

In the home where I grew up religion was not a serious issue. We subscribed to the pedestrian mainstream American view that Christianity was true, but that you didn’t have to go to Church to be a good person, and good people go to heaven, which is important, because hell is not a very nice place.

During my childhood I spent summers with my maternal grandparents. When I was twelve they moved back to rural Illinois where our extended family lived. My Great-Uncle Web was a preacher at a Free-Will Pentecostal Church there, and since all my cousins who were my age went to Church three times a week, I wanted to go with them.

Now, I had been to Church before, but I had never seen a Church like this. I don’t think I will ever forget the first time that I saw someone speak in tongues. I didn’t have to wait long, it was about seven minutes into my first service when my Great-Aunt Rose got to her feet and began making noises not unlike ululation at first, and then transforming into a kind of wailing string of syllables. It was eerie and a little frightening, but by the end of that service, I knew that this wasn’t just an eccentricity of my Aunt Rose, but a normal part of how these people, many of them my family, worshiped.

Three weeks later I was saved, the next week I received the spirit of the Holy Ghost and spoke in tongues for the first time, later that summer I received the gift of healing and performed a faith healing on my great-grandmother’s chronic headaches, which she swore lasted a whole week. I also participated in casting out my first demon that summer, it was a spirit of man-hating in a young woman in the congregation who had been abandoned by her father, and who later went on to marry one of my cousins. As the summer drew to a close, I became concerned about how I was going to continue ‘walking in the light’ when I returned home. My uncle’s Church didn’t have any affiliates in my area, but he assured me that if I prayed and searched, God would find me a home congregation.

I returned home, filled with hope, not only of finding a spiritual community, but of rescuing my family from their religious malaise and bringing them once more under the direct protection of Jesus Christ. Both of these quests were disastrous. My family rejected my evangelical advances and my search for a local congregation was even worse, I was told by many ministers and preachers that speaking in tongues was wrong, that it was a misinterpretation of scripture, that it was even the work of the devil. This practice of Speaking in tongues had become central to my way of worship, as had dancing in the spirit, and raising my hands in the air, and shouting Amen when something the preacher said really resonated with me. Sitting quietly and listening to someone talk, standing still with a hymnal in hand singing dirges, I couldn’t reconcile these methods with my desire to worship and glorify God. I searched, and after a while I stopped searching, I read my Bible, and after a while I stopped reading, I worried about my salvation, and after a while, I stopped worrying.

My life became much as it had always been and when I returned to my Grandparents’ home the summer of my 14th year, I inititialy refused the invitations to go to Church, I didn’t want to repeat the cycle, I preferred to forgo the ecstatic experiences of church to avoid the pain of losing them again. And I also felt let-down by God because I believed that he had not helped me to find a home congregation.

But it didn’t last long, a month maybe, and I was back at Church, on my knees weeping, asking forgiveness for my failure to stay on the path. So I sang, and I danced, and I shouted Amen, and I spoke in tongues. And this time when I went home, I didn’t struggle. I rendered unto Caesar the things which were Caesar’s, and unto God the things that were God’s. In this case, the God that I worshiped was in rural Illinois and my normal life; school, immediate family, friends, these things belonged to the secular world of Caesar. That was my last summer in the Church.

Religion once again became a non-issue in my daily world, but that all changed during my first semester at college. I was taking a philosophy course on contemporary moral issues, and when the topic of homosexuality came up, the quiet (or sometimes not so quiet) bigotry of rural Christianity was waiting there in the back of my brain, ready to argue the point of why homosexuality was wrong. I bolstered my claims with biology, with logic, with everything but the kitchen sink. But when the professor asked me what was wrong with two people loving each other, with two people wanting to be each others’ best friends and helpmates, I had no answer. Like most people who had never actually known or been friends with any gay people, I was all focused on the sex act. Once I was forced to step beyond the bedroom into the world of life, where people love each other, where people care for each other, and where sex is simply a physical expression of that love, I was left without a leg to stand on. On that day, in that class period, I abandoned the God of rural Illinois, I publicly changed my position on homosexuality, apologized if I had offended anyone, and began to self-identify as an atheist. Because my professor was right, hate and intolerance are incompatible with love. And I knew then that Love and justice were more important to me than the God of the Bible, than the God of rural Illinois.

I spent the next few months reading psychology texts and talking with people, trying to reframe my religious experiences into this new atheistic framework. I rewrote my narrative of those years using terms like: social pressure, group think, and brainwashing. I researched the Bible critically, embracing a deconstruction of both the text and the life of Jesus. I believed that I had been duped, that I had been sold a Santa Claus type lie, the only consolation was that the people who sold it had believed it to be true. In reality, this simply increased my feelings of condescension toward grown-ups who had failed to realize that the Jesus story was just another myth. I patted myself on the back for being smarter than they were.

Luckily for me, my journey was not over. It took two other mentors to help me find a deeper and more honest view of the truths of those years. The first one was a Sociology professor named Lonn Lanza-Kaduce. He issued a challenge at the beginning of his Sociology of Law course. He said that anyone can read a theory and tear it apart and find all of its weak points; deconstruction is easy. What is hard, he said, and more rewarding, is to give each author their strongest possible reading. What problems or issues is the author most concerned with? What truth or truths are they trying to deal with? As a reader, can you give the author the benefit of the doubt and confront him on his strongest ground, instead of searching for his weaknesses. It was a serious challenge and it had a profound impact on the tenor of the class, every week we had serious discussions about the merits and strengths of different theories and we looked at how different theories actually addressed different domains of problems, and how much of the criticism that was written about them was really missing the point. We learned how to build better theories.

The second influence was Dr. David Hackett, a religion professor, I took the Sociology of Religion course primarily as a way to improve my background knowledge and debating skill when I challenged the evangelical literalist Christian missionaries who regularly visit college campuses with their confrontational style of ministry. It had become a favorite pastime of mine to spend hours in the middle of the day debating them, challenging them, winning over the crowd. I wish I could say that I had done it with love, I wish I could say that it had meant more to me at the time than winning the debate, in the background was always this justification of keeping them from preying on students’ insecurities and feeding them lies, but, in reality I knew that I was preaching to the choir. My sparring with them was about my own ego, my need to show my superiority, so I got what I deserved when I took this Sociology of Religion course.

When I found out that the professor was a practicing church-goer, I almost dropped the course, luckily for me, my ego was too big for that. Just like the philosophy professor had pulled the rug out from under my homophobia by asking the larger question about love, this professor pulled the rug out from under my sense of atheistic superiority by asking if there was value in the story. He claimed that one didn’t have to believe that the Bible was the literal word of God in order to be a Christian, that one did not have to subscribe to the divinity of Christ, or the resurrection, or miracles, or any of the things I had spent the last two years lambasting. If the Roman myths served Roman culture, and the Greek myths served Greek culture, why couldn’t the Christian myths in the Bible serve as a moral framework for Western Christian culture.

Well, he had me there. If we had permission to view the Bible as a collection of stories, a collection of myths, then we could apply the same ‘strongest-reading’ approach that I had learned in the context of social theory. I became a fan of Jesus, of Buddha, and of Mohammed in that class. I read their words, and the words from other world religions in that class, I looked for the passages where they saw the truth most clearly and didn’t worry about the parts where their culture, or their fear, or their greed, or their other human frailties got in the way. I began to believe in the universality of truth, in the idea that we are all seeking this truth, that it is a fundamental part of our nature, that it is this truth that unites us and makes us whole.

In graduate school I began to integrate my love of the prophets with my own narrative. I began to critically evaluate both my early religious experiences, my atheism, and my atheistic contention that those early experiences had been meaningless. Ultimately, I was able to reconcile my understanding with my history and reclaim the genuine aspects of those early religious experiences.

I no longer find it surprising in retrospect that one of the most socially bizarre and controversial aspects of my early practice, speaking in tongues, has ended up being one of the most important to me. When I was an atheist I was ashamed of this part of my past, ashamed because I believed that I had been socially pressured into faking a religious experience. But the more I reflected on the experience, the more I realized that I had been wrong. The social pressure theory wasn’t true to the story, it wasn’t true to my experience. The pressure I felt was not pressure to fit in, it was not pressure to please my family or the church, it was the pressure of what to say when you believe you are face to face with God. When you are in that moment of prayer and you feel yourself in communion with God, with the Universe, what do you say? What can you say? Such immense beauty, such immense pain, such immense love? That is what speaking in tongues taps into. When you want to shout your feelings to God, but you can’t put them into words, you just let those raw feelings out in the form of sound. And in that church, you were allowed that freedom and I experienced it, and I cherish it still.

Now, I’m not suggesting that UU’s should start speaking in tongues, it wouldn’t be genuine, and it wouldn’t produce the desired result. What I am suggesting is that we start thinking, individually and collectively, about how we can foster an environment, how we can produce a spiritual haven here in this sanctuary every Sunday, where people leave their self-criticism and their criticisms of others at the door. A space where people can clap, sing, dance, meditate, sit quietly, hum, think, pray, do whatever they do, but do it without worrying about being judged or without spending any energy judging or thinking about what others are doing. Can we, the distracted intellectuals that we are, find a way to experience communal peace and joy here together every Sunday? I think that we can.

I think it starts with looking inward, with using this time we have here together with the unconditional love and support of our community to bask in the light, love, and joy of the truth. Because the truth is joyful. Let me reiterate that for all of us intellectual doubting Thomases who have a much easier time seeing everything that is wrong with the world, and I include myself. The truth is joyful. This didn’t sink in for me until I went to see the Dalai Lama when he came to town, and I tell you friends, the truth has set that man free. And that freedom radiates from him like a warm light of love and joyfulness. He is not joyful because he has comforting illusions, he is joyful because he has spent his life smashing the illusions that separate us from the truth. There is ever-present in his life the radiance of God, the radiance of an interconnected and interdependent universe, the radiance of the power of life and love.

That radiance, the radiance of the truth, is the light that has inspired all religion. It is the same light that the Evangelical Christians are seeking to capture when they go to church, the same light they are trying to share when they come knocking at your door, the same light that you were searching for this morning when you made your way to this sanctuary. The truth is not fractured, but we are often fractured. The truth is not exclusive, but we are all too often exclusive.

The next time you are confronted with someone who has a religious symbol system that you don’t share, I want you to try and translate. You don’t have to subscribe to God language in order to use God language. Maybe internally, you prefer to use the word Universe instead of God, or maybe you don’t like to assign a word to that concept at all. That’s OK. You can translate into their language, and if your heart and intentions are in the right place, your translation into their symbol system will work out.

This doesn’t only apply to Evangelical Christians, it can apply to anyone. If you remember that the differences are often differences in religious language, differences in symbols and not differences in ultimate truth, then you come to realize the possibility of breaking spiritual bread with any of your brothers and sisters. This does not negate the reality of differences in belief, those differences are real, they exist. What I am suggesting is that when we focus on our differences in opinion, we create divisiveness and discord. When we focus on what we agree on, on the magnificence of the universe, the beauty and the pain of living, the importance of love and compassion, the comfort of human companionship, when we focus on these core truths of religion, we create peace and joy. The choice is up to you, you can choose to be right, or you can choose to be peaceful.

Benediction

I would like to close today with a greeting, because today’s sermon, if given its strongest reading, was about changing the way we meet people, it was about conferring the greatest benefit of the doubt to all of our brothers and sisters, without any reason to do so but faith, without any reason but love.

The greeting is Namaste and it means ?I see the light in you that is also in me.?

Namaste.

Life as a Work of Art

© Davidson Loehr

 18 May 2008

 First UU Church of Austin

 4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

 www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PRAYER:

Let us not tell paltry stories about ourselves. We don’t just work at a job, we have a mission that is part of the cosmic effort to improve and perfect the world.

We’re not just sweeping the floor, throwing out stuff and trying to get this place cleaned up before guests arrive. We are a modern incarnation of the goddess Hestia, the one whose sacred gift is to transform a house into a homey place, to let those who enter feel cared for. We’re not just a doctor sewing stitches into the fourth patient to cut himself this hour. We’re healing the sick, caring for them in the spirit of old Aesclepius, the patron saint of physicians. We’re not just taking a lawsuit to court so we can stick it to whoever we have in our sights. we’re agents of fairness and social trust, working to help the powerless balance the scales of justice. We’re not here just to whistle little ditties, but to sing small spiritual symphonies with our lives.

We are, whatever we are, so very much more than we have given ourselves credit for being. Our biggest failures are failures of imagination. We need a story worthy of us. We need the largest story that wraps us in the most imaginative tapestry of life lived skillfully, caringly.

Let us find a story worthy of our spirit, and tell it. Salvation can come through telling and believing the right stories about ourselves. It may be the only way it does come. Let us become spirited parts of stories that are worthy of us.

Amen.

SERMON: Life as a work of art

Life as a work of art: what does that mean? I want to begin with a quotation that Catholic theologian Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, wrote over eighty years ago:

“Every person, in the course of his life, must build – starting with the natural territory of his own self – a work, an opus, into which something enters from all the elements of the earth. [She] makes [her] own soul throughout all [her] earthly days; and at the same time [she] collaborates in another work, in another opus, which infinitely transcends, while at the same time it narrowly determines, the perspectives of [her] individual achievement: [that greater work is] the completing of the world.” – Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, The Divine Milieu (1927)

He used the word opus for the work of a life. That word opus is also used for a musical composition or an artist’s total production. We are also works of art. We are partly the artistic designers of our own life, and it is the most important work we will ever do. (Thomas Moore, A Life at Work, p. 2)

Boy, does that sound easier said than done! How to make a life? When most people hear this, their first thoughts are probably more economic, like how to make a living.

Some of the older folks here will remember how much this has changed in the last half century. In the 1950s, the object was to get a job with a good company, work for them your whole life and they’d take care of you. You”d have health care and a good retirement. For women, the work options were severely limited – most were steered to becoming nurses or teachers or stewardesses (and in the 50s only young women could be stewardesses, and there were no male flight attendants). For all, the goal was to get married (heterosexual only – nobody was “out” in the 1950s), have kids, raise them to be good Americans. America was the most respected nation in the world after WWII and its Marshall Plan to help Europe recover. We were generous and just, trusted by almost everyone.

It’s amazing how much of that has changed now. Our nation is no longer respected by many. There’s little or no job security – I think I read that people entering the work force today should expect to have eight different jobs in five different fields during their career. Job benefits keep getting cut, unions have largely been disempowered, and it’s been widely reported that this is the first generation that can’t look forward to a higher life style than their parents. The divorce rate is about 50% – so many people have neither a job nor a partner for life.

There is a lot more competition for good schools and jobs, school loans put people into far greater debt. Twenty-five years ago, I spent seven years in a very expensive graduate school and graduated owing a total of $17,500. Today, Unitarian ministers leave a three-year seminary owing between $50,000 and $80,000 or more, and I’ve talked with at least one student here at UT who’ll owe $100,000 for a four-year Ph.D. program in Latin American studies. And it can get much worse. I have a niece attending medical school in Israel through a Columbia University world medicine program, who”s also getting a Master”s in public health from Johns Hopkins. When she’s done in two more years, she’ll owe about $300,000. She had wanted to be the next Albert Schweitzer, devoting her life to helping needy people in Africa – but not with student loans like that.

So it’s harder to make a living today than it was fifty years ago.

It’s easy to get depressed, or go into a rant.

But the job of making a life – as opposed to the job of making a living – really isn’t fundamentally different now. It’s still a religious task, though today we use the word “spiritual” more, and it doesn’t need to involve churches or even gods.

Many churches still talk about this life as though it were just a meaningless prelude to some life in heaven forever – if we obey a certain concept of God or church. But I don’t believe the world is built that way. I think we do it here and now. So in many ways, it matters even more, to try and make a good life. What’s it mean?

By a good life, I really mean something as simple as a life that lets you stand in front of a mirror in ten or fifty years and be able to say, “If I only get one shot at this, I’m glad I lived the life I’ve lived.” In your whole life, there’s hardly anything you could say that’s more important. It may not be the life someone else would choose, but you’re not supposed to live other people’s lives. You’re supposed to live your own. And to some extent that involves making it, crafting it, like a work of art. And while I think that’s a little more complex than it used to be, it isn’t fundamentally different.

We need the sense that we are here for a reason, that life wants something from us, that life grants us honor, and a task. Being part of a larger purpose can give meaning to our smallest acts and helps create a strong identity. (Thomas Moore, A Life at Work, p. 17)

If I were an old-fashioned preacher talking in old-fashioned ways, this is when I could say, “Come to Jesus! Come to Jesus and be saved!” I think very few people here think or talk that way, but there can be a powerful kind of truth to that Come-to-Jesus invitation. It means, “Recast your life as a beloved part of a larger reality, as a child of God rather than just one more lost person stumbling through life. Then it can be about the larger you precisely because it’s no longer primarily about you, but about your part in a bigger story, a transcendent scheme. You’re no longer just doing the kind of fairly menial work we all do; your work has now become part of the plan of the creator of the universe. So come to Jesus, and be saved!” There’s both poetry and power there.

What’s right about it is that we need to be able to cast our lives as parts of a bigger and more enduring story than just making it through another day.

But we have to try to say it in less parochial terms today. Fewer and fewer people are learning to talk about their lives as though they were about Jesus or God. The fastest-growing “faith groups” in the country are not evangelicals, but non-believers, even atheists, as I’ll talk about more in two weeks. But no matter how we put it or what we call it, we need to call forth this image of our life as part of something greater. And it isn’t hard, though we’re not taught how to do it. I want to give you some examples of recasting life as part of a bigger story, in a few different styles, both with and without gods.

One is a story that Rev. David Bumbaugh read to you three weeks ago, and it’s worth repeating.

In the 12th century, when the great cathedrals were being built in France, a visitor went into one of these huge buildings. Over to the right were carpenters, and he said to them, “What are you doing?” They looked at him like he was an idiot, and said “Can’t you see? we’re carpenters. we’re building pews!” Then he went to some stone masons. Again he asked, “What are you doing?” They laughed, and said they were members of the masons’ guild, the finest of all the guilds. They acted like just belonging to that group meant they didn’t actually need to be doing anything at all.

On the other side of the room there was a peasant woman with a broom, cleaning up after the carpenters, the masons and the others. Of her too, he asked, “What are you doing?” This woman stopped sweeping, stood up to her full height, and announced proudly to him, “Me? Why I am building a magnificent cathedral to the greater glory of God!”

We could look at her job and say it was the least important of the three, just sweeping, cleaning up. But it gave more to her than the jobs of the carpenters and stone masons seemed to give to them, because she had made her life part of a much larger story, in which even cleaning up was helping to build not only a magnificent cathedral, but a magnificent cathedral to the greater glory of God! It’s hard to beat that. There’s a simple life transformed into a work of art through an imaginative story. We all have simple lives, and we all need that kind of transformation.

Many Hindus can still do this through their belief that their soul is part of the soul of the universe, their spirit is part of the creative spirit of everything. And that’s not just a belief; it’s true. All of our lives are parts of that bigger picture. But it’s so hard to see them that way. I think that’s why “Come to Jesus” is so appealing. It sounds so simple, so quick. No waiting in line, Just BAM! You’re saved!

I often envy the ancient Greeks, who knew these spirits were eternal, and turned most of them into gods. And so craftspeople and artists weren’t just making pews or doing stonework; they were serving the gods of art, music and beauty: Hephaestus, Apollo, Athena. They were doing sacred duty in their work. Parents planted seeds of tomorrow, and nurtured them, as part of the creative force of the universe. They were the current incarnations of the spirits of Zeus, Hera and Demeter, as the Greeks would say. Homemakers, those with gifts for making a house feel like a home, or making a church service feel like a worship service, were serving the invisible goddess Hestia, the goddess of that feeling of being deeply at home.

Thinkers weren’t just ivory-tower eggheads, overeducated chatterers – look at some of the ways we describe ourselves! Mechanical, cold, condemning, not loving. But in Greece, thinkers were those who helped bring fire, bring light into the darkness, modern incarnations of Prometheus. Soldiers weren’t just murdering foreigners. They were serving the dangerous but sometimes necessary god Ares. Even politics could be transformed – even today”s politics. A Hillary Clinton could be recognized as the spirit of the goddess Athena, and maybe Artemis, and Obama could be seen in the role of Hermes, the messenger of the gods who carried the message beyond comfortable boundaries, because the message was more holy than the boundaries. Heraclitus once said that everything is filled with gods, and in his world it was. You didn’t have to come to Jesus. You didn’t have to go anywhere because the gods were everywhere. You just had to understand your gifts and your passions as gifts from the gods, callings, duties – because they were.

Look how this could transform human lives! It still can. Arianna Huffington is a Greek, born in Athens and educated at Cambridge, and the ancient Greek gods still help frame her life. She wrote that as an ambitious single mother of two daughters, she saw her life as a constant dialogue between the demands of Artemis and Demeter. How much more dignifying, and also descriptive, that is than just calling herself an ambitious single working mother with two girls. It’s so much easier to view our life as a work of art when we think of ourselves as incarnating eternal spirits. But today, our spiritual vocabulary is so sparse, we hardly know how to talk about it. Talking about gods leaves many people cold today – even ancient Greek gods. It sounds so “otherworldly,” in a bad way.

So let me share part of my own story with you, two of my own “Come to Jesus”-type moments that transformed how I defined myself and my job as a minister, as your minister. I’ve told parts of this before, and I’m not doing it to talk about myself, but to offer you more ways to talk about your own life.

I went to one of those elite graduate schools, worked as hard as the others there, and earned my Master”s and Ph.D. degrees. I saw it as a pretty solitary adventure. You go to seminars, you read, you read some more, you discuss, you read, you write, eventually you graduate. Graduation ceremonies have never meant much to me, and I’ve avoided them. But a classmate told me I had to go to the ceremony to be given my Ph.D. “Why?” I asked. “They can mail it.” “You don’t understand,” he said, “You have to hear what President Gray says to all the Ph.D. graduates.” Hannah Gray, who was then president of the University of Chicago, was the first woman president of what they called an elite university. I admired her, and was on a committee with her. But come on – commencement addresses are like political speeches: all predictable rhetoric, no significant substance. My classmate assured me I was wrong and I trusted him, so I bought the cap, rented the gown, and went.

It was a come-to-Jesus moment. I’ve never been the same since that day. When the other degrees had been awarded, she called the doctoral students forward, and she said those magical words which were burned into my memory instantly. She said, “I welcome you into the ancient and honorable community of scholars.” It was transformative. Suddenly, we were no longer just a few more unkempt graduate students hiding out in libraries working on papers and dissertations nobody but our three readers would ever be likely to read. No, now we were part of something grand: an ancient and honorable community of scholars, of which I hadn’t even been aware until then. Plato, Aristotle, and us! You try not to dwell too long on Plato, Aristotle and those at their level, or the magic would wear off and it would just feel really embarrassing. But for the first time, I believed I was part of an ancient tradition of millions of people who had been so curious and passionate about something that we wanted to devote years to its study, and lives to its service. I knew it was obsessive – but I didn’t know it was also sacred.

The other come-to-Jesus moment had happened a few years earlier, during some of that reading. I read a book by a very influential 20th century conservative theologian (Karl Barth), where he was addressing a group of young ministers. David Bumbaugh and I talked about this when he was here, and he said he also memorized this the first time he read it over forty years ago, and also took it as a sacred commandment. The theologian had said, “Your people expect you to take them more seriously than they take themselves, and they will not think kindly of you if you fail to do so!”

I think of this every Sunday, every week when I’m preparing a sermon. It isn’t about me, it’s about that ancient and honorable community, that sacred duty to take people perhaps even more seriously than they take themselves. In my mind, those ancient and honorable people are watching me; I can feel their eyes. That isn’t always a good thing. I don’t always succeed at this, as you know. Nobody does. But those two statements transformed my life from the life of a single fairly unimportant Unitarian minister to someone who feels empowered and commanded by an ancient tradition far larger and more enduring than I am. These are the same feelings as coming to Jesus, but without the Jesus, the gods, or the dogma.

Now this isn’t your story, so you might say, “Oh, come off it. You’re just a preacher at a church most people in Austin have never even heard of, preaching to less than one-tenth of a percent of the population!” And that’s true. Just as it’s true that the peasant woman was only sweeping the floor, or Arianna Huffington is just a driven woman with two kids. But these larger callings – whether her seeing herself as incarnations of the spirits of Artemis and Demeter or my believing I’m part of an ancient and honorable community of scholars charged with helping people take their lives more seriously – these larger callings transform solitary lives into little works of art, because they reconnect us with those enduring, perhaps eternal spirits that we serve.

And what about you? After all, that’s the point of all this. How would you describe your life? In ways that make you seem isolated and small, or in ways that connect you with a life force that transcends, empowers, and commands you? Are you just insignificant little you, or are you one of the masks of God, an incarnation of holy spirits, a small but significant part of a cause, a belief, an ideal that is timeless and incredibly necessary? Sweeping the floor, or building a magnificent cathedral to the greater glory of God? Putting a few bucks in the collection plate here, or becoming the church rather than merely attending it? It’s your choice. I”d like you to discuss these things this week with your friends, your family, somewhere you can feel safe and won’t get put down for dreaming. You can choose the story of which your life is a part, whether small or large, and that choice makes all the difference in recasting your life as a work of art.

And so. What about you? As happens so often in this church, it’s your move.

Forgiveness

© Davidson Loehr

 11 May 2008

 First UU Church of Austin

 4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

 www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PRAYER:

Let us not be so filled with ourselves that we cannot forgive others their sins and foibles when we knew they meant better. And let us not be so empty of ourselves that we let others use our forgiveness as a license to behave badly.

The balance between justice and mercy is always a dynamic balance, meant to empower the best kind of life within and around us. If our sense of justice is no more than punishment, it is a poor justice. And if our sense of forgiveness does no more than enable bad behavior, it is a poor forgiveness.

Let us try to balance a rich sense of justice and an empowering kind of forgiveness, as though the quality of life both within and among us were shaped by them.

Amen.

SERMON: Forgiveness

This is the third sermon I’ve done on a one-word theme. I’m planning to do one a month, and am developing a list of 36 themes, so we’ll revisit each theme once every three years. The themes may be only one word, but they don’t seem to be simple. Forgiveness – perhaps especially within Western religions – is very complicated. In fact, I’d start by saying that “Forgiveness isn’t always a good thing.” And the reason is that forgiveness suffers from a deep imbalance in Western religions, and when it’s unbalanced, it can be a very dangerous and bad thing.

The best-known story about forgiveness in the Bible is probably the Prodigal Son story. You know the story. A father had two sons – their mother is never mentioned – and one of them demanded his full inheritance in advance. That was permitted within Jewish law at the time, but if a son did it, he had no more claims on his family, ever. The father had to come up with cash for half of all his property was worth. It probably meant he would have had to sell things, and it also meant that after the younger brother left with the money, both the father and the older brother would have had to work much harder to get the work done. The young brother squandered all the money on wine, women and song, and returned home to ask if his father would take him back – this time, just as a servant, since he had forfeited all right to be taken back as a son. To the older brother’s disgust, the father welcomed him home and threw a great feast to celebrate.

Most adults who hear the story side with the older brother, and don’t think it was right of the father to forgive the young brother.

To see and feel how sex-linked notions of forgiveness are, all you have to do – especially on Mother’s Day! – is change the story to one about two sons and a mother. Suddenly, it changes everything. We would expect the mother to forgive him!

We expect the father to stand up for justice, but the mother to offer forgiveness, don’t we? Forgiveness seems closer to a feminine trait than a masculine one. It might be interesting to ask trial lawyers whether, if they were defending the younger brother, they’d rather have a jury of men or of women.

Forgiveness does seem to be a feminine trait, especially in our Western religions. In Hinduism, the goddess Kali is a fierce and judging and punishing presence, and in Greek mythology, the goddess Dike is the goddess of justice, and is equally fearsome. So in other religions, goddesses can be fierce. But not in Western religions. It’s hard to think of stories from the Bible or in Christian history of women who are that fearsome, or men who are terribly forgiving. In the Bible, the traits seem deeply sex-linked. It’s worth asking why, and the answer goes all the way back to the birth of the God of the Bible. There is no story of the birth of God in the Bible. I mean the story that biblical scholars have discovered about where the ancient Hebrews got the idea for their God.

The Hebrew tribes were surrounded by people whose gods were nature deities, and almost always that means that the main deities will be female, as it’s females who give birth, nurse and nurture. But the ancient Hebrews’ god wasn’t a nature god. He grew out of the idea of a tribal chief. He didn’t want to put you in touch with nature. He wanted to be obeyed, and could be ferocious when he was disobeyed. Scholars have found that the Biblical covenant between God and his chosen people was modeled on an ancient Hittite sovereignty treaty between a ruler and the people he ruled. If they obey him, he will protect him. If they disobey, he may destroy them. It isn’t about understanding or forgiveness. It’s about obedience. It’s hard to think of many good stories about forgiveness – as opposed to favors shown to obedient believers – because there aren’t many.

Maybe that’s why so many people find it odd or even wrong for the Prodigal Son’s father to forgive him, but would expect his mother to forgive him.

The psychologist Carl Jung talked about the human psyche, or soul, as divided into a masculine style, which he called the animus, and a feminine style, the anima, and that framework seems helpful here.

They act in different ways, and in different directions. The animus, or masculine style, acts outward. It can be a fierce protector of things like duty, obedience and justice, and when it is unbalanced it can be quite dangerous to others, because it will insist on a kind of obedience and justice without any rounded appreciation for our human frailties. Even the word animus is the root of the word animosity.

The anima or feminine style is inward, and seems to be the key in which a forgiving kind of understanding is played. But it also needs to be balanced with a concern for what’s fair: for justice. Unbalanced, it can be dangerous to us, by endorsing abuse without insisting on justice or respect.

I’d say that great religions are all trying to develop our animus for its sensitivity to justice, and our anima for its sensitivity to forgiveness and mercy. Justice and mercy. The conflict is between “mercy that negates justice” and “justice that negates mercy.” For either of them to be humane and safe, they have to be balanced. And in Western religions, because of the nature of their God who evolved from, and in most ways has remained, a tribal chief, we are raised with both justice and forgiveness out of balance.

Now many Christian scholars like to jump on this and say “Oh yes, the Jewish God was a God of judgment, but you see that’s what Jesus brought: a god of forgiveness rather than judgment.”

For example, whereas it’s hard to find clear stories teaching forgiveness in the Hebrew scriptures, Jesus once told people that he didn’t expect them to forgive just seven times, but seventy times seven. He also said you shouldn’t judge, so you won’t be judged. So it sounds like he is emphasizing forgiveness over judgment. But now it is an unbalanced kind of forgiveness. In Christianity, forgiveness too often has no component of justice in it, no holding others accountable to a social contract. And without that balance, forgiveness can be dangerous to us, just as an unbalanced sense of justice can be dangerous to others.

Jesus’ saying we should forgive seventy times seven has inspired at least one book by that name, with hundreds of short tales of people who forgave all manner of things, with no concern for justice at all. There’s even the story of a man who had been badly physically abused by his father – sometimes beaten unconscious – until he finally ran away from home in his teens. A few years later when he joined a church and told his story to the minister, the minister insisted that he write his father and beg his forgiveness for running away! That’s as unbalanced and dangerous as the passages in the Hebrew scriptures listing all the disobediences for which your children, wives and neighbors should be stoned to death. This is the kind of forgiveness that can be demanded by a tribal chief who can do what he likes without accountability. It’s unhealthy and wrong. And it’s not rare in Christian history. We have been taught to transfer the obedience owed to the tribal-chief-god to those who dress up in his clothes, or just those with money and power, however obtained.

Mother Teresa provided a memorable example of an unbalanced and dangerous forgiveness, when Union Carbide essentially hired her to do their PR after their chemical spill in Bhopal, India which killed 3,800 people. They made a donation to her Sisters of Mercy charity, then flew her to Bhopal. When she landed, the media were there, wanting to know what she advised following this horrible tragedy. She said, “Just forgive, forgive, forgive.” That’s not enough. This is a forgiveness that becomes an accomplice to corporate irresponsibility, a forgiveness that is the active enemy of justice – especially when the company had hired her. I think Mother Teresa only meant the inward kind of forgiveness, but she had been bribed by a large corporation, and her message suited their non-religious agenda perfectly. Nor do I think she was unaware of this.

Other examples of forgiveness so unbalanced that it becomes dangerous to the ones doing the forgiving are the many battered women’s shelters in our country. A majority of the battered women return to the men who beat them – probably not for the first time, nor for the last. This license to abuse seems granted only to husbands, not wives, as St. Paul taught the early Christians that men are made in the image of God, while women are made in the image of men. (As ridiculous as this sounds, it comes from a literal reading of one of the two creation stories in Genesis, where the male God first created the male – in his image – then created the female to be like the male, as his helpmate.) Once again, these are the ethics of deference to a powerful male tribal chief. The biblical God’s birth story has colored almost all the ethics of Western religion.

My dictionary offers two definitions of forgiveness that might be helpful ways to understand it. American Heritage Dictionary (1969) defines forgiveness:

1. To excuse for a fault or offense; to pardon.

2. To renounce anger or resentment against [someone].

The first definition is forgiveness that goes outward, pardoning someone for their behavior. The second goes inward, releasing their psychological hold on you so you can move on. Ideally, both kinds are possible. But they often aren’t.

The first kind of forgiveness is only safe if the other person is in a mutually respectful relationship with you. If an abuser can’t or won’t come into respectful relationship, it’s unwise and probably unsafe to forgive them, because it won’t be much more than permission for them to do it again, as tens of thousands of battered women have discovered the hard way.

There has to be a social contract in order to forgive someone for bad behavior against you. Then it’s a restorative kind of forgiveness, meant to restore a good relationship. There is a Proverb from the Hebrew scriptures that shows how important the social contract is. It’s one of my favorite Proverbs from the Bible – and on the surface, one of the strangest.

Proverbs 25:21-22 – “If your enemy is hungry, give him bread to eat; if he is thirsty, give him water to drink; so you will heap glowing coals on his head, and the Lord will reward you.” Now there is something weirdly delicious about this image of being kind to those who have abused you because it dumps hot coals on their head as God applauds, but the real meaning is less bizarre. A note says that these “hot coals” really mean deep shame and remorse. So acting in a forgiving way will shame them back into behaving well. This is restorative forgiveness, meant to restore a respectful and healthy social contract. If they can’t or won’t feel shame, however, forgiving them will only give them permission to abuse you again, because you’re an easy mark.

Without the mutual relationship, the first kind of forgiveness can’t be done. Sometimes, people just aren’t capable of or interested in a mutual relationship. But sometimes, they’re dead or gone, and you have to move on because you can never restore the relationship with them, and so have to settle for resolving it within yourself. Then it’s more of a rejuvenative forgiveness, meant to rejuvenate your spirit, to reconnect you with your life force and your sense of optimism and hope.

I have a story about this that I’ve told before, but is worth telling again. About fifteen years ago, I was the Theme Speaker at a Unitarian summer camp in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin. There were about five hundred adults there for the week, and while I didn’t know any of them, I conducted the worship services every morning, so everyone sort of knew who I was, and would come up to talk, or to confess something, during the week. The most memorable was a woman who asked me, after lunch, whether she could talk to me about something very painful and awful she was going through. We sat on a bench under a tree outside, and she told me about what sounded like an absolutely horrible divorce she had been through. It was so painful, it hurt to listen to it. It was like a wound still completely raw. I felt very sorry for her. “When did this happen?” I asked. She looked at me sadly, and said, “Ten years ago.”

Ten years ago, and she was still bleeding from it! Of course, I don’t know any of the facts of the story for sure. Maybe he’s a jerk, maybe he just fell out of love with her, maybe it wasn’t as good a marriage as she thought, maybe she didn’t even notice whether he was happy, maybe she was the jerk. I don’t know. But it really didn’t matter any more. There can be no restorative forgiveness, because the relationship can’t be restored. The only kind of forgiveness she can hope for is the second kind, where she lets go of the hurt and the hate, and moves on with her life. She had a dream for her marriage, and it didn’t come true. Not all dreams come true, but all dreamers deserve the chance to dream again, and they can’t do it if they’re wrapped up in hate and hurt.

This kind of rejuvenating forgiveness, which we do not for others but for ourselves, is a decision to let go of resentments and thoughts of revenge, and to move ahead with our life.

This internal forgiveness takes away the power the other person continues to wield in your life, where your pain and anger have possessed you like demons. Through forgiveness, you choose to no longer define yourself as their victim. Rejuvenating forgiveness is done for yourself, not the person who you think wronged you.

It’s this second meaning that has the most religious and psychological power. The first, the restorative forgiveness, can be powerful within a relationship of trust and respect. Without that trust and respect, it just frees the person to do it again; it rewards abusive and selfish behavior. The second can be powerful within our own psyche, by cutting loose the hold that anger, resentment and hatred can have on our hearts. Be careful confusing the two categories of forgiveness. People don’t have a right to demand forgiveness: that’s a gift only we can give, and we shouldn’t give it if it will be likely to hurt us or be understood as a sanction for abusive behavior.

You don’t have to forgive the person – the person may be long dead. But (like the woman divorced ten years earlier) the anger lives on as though it had happened yesterday, keeping your heart from even being open again, let alone loving again. You can’t dream again when you’re possessed by the demons of hurt and hate. You’re trapped, not your partner or parent. Do yourself the favor, not them.

You can forgive within yourself what you would still hold the abuser responsible for. That inward forgiveness does not necessarily mean you want to be around the person again. It means you relinquish the hold that anger and hatred have on your own heart, so you can move on and dream again.

It seems important to say over again that restorative forgiveness only works within a relationship of mutual respect and trust. Otherwise, it’s enabling the worst behavior in another, and rewarding it. And there must be transparency. A mate who cheats in secret, then tries to rationalize it by demanding his/her privacy is not to be trusted. No one is safe in that relationship. Without honesty and transparency, there will be neither respect nor safety.

Now I want to go back to an earlier point, left over from that version of the Prodigal Son story with a mother rather than a father. It almost sounds like it’s the mother’s job to forgive, while we don’t really expect it from the father. This could sound like it’s the mother’s job, or women’s jobs, to teach men how to forgive – and I don’t want to say that, especially on Mother’s Day, because it’s just assigning women another job. But the other piece from the story is that if women do most of the forgiving, then where do they find forgiveness? Where do they find the understanding and forgiveness they need for their own sense of failure? – which may be that they weren’t able to accomplish a list of tasks not even Wonder Woman could manage. Maybe this is a good hint to the men and the children in their lives on this Mother’s Day. There is a woman living with you who may have been more forgiving of all of you than you’ve been. Now where is she going to find the understanding and forgiveness she needs?

And while the men and children are figuring out just how and where they might be more understanding, a final word to the mothers. If you are good at forgiving, don’t forget to forgive yourselves.

Just like justice needs an element of humanity in order to be a safe thing, so does forgiveness need a sense of justice to be a safe thing.

Let us try to balance a rich sense of justice and an empowering kind of forgiveness, as though the quality of life both within and among us were shaped by them – because they are.

The Rapture in America- Reverend Meg Barnhouse

Meg Barnhouse

May 4, 2008

 

Do we have it in our power to begin the world over again? If it were possible, would you want to ? Do things seem to you to be worse than ever, straining painfully toward a doomed future? Are there people you would like to see get what’s coming to them? There are a lot of people who feel this way, and to them there is strong appeal in the picture of a cataclysmic end of the world, where the good are rewarded and the evil “get theirs” and everything burns up and crumbles, leaving a cleansed planet where a good world can finally begin.

There have been people writing down their visions of the end of the world since ancient days. The Egyptians have their Apocalyptic literature (apocalyptic means “the revealing of hidden things), the Akkadians, and the Jews. In the Hebrew Bible, the books of Ezekiel and Daniel are the ones that speak of the end of time.

[Daniel 2: Nebuchadnezzar’s dream. A great image, frightening and bright. Head of gold, arms of silver, belly and thighs of bronze, legs of iron and feet partly of iron and partly of clay. A stone was cut by no human hand, struck the image, and it all broke into pieces, and the wind blew the pieces away. The stone became a great mountain and filled the earth. Daniel interpreted it as the rise of successive kingdoms, each inferior to the king’s. In the days of the kings of mixed iron and clay, God will establish his kingdom.

Daniel 7: Daniel dreams of four great beasts from the sea. First was like a lion, with eagle’s wings. Then its wings were plucked off and it stood like a man, and was given the mind of a man. The second beast was like a bear, and it had three ribs in its mouth between its teeth. The third was like a leopard, with four wings and a bird on its back, with four heads, and dominion was given to it. The fourth had iron teeth and devoured and stamped things to pieces. It had ten horns, and among them was a little horn.

The ancient of days took his seat on a throne and the books were opened. The son of man came and the ancient of days gave him dominion and glory.

Daniel was told that the fourth beast was a great kingdom that would rule the earth, and ten kings will arise, and after them a king who will put down three kings, and speak against the most high, and will wear out the saints of the Most High, and shall think to change the times and the law… (Antichrist)

Daniel 9: Gabriel comes to Daniel and says 70 weeks of years are required to put and end to sin and bring in everlasting righteousness. From the rebuilding of Jersalem to the coming of an anointed one will be 7 weeks. Then it will be rebuilt then after 62 weeks the anointed one will be cut off, and someone will come destroy the city with a flood. …etc.

This is the flavor of the scriptures people try to interpret to tell them what is going to happen at the end of time. The writings are obviously allegorical, which means each image corresponds with a something in the writer’s external world. The interpreter of the allegory has to decide what the images mean and how they fit together.

Interpreters in every age have found things in their world that correspond with these images since they were first written, and declaring that the end was at hand. Many Jews in the time of the Romans thought they were living in the end-times. Certainly the writers of the New Testament, having just witnessed the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in 70 CE thought they were going to see the end soon. The book of the Revelation of John, the book that ends the New Testament, seems obviously to be talking about the Roman Empire, where the Caesars claimed Divinity, and where the persecution of Christians was beginning as he was writing.

The world didn’t end during the Roman Empire, though, and there was no more country called of Israel about which so many of the prophecies spoke. That didn’t stop people who wanted to believe they were living in the last days, though. Martin Luther, in the 1500’s, interpreted all the scriptures to support his belief that he was in the last generation on earth. Sir Isaac Newton, after he discovered gravity, spent most of the rest of his career puzzling out the dates and sequences of the events at the end of time, poring over Revelation, Daniel, Ezekiel, and writing reams about what the nations could expect. Some critics commented dryly that as a Bible scholar, he was a pretty good scientist.

When the Europeans discovered North America, they called it the “New World”; it fired their imaginations and many crossed the ocean to start their world over again. Some came because they were convinced that they could make a perfect Christian society if they could just start everything from scratch. Believing that God was on their side, they braved tremendous hardships. Believing God was on their side, they eventually forced the land’s inhabitants onto reservations. America became the New Israel, the land of people who believed they were God’s new chosen nation. That belief has remained at the core of American self-image. That is just one of the ways in which prophecy belief has had a tremendous impact on US domestic and foreign policy. I want to mention just two areas: our relationship with Israel and our nuclear policy.

Prophecy belief gained momentum with the re-founding of the state of Israel. Finally one piece of the puzzle did not have to be interpreted allegorically any more! Also, seeing America as the shining New Israel was getting harder by 1948, so it was good to have the real Israel back.

The founding of Israel was helped in powerful ways by the prophecy beliefs of policy makers. In Great Britain, Lord Anthony Copper, Earl of Shaftesbury, argued in 1839 that the Jews must be returned to Palestine before the Second Coming. Through his influence, the British opened a consulate in Jerusalem. The consul, a devout evangelical, was instructed to look out for the interests of the 10,000 Jews living there under Ottoman rule. Many Christians are taught that the Jews are God’s Chosen people, and that whoever helps the Jews will be looked on by God with favor, and whoever hurts the Jews will be punished.

Bible believers saw Palestine as granted to Israel by God, and looked to the reconstitution of the nation of Israel as a necessary event to bring Christ back.

In 1891, 400 business and religious leaders signed a letter urging President Harrison to support establishment of Jewish homeland in Palestine.

When the nation of Israel was established in 1948, one Bible teacher out of LA said this was the most significant event since the birth of Christ. Many were disappointed by the secularism and even Marxism of the Zionists, but managed to be happy for them anyway.

Evangelical tour groups come through filled with folks who believe Israel is the only nation to have its history written in advance…

In the NT book of Matthew 24, Jesus is quoted as saying: “Now learn a parable of the fig tree: when his branch is yet tender, and putteth forth leaves, ye know that summer is nigh;

So likewise ye, when ye shall see all these things, know that it is near, even at the doors.

Verily I say to you, This generation shall not pass, till all these things shall be fulfilled.” Many interpreters said the establishment of Israel was the leafing of the fig tree. They figured a generation as 40 years, so 1948=40=1988…or the fig tree’s “budding” in 1967 when they took the old city, that makes 2007. Take away the seven prophesied years of terrible tribulation (the time when plagues, wars and cruelty will ravish the earth)and you get the “rapture” where all the Christians are taken up into heaven before the real bad stuff starts–in 2000! Do you remember all of the hype about planes falling out of the sky? People were stockpiling water. It passed, as do all the prophesied dates, with just a murmur.

When I was living in Jerusalem I used to travel sometimes alone and attach myself to tour groups, where I would hear preachers say things like “if we need our return tickets…”

It is in our nuclear policy, though that the prophecy beliefs have exerted a frightening influence. (read 2 Peter 3:10) Until the creation of the atomic bomb, the “burning day” of II Peter 3:10 and the terrifying astronomical events woven through the three short chapters of Joel (O Lord, to thee will I cry; for the fire hath devoured the pastures of the wilderness and the flame hath burned all the trees of the field…the sun shall be turned to darkness and the moon into blood, before the great and terrible day of the Lord come.) Also evocative is Zechariah’s description of the people’s flesh consuming away while they stand on their feet, and their eyes shall consume away in their holes, and their tongue shall consume away in their mouth.. ..typically were interpreted in terms of natural disaster: The earth’s core exploding or earthquakes, fires, etc. Since 1945 technology has caught up with scripture in that now there is something that actually could catch the heavens on fire.

A country music hit in 1945 “Atomic Power” by Fred Kirby talked about brimstone falling from heaven, and atomic energy as given by the mighty hand of God.

Even Truman, in his diary, mused that the A-bomb may be the fire destruction prophesied in the Euphrates valley era after Noah and his ark.

My fundamentalist grandfather Donald Grey Barnhouse suggested in one of his books that when Zechariah asked “Who has despised the day of small things?” that he was alluding to nuclear fission. He felt that NYC was Babylon, whose obliteration “in one hour” was foretold in Rev. Not to worry, because believers will be in heaven the next second after the bombs fall.

Prophecy writers dismissed efforts to ban nuclear weapons, or to improve relations between countries. The unity of governments was a sign of the coming of the anti-Christ. World government increases the potential for world tyranny.

People who think they are going to heaven the very second after the bombs fall aren’t interested in preventing such a thing from happening. They say things about the state of the world like: “The only way out is up.” Jerry Falwell taught that nuclear war would make room for the new heaven and the new earth. Pat Robertson said, “I guarantee you that by 1982 there will be a judgment on the world.” He predicted the ultimate holocaust, the world in flames. When he ran for President he backed off the doomsday stuff a little.

If preachers believe nuclear war is prophesied in the Bible, that’s one thing, but we have government officials who believe that too. Secretary of Defense Caspar Weinberger, in 1982, when asked about the end of time replied ” I have read the book of Rev. and yes, I believe the world is going to end–by an act of God I hope–but every day I think that time is running out.”

Reagan?s Interior secretary James Watt, when asked about preserving the environment for future generations said “I do not know how many generations we can count on before the Lord returns.”

In the 80s, Regan’s interest in prophecy alarmed some. In 1971, then Governor Reagan spoke to a group at a dinner in Sacramento after a leftist coup in Libya (One of the nations mentioned in Ezekiel as invading Israel) “That’s a sign that Armageddon isn’t far off… Everything is falling into place. It can’t be long now. Ezekiel says that fire and brimstone will be rained down on the enemies of God’s people. That must mean they’ll be destroyed by nuclear weapons.” In 1983 Reagan told a lobbyist for Israel: You know, I am turning back to your ancient prophets in the OT and the signs foretelling Armageddon, and I find myself wondering if we’re the generation that’s going to see that come about. I don’t know if you’ve noted any of those prophecies lately, but believe me, they certainly describe the times we’re going through.”

Our current President, that young man from CT who tries to claim to be a Texan is in this same stream of thought, as are many of the folks in the administration. Who cares if Armageddon comes? The good stuff comes next!

If you think it is futile to try to prevent nuclear war, you lose your energy to do that. Why spend energy on peace activism if it is doomed to failure? If you subscribe to the idea that nuclear competition among nations is part of God’s plan for the world; if you believe that prophecy must be fulfilled in order to bring about the return of Christ; if you believe God is in control, and he is going to use nuclear war to end all things, who are you argue with that?

Now let me talk about “The Beast” sometimes the same as The Anti-Christ, sometimes different. The Beast is a character who controls the economy, who keeps the good guys from getting the food they need, and forces them into terrible hardships. There is a sense among prophecy writers that society has become depersonalized, centralized, and that individual autonomy is doomed. The more centralized government becomes, the easier it would be to take over.

Every bit of evidence that power is being centralized, that automation is replacing human involvement, that governments are merging or currency is becoming alike is seen as a sign of the end time. The debit card is one step away from having your own bar code tattooed on your hand that will be how you pay for everything. Those who don’t conform or obey will not be able to get one. When I was in Jerusalem people were saying there was a new computer in Brussels for the Common Market that could control world currency. They said “They call it—The Beast”

The UN (p.264) is bad. Peter catches 153 fish in the gospel of John, which was in 1979 the membership of the UN minus Israel. To some writers, that signifies the UN’s destruction.

There is a sense of a “web of intrigue” linking the world’s most powerful families. In this way the prophecy buffs are parallel to the New Angers.

The space program was dangerous because it might encourage people to think in terms of “one world”, making it easier for Antichrist to rule over it all.

Computers now link the world, making world domination technologically possible. All talk of oneness, global consciousness is dangerous.

666 is from Rev 13:16-18. quote p. 281

Do these beliefs make believers unwilling to become involved in the world? “We have maintenance crews to maintain our buildings even though we know they won’t last forever.” Hal Lindsay said “I came here to fish, not to clean the fishbowl.” Now fundamentalists are getting more involved in politics. That’s good. Now sometimes they espouse “Dominion” theology, a version of postmillennialist theology. Make it happen here.

What is the appeal of all of this? It feels good to know that there is a symmetry, rationale, harmony coherence and overarching meaning to history. People feel they can understand what is going on. Maybe there are other reasons for the enduring appeal of thought about the End. Maybe it’s like the Flannery O’Connor story called “The Misfit,: where a family runs their car into a ditch, and an escaped bad guy comes along with a couple of henchmen. The family’s grandmother, who up until this point in the story, has been a self-righteous complaining harridan, says the thing to the Misfit that is the last straw, and he holds his gun at her head. As she realizes he is about to kill her, she is transformed in some way, reaches a hand to touch his face, and says “Why, you could have been one of my children.” He shoots her. At the end he turns to one of his men and says “She could’ve been a pretty nice lady if she’d had someone to shoot her every day of her life.” Maybe it’s easier for people to be kind and good if they think it’s not for very long, and that their enemies will get what’s coming to them soon. If you believe the world is going to go on and on and on, your priorities are quite different from what they would be if things were going to be over in a week. I think it is a profitable spiritual exercise to try it on both ways, to ask yourself what you would want to do if it were all going to be over in the year 2010, who you would spend time with, what things you would say. Then imagine it’s going to go on forever, and see what seems important then. Each perspective has its own insights to uncover.

Salvation

© Davidson Loehr

SWUUD Spring Conference

27 April 2008

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

STORY:

Once there was a girl who had an amazing dream. She dreamed that she could see a house in the next village, see into its back yard, and see a big tree there. And she knew – she just knew that buried beneath the tree there was great treasure! The village was separated from hers by a river, so it wasn’t a great walk there, but still she had never visited the village in her life.And yet she saw this house so clearly, and felt that she knew just where it was – and then the tree and the buried treasure. It was a very odd dream, she told herself the next day – she’d never had anything like that before!

But the next night, she had it again – the same exact dream! Same house, same tree, same treasure. This time she could see a little more of the village, a little more of where the house was. The next night, she had the same dream, and the night afterwards. She dreamed that same dream for five nights in a row – nothing like this had ever happened to her before. Monday through Friday, every night, the same dream of buried treasure.

On Saturday when she got up, she was determined to go see that house. She took a shovel with her. She crossed over the bridge, and had seen so much of the village in her dream, she felt she knew just where the house would be – and it was! She even looked around the side into the back yard, and sure enough, there was that same big tree she had dreamed about. Now you can’t just go digging a really big hole in somebody”s back yard without their seeing you do it, so she decided to be honest. She knocked on the door, and when a woman answered, she explained about the dreams she had had for five nights, and how she wondered if it would be all right if she dug up the treasure, and split it with the woman.

The woman was very kind to her.”Oh my dear,” she said,” I’m afraid there is no treasure buried here! But this is so very strange, because my son had exactly the same dream for the last five nights! Except he dreamed that his treasure was buried in the village across the river, behind a red garage. He left to walk over there this morning.”

“My gosh,” the girl thought, “that sounds like my house!” The girl thanked the woman, took her shovel and headed for home.

In the meantime, the boy had found her house. He had also taken a shovel, and also decided that he might as well just tell the truth, because he’s surely get caught digging a big treasure hole behind their garage. So he went to the door, and when the woman answered, he told her his story.

Again, the woman was surprised, and said, “Oh, my boy, I’m afraid there is no buried treasure here, but my daughter had the same dream, and went off to find a house across the river.” She wished him a good walk back home.

But it made the boy mad. “How foolish I feel!” he muttered. There must be some kind of silly epidemic going around, where kids are all dreaming these ridiculous dreams! How foolish!” He went home, was tired and felt foolish, didn’t talk to his mother about it (he said he couldn’t find any such house), went to bed, read a Batman comic book, went to sleep, and by morning he had forgotten most of the story about his dreams. Within a few weeks he’d forgotten it all together.

But the girl thought about it in bed that night, and thought about it all the next day, too. Maybe the boy didn’t have buried treasure – though she wasn’t sure of this – but that didn’t mean there wasn’t real treasure behind her garage, where he had seen it! The more she thought about it, the more certain she was, until finally she talked with her parents about it. After some arguing, they agreed to let her dig, on the condition that she would have to fill in the hole when she was done.

It was a lot of digging! She dug and dug, until she had dug a hole about five feet deep. Then she struck something hard. As she cleaned it off, she found it was a large heavy wooden box buried under ground behind her garage. She dug more dirt out to expose the whole box – it was almost five feel wide – and then she opened it.

And inside of the box was – more gold, jewelry, diamonds and rubies and emeralds than she had ever seen in her life! It was a huge treasure, big enough to last her for her whole life. Soon her father got another job in another state, and they moved – after she had filled in the treasure hole.

After they were settled in their new city, she sometimes wondered about the boy, and whether or not he ever found the treasure buried in his yard – she was positive he must have some too. But the boy never wondered about it again, and within a few years they too sold their house and moved away. Would anyone ever find it? One thing was for sure – they wouldn’t find it if they didn’t dig for it!

READINGS: THREE BIG STORIES

1. “On Size”

The first big story is really a fairly scholarly definition of the kind of “bigness” that matters most in life. You’ll hear more about this later, but here’s what this man wrote:

By “size” I mean the stature of one’s soul, the range and depth of one’s love, one’s capacity for relationships. I mean the volume of life you can take into your being and still maintain your integrity and individuality, the intensity and variety of outlook you can entertain in the unity of your being without feeling defensive or insecure. I mean the strength of your spirit to encourage others to become freer in the development of their diversity and uniqueness. I mean the power to sustain more complex and enriching tensions. I mean the magnanimity of concern to provide conditions that enable others to increase in stature. To me, this is the fundamental category, this is the essential principle. This is the size that matters.

That’s a lot of big words. The second story is easier.

2. “The Little Tin Fiddle”

This is a story about the world-famous violinist Yehudi Menuhin, who died a few years back. When he was only three years old, he heard a solo violinist at a concert and found his calling. He asked for a violin for his fourth birthday. His father bought him a toy violin made of metal with metal strings. Young Menuhin burst into sobs, threw it on the ground and would have nothing more to do with it. (James Hillman, The Soul”s Code, p. 17)

There was something in him even at age four that was insulted by being offered a toy instrument, as though he had no better music in him than that. The little tin fiddle didn’t have the range, the depth or the nuance, and nobody would want to listen to it for long even if it could be played well.

3. “A Magnificent Calling”

In the 12th century, when the great cathedrals were being built in France, a visitor went into one of these huge buildings. Over to the right were carpenters, and he said to them, “What are you doing?” They looked at him like he was an idiot, and said “Can’t you see? we’re carpenters. we’re building pews!” Then he went to some stone masons. Again he asked, “What are you doing?” They laughed, and said they were members of the masons’ guild, the finest of all the guilds. They acted like just belonging to that group meant they didn’t need to be doing anything at all.

On the other side of the room there was a peasant woman with a broom, cleaning up after the carpenters, the masons and the others. Of her too, he asked, “What are you doing?” This woman stopped sweeping, stood up to her full height, and announced proudly to him, “Me? Why I am building a magnificent cathedral to the greater glory of God!”

PRAYER:

If we must fail, let us fail at high endeavors. Let us not fail to be mediocre when we could instead fail to be absolutely brilliant. Let us not fall short of being moderately compassionate. Let us rather fall short of being wellsprings of love.

Of all our failures in life, perhaps the saddest are those in which we failed even to try and serve the highest and noblest ideals.

It is a sin to fail at low aims. Not because we failed, but because we aimed so low.

But it is not a sin to fail at very high aims, like aiming for truth, justice, compassion and character. Because even our failure puts us into the company of the saints, the company of those who also believe that rising to our full humanity and rising to our full divinity may be the same rising.

Striving after low and paltry ends is a boring sin, not worthy of us. Let us have greater ambition for our shortcomings. Let us vow never to fail at anything that wasn’t noble and proud, never to accept lower aspirations for ourselves, our lives, our country or our world.

We confess that we will all fail. But let it not be a failure of vision, or a failure of aspiration. If we must fail, let us fail at high endeavors, and then let those failures bless us – for they will.

Amen.

SERMON: Salvation

This word “salvation” may make some of you want to run screaming out of here, reminded of a religious upbringing you”d rather forget. And I know it’s a scary word. But actually, it is a very down-to-earth word, completely at home among religious liberals. It came from the Latin meaning “to save,” but it also has the same root as our word “salve,” and has the meaning of health or wholeness. It’s about serving and being defined by big ideals rather than small ones. I did this in yesterday morning”s sermon by quoting from some ancient religious writings. But since most of you weren’t there yesterday morning, today we’ll do it through other stories that make this special kind of “bigness” more clear.

That first Big Story, “On Size,” was written over thirty years ago by a liberal theologian named Bernard Loomer. He was the Dean of the University of Chicago Divinity School for a decade, then finished his career teaching religion in California, where he also began attending, and joined, a Unitarian church. Some may think he was one of us because he once joined a Unitarian church. I don’t care what church he joined; I think he was one of us because he understood just what kind of size matters, and why it must be a commanding presence in our lives.

And the touching story of young Yehudi Menuhin. If he’d been given an 18th century Guarneri violin for his fourth birthday – like the one he played later in his life – he wouldn’t have done justice to it. An instrument like that really takes your measure. To pick up a first-rate violin then just fiddle around with it can mark you as some sort of a tourist, or a fool. But that violin would have been good enough that he could have spent years growing into it, and even someone with his gifts would never be likely to outgrow a first-rate instrument.

Then that peasant woman in the cathedral! Her job was bigger than the jobs of the carpenters and stone masons. Not “bigger” in the sense that it was more important to the cathedral, but in the sense that it was more important to her. She lived in a world where her simple role was part of a calling that transcended even her time and place. And living within a perspective that big absolutely blesses us.

The treasure is buried within and among us, which is also where Jesus said the Kingdom of God was located. But it’s usually buried fairly deep, and requires some honest and often hard personal work.

It doesn’t require great talent, only a great soul. The carpenters and stonemasons were connected, in their imaginations, only to petty causes: building pews or just feeling smug because they belonged to a cool club. And whatever satisfactions or gifts of life they got from that would have to be equally shallow. We need more.

All three of these stories are metaphors, and I want to add a fourth story, to bring them together and tie them to religion, and to us. Fifteen to twenty years ago I belonged to an ecumenical ministers” group of about forty ministers. Every Thursday, we had lunch together, and the different churches took turns hosting and preparing it. One Thursday I arrived fairly early at the small rural Presbyterian church that would serve us, and got to overhear a remarkable conversation between three Presbyterian woman who were setting the tables.

I entered in the middle of it, and pretended to ignore them, so that they would keep talking and I could eavesdrop. They had been trashing some religion – either Baptist or Catholic – and finally one woman exclaimed, “Well, thank God we’re Presbyterians!” There was a silence. After a few seconds, the second woman said, “I don’t think we’re supposed to be Presbyterians. I think we’re supposed to be Christians.” Another awkward silence, and after a few more seconds the third woman spoke. “No,” she said, “even that’s too small. we’re supposed to love one another, that’s all.”

In this story, you have both first- and second-rate instruments. Actually, the first woman, the mere Presbyterian, was clutching about a third-rate fiddle. If she had a religion, it didn’t show. She treated the church as a club – like the stonemasons in the other story – where just being around people like her made her superior to those damned Baptists or Catholics. If you asked her what these Presbyterians of hers believed, she may have done no better than giving you a half-memorized list of third-hand beliefs she had learned the way you learn the rules of a sorority or an Elks” Club.

Like the little tin fiddle, there’s no moral range here, there’s a bad tone to it, and it couldn’t even sound good if it were played well. If all she has is that self-important hand-me-down identity of being a Presbyterian, you have to hope she’ll be led around by somebody using a far better instrument in the service of a much bigger vision.

The second woman was also holding a toy instrument, though a larger one. Her second-hand identity was called “Christian.” If you asked her what she meant by that, she too would probably have recited a tattered list of other people’s beliefs. Maybe that list would include a set of prescribed chants on things like Jesus, God, the Bible and two or three favorite teachings. But the odds are they’d be someone else’s beliefs, especially if she expressed them in the same words as everyone else in the club: she would just be chanting. So she might have picked up the instrument, but had never actually practiced it. Once more, you”d hope she’ll be led around by somebody coming from a much bigger and richer place.

But that third woman – she made music. You assume she also belongs to the Presbyterian club and the Christian club. But she would not settle for such a paltry calling, any more than the four-year-old Yehudi Menuhin would pick up the tin fiddle. She made music because she was the only one who seemed to know that religion was about behavior, not belief – it’s about being, not saying: deeds, not creeds. After all, only members of our club or some rival club care what we believe. Those are only turf battles. And doesn’t conformity of belief prove that we haven’t thought any more deeply than the other club members? In any tradition, that’s just the second-hand religion for their masses – whether it’s called Presbyterianism or Unitarian-Universalism. It’s exalting our group because they’re Our Kind of People. But this is a definition of narcissism, isn’t it? Those outside our club don’t care what we believe; they only want to know whether we can sing them a song of active caring rather than a self-righteous little ditty.

Now you see how this mixed metaphor of finding salvation by making big music on first-rate instruments can work in religion. It works pretty well. But it’s more complex, because religion adds a dimension that must command us. Honest religion isn’t about anything as shallow as belief. It’s about who we most deeply are and how we should live. You can prove it within yourselves, right now. And if you can do that, then you can be saved, be made bigger and more whole. And you can, because you knew when you heard the story of those three women that only that third woman even got it. And I suspect you may also have felt that there is something very wrong about posing as a religious person but not getting it. You know this. You’re built this way. Almost all of us are. It is built into who we are and must be if we are to come into our full humanity.

Salvation is about that kind of size and that quality of spiritual vision that can make us useful and content rather than merely decorative. In liberal religion it is about digging deep enough to find the treasure, the spirit, rather than staying on the self-satisfied surface. You know what I mean, I’m sure.

The spirit of liberal religion – which is opposed to the spirit of literal religion – is between about two and four thousand years old. It’s not new at all, and it had multiple births. It was born in the Hindu Upanishads, where they saw that Brahman, the creative and sustaining force of the universe, is present in each of us just as the taste of salt is present throughout the oceans.

It was born in the Buddha, who saw that the secret of life isn’t about gods or supernatural end-runs. It’s available to all of us here and now, if only we will wake up to life’s less dramatic but more authentic possibilities – and if, once awakened, we will understand that compassion is the only appropriate and life-enhancing response to all other creatures.

The spirit of liberal religion was born at about the same time in some of the ancient Hebrew prophets, who attacked the self-important rituals of the priests, and said God was not interested in what we believed or how we bowed and scraped, but only in how we treated one another, especially the most vulnerable among us.

It was also born at least twice in China. First, in Confucius, who was concerned not with gods but with our selves here and now. And he saw that our mistake was that we conceived of ourselves as far too small, whereas our biggest and most necessary self only exists as part of the larger society around us. So our job, he believed, is to learn the care and respect that make our relationships with others flow smoothly.

Lao Tzu also gave birth to the spirit of liberal religion, the spirit of deeds not creeds in Taoism, when he wrote one of the finest moral teachings in history:

What is a good man but a bad man’s teacher?

What is a bad man but a good man’s job?

If you don’t understand this, you will get lost,

However intelligent you are.

It is the great secret.

(Stephen Mitchell translation)

The spirit of honest religion, of being human religiously, was born at the deepest and most nuanced levels of all great religions and philosophies.

And then, more than a thousand years before any of these others, the spirit of liberal religion was born in the world’s oldest story, the still-magnificently modern story of Gilgamesh. He ruled over 4700 years ago, and the earliest texts of the story are from 4100 years ago – before any of today”s great religions, gods or philosophies had been born. They saw themselves as living in the “modern age,” because writing had just been invented there a hundred years earlier. And they asked of what use were the old gods to modern people. They decided the gods had become impotent ornaments, but that the meaning and purpose of life – now up to us – were still immeasurably rich, and close at hand: through the deeds we do, the positive differences we make, the art and music we create, the love and joy we can share with families and friends, and the influence we can have on those who will come after us. There in that most ancient story was a religious vision more courageous and unfettered than that of any Western religion.

You can feel how big all of these ancient liberal visions are – a bigness that doesn’t insult the human spirit by offering the religious equivalent of little tin fiddles.

All of these were among the births of the multiple spirits of liberal religion. Any one of them, or any good combination of them, can offer a commanding vision big enough to let us feel that we are building a magnificent cathedral to the greater glory of God – or the legitimate heir to what was once called God, as Gilgamesh, the Chinese, the Buddha, the Greeks and many moderns would put it.

That rich and ancient history is the tradition I stand within and try to serve as a religious liberal. I’m not a “Unitarian-Universalist,” and I hope you’re not either. Understand that I don’t mean that in a cheap way. I mean it in an expensive way, a demanding way. Denominational identities like the banalities of creeds or official “principles” are just too paltry to do justice to the human spirit. they’re little toy instruments on which no interesting music is ever going to be played, and which will drive the more aware and gifted people away, as it did the four-year-old Yehudi Menuhin. I suspect that tin-fiddle spirituality is the chief reason why we have lost almost 70% of our market share in the U.S. since 1961, and still don’t have many more members than we did then.

We owe ourselves and our people this kind of spiritual and intellectual bigness – not something to let us think we’re smarter or more special than others, but something character-based and commanding. We each need to offer our people and our communities deep and nuanced spiritual instruments that can challenge even the most gifted among them, and an understanding of the human condition big enough both to contain our spirits and to command them. If what we offer can’t take its place proudly among the world’s most profound religions, we should be ashamed to offer it.

In the end, it doesn’t matter whether we call our spiritual center God or something else. What matters is whether we can call it forth, and invite it into our lives, our churches, and our world. The people who trust us need to feel that their best efforts are helping to build a magnificent cathedral to God – or the legitimate heir to what was once called God. That kind of a vision, that kind of an instrument, is big. And that kind of size matters.

Salvation is about a healthy kind of wholeness that is buried within and among us – not on the surface, but deeper. As in the children’s story, we first have to get beyond ourselves, because it isn’t about us. But always, after the road that leads us outward, there needs to be another that leads us back home – as T. S. Eliot put it,

“We shall not cease from exploration

And the end of all our exploring

Will be to arrive where we started

And know the place for the first time.”

As a religious movement, we also need to get beyond our comfortable biases as social or political liberals, because it isn’t about us either. It’s about finding an avenue to a deep and true perspective on our life and on life itself – a perspective that can not only empower us but can also command us. And if it is an honest and profound kind of liberal religion, what it commands us to do is to dig, to find that treasure buried within us, to arrive where we started, and perhaps to know the place for the first time.

And then to do something – to come alive, to recognize that we are children of God, the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself, and the hope of our world. Then the transformation and miracle of salvation has occurred. We have been born again, born of the Holy Spirit, born of the joy of life that has found us at last. And with that, a whole new world has begun. A whole, new, world has begun.Hallelujah!

The Ancient Roots of the Liberal Spirit

© Davidson Loehr

SWUUD Spring Conference

26 April 2008

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PRAYER:

(Adapted from “Prayer Before Birth” by Louis MacNeice)

I am not yet born; O hear me.

I am your tomorrows, but I am not yet born.

I am not yet born, console me.

Protect me from the doubts that strangle, the fears that stifle,

the friends who drain and demean.

I am not yet born; give me dreams of what we may yet become,

and nourish me, that I do not starve before I gain the strength to walk,

and to fly, and perhaps even to soar with the eagles.

I am not yet born; O hear me,

Protect me from those who can remain big only by keeping those around them small, for I am yet a fragile thing.

I am not yet born; O fill me with strength

against those who would freeze my humanity,

who would make me into a thing, a mere thing,

who would dissuade and drain me until I lose my spirit,

and then my soul, and then my hope,

and your hope as well.

For I am the greater you who is not yet born,

And together we must strive, must strive with the gods if necessary,

for so much is at stake, there is so much to be gained.

I am the you who is yet to become,

and I am not yet born.

Help me.

SERMON: The Ancient Roots of the Liberal Spirit

The soul of liberal religion is not a new thing. Even professors of religion often speak as though it had been born in the late 18th century, in the work of the great German theologian Friedrich Schleiermacher. But Schleiermacher – as he knew – was a late-comer.

The spirit of liberal religion – which is opposed to the spirit of literal religion – is at least four thousand years old. It’s not new at all. It had multiple births, and I want to talk about some of those births this morning.

First, it was born in the world’s oldest story, the still-magnificently modern story of Gilgamesh. He ruled over 4700 years ago, and the earliest texts of the story are from 4100 years ago – before any of today’s great religions or philosophies had been born. They saw themselves as living in the “modern age,” because writing had just been invented there a hundred years earlier. And they asked of what use were the old gods to modern people. They decided the gods had become impotent ornaments, but that the meaning and purpose of life – which were now up to us – were still immeasurably rich, and close at hand: through the deeds we do, the positive differences we make, the art and music we create, the love and joy we can share with families and friends, and the influence we can have on those who will come after us. There in that most ancient story was a religious vision more courageous and unfettered than that of any Western religion.

But as writing both evolved and spread, others saw themselves as living in modern times. If they traveled enough to learn about other cultures, they could now reflect not only on the day’s gossip, their era’s guesses at enduring truths, but could also see that people in other times and places saw things quite differently, and lived with comfort and passion over quite different assumptions.

You know how the liberal spirit of deeds not creeds was born in the Hebrew prophets, but I want to talk about some traditions you may not know as well, because we tend to be quite provincial and think that our religious spirit originated in 16th century Transylvania or 19th century New England.

That liberal spirit was born at least twice in China.

First, in Confucius, who was concerned not with gods but with our selves here and now. And he saw that our mistake was that we conceived of ourselves as far too small, whereas our biggest and most necessary self only exists as part of the larger society around us. So our job, he believed, is to learn the care and respect that make our relationships with others flow smoothly.

There is a story from 13th century Neo-Confucianism about this kind of transcendence. Confucians were very determined not to have any supernaturalism in their practice, so they were quite upset when their Master said that today he would be talking about magic. Angry but polite, one of them raised his hand to ask what the Master might mean by that objectionable word, “magic.” The Master sighed. “Oh,” he said, “I can go into that, but it will take some time.” Then he leaned toward a student in front, and asked if he’d get him a glass of water. When the student returned, the Master took a sip of water, then said, “That was magic. He did my bidding, without threats or bribes, simply because I asked him to and he wanted to do it. That is the kind of magic that makes our interactions with others flow smoothly, and it is the magic we need to learn.” Why is this liberal? Because like all good religion, it’s about behavior, not belief. Nobody cares what we believe.

Lao Tzu also gave birth to the spirit of liberal religion, the spirit of deeds not creeds, in Taoism, when he wrote one of the finest moral teachings in history:

What is a good man but a bad man’s teacher?

What is a bad man but a good man’s job?

If you don’t understand this, you will get lost,

However intelligent you are.

It is the great secret.

(Stephen Mitchell translation)

Why is this the spirit of liberal religion – or simply the spirit of honest religion? Because it links us to something eternal, without insulting our intelligence or confining us to the teachings and biases of any one religion. Its insights transcend theology and resonate in the hearts and heads of all people. Here are some other quotations from Lao Tzu’s book, the Tao te Ching. See how liberal, and how modern, they sound and feel:

“Must you value what others value, and avoid what others avoid? How ridiculous!

“The great Way is easy, yet people prefer the side paths. Be aware when things are out of balance. Stay centered within the Tao. When rich speculators prosper while farmers lose their land; when government officials spend money on weapons instead of cures; when the upper class is extravagant and irresponsible while the poor have nowhere to turn – all this is robbery and chaos.

“Let the Tao be present in your life and you will become genuine. Let it be present in your family and your family will flourish. Let it be present in your country and your country will be an example to all countries in the world. Let it be present in the universe and the universe will sing. How do I know this is true? By looking inside myself.” This is very close to the Hindu notion of how our atman, or individual soul, is part of Brahman, or the creative forces of the universe.

I think, page for page, the Tao te Ching is probably the wisest book ever written.

Then we can go to the Greeks, who also had a non-theistic approach.

Xenophanes (570 – 480 BC), criticized the religious literalism of his day in words that still ring true. He had traveled a lot, seen a lot of cultures and religions, and noticed the psychological projection in all religions. Here’s some of what he said, over 2500 years ago:

“Mortals suppose that gods are born, wear their own clothes and have a voice and body. Ethiopians say that their gods are snub-nosed and black; Thracians say that theirs are blue-eyed and red-haired.”

And he added that if horses and oxen had hands and could draw pictures, their gods would look remarkably like horses and oxen.

And then there’s Socrates, still generally regarded as the greatest of all Western sages. It’s hard to imagine the effect Socrates had on people, though we know that he was finally condemned to death for asking his disturbing questions that were more profound than his society’s answers. But we have the eyewitness testimony of a man named Alcibiades, who was shaken to his core.

According to Alcibiades, Socrates” questions bite the heart like a viper, and provoke in the soul a state of philosophical possession, delirium, and drunkenness.

“I was in such a state that it did not seem possible to live while behaving as I was behaving…. He forces me to admit to myself that I do not take care for myself.” That’s what religious prophets do, though few in history have done it as well as Socrates.

Socrates believed that an innate desire for the good exists in all human beings. Here was a profound and specific assertion about why we have inherent worth and dignity, at least if we’ll let that deep awareness command us.

Socrates described himself not as a philosopher or teacher, but as a midwife, helping to give birth to the greater possibilities he believed dwelled within us, waiting to be called forth.

For all the Greeks, humans suffer because they are ignorant of the way to live. Ignorance – as in Buddhism – is the fundamental human sin.

Even for the Epicureans, those who are seen as affirming the joy of pleasure, but who really believed that we should be equally happy with simple pleasures as with expensive ones. Even the Epicureans were taught always to act as though Epicurus were watching them.

This was echoed a few centuries later by the Romans, who taught that we should live “under the gaze of eternity,” which meant to live as though all the noblest people, the greatest souls, were watching us, then to do only what we would be proud to do under that gaze. It’s hard to improve on that as a one-sentence guide to living ethically and morally.

Another liberal thinker named Plotinus (204-270) used the metaphor of sculpture to talk about how we should form ourselves. “If you do not see your own beauty yet, do as the sculptor does with a statue which must become beautiful: he pares away this part, scratches that other part, makes one place smooth, and cleans another, until he causes a beautiful face to appear in the statue. In the same way, you too must pare away what is superfluous, straighten what is crooked, purify all that is dark, in order to make it gleam. And never cease sculpting your own statue, until the divine light of virtue shines within you.”

Probably my own favorite spiritual and psychological center came through the Paideia culture of ancient Greece. You may not know the odd word “paideia,” but you know its ideals. The Greeks believed that the best kind of humans were both born and made. Breeding mattered – after all, all their mythic heroes were imagined as the offspring of a human parent and a god. But the noblest humans were also made, by shaping them in the image of the highest ideals the culture could articulate. That meant the most sacred treasures in ancient Greek culture were those collective ideals so high and commanding that they bestowed a dignity of character on both gods and humans. The collective noun for these highest ideals was paideia. It was in the root of their words for both children and education, as it still is for us (e.g., pediatrics and pedagogy). Mortimer Adler started a “Paideia Project,” and there are still a few Paideia Schools around, including one in Austin. But mostly, we know of this ancient project of “salvation by character” through the Romans.

When Cicero read of the Paideia culture, he realized that the Romans had neither the word nor the concept for these noblest forms of humans that could be made through shaping their character in the image of transcendent ideals. The word he coined to translate “paideia” into Latin was perfect: humanitas, which means the essence of being most fully human. It was the root of all our liberal Humanities education, those courses now fading from our schools, designed to bring us near the intersection of that place where our full humanity and our full divinity merged, like the ancient mythic breeding of the human and the divine. All of these ancient teachings so far were done without using any gods, yet they are among the most profound in human history. they’re timeless and inclusive, and beyond theology or the limits of any one religion in ways that Western religions” Yahweh, Jesus and Mohammad are not.

The spirit of liberal religion, of that greater self to which we should try to give birth, was also born twice in India, in Hinduism and Buddhism.

Here are just a few quotes from the Upanishads, written about 2200 to 2500 years ago:

“Know that [the creative power of the universe] is forever a part of you, and there is nothing higher to be known. It is found in the soul when sought with truth and self-sacrifice, as fire is found in wood, water in hidden springs, and cream in milk.

“If you deny this power, you deny yourself. If you affirm it, you affirm yourself.” This is almost identical to the teaching attributed to Jesus in the Gospel of Thomas, where he says, “If you bring forth what is within you, what you bring forth will save you. If you do not bring forth what is within you, what you do not bring forth with destroy you.” It is profoundly liberal. And though it doesn’t require any gods, it does require great integrity and personal courage.

Then a final thought from the Upanishads, which may strike you, as it has struck many others, as profoundly happier than most religious teachings:

“[The creative power of the universe] is joy: for from joy all beings have come, by joy they all live, and unto joy they all return.”

The Hindu and Buddhist notion of karma is a lot like Socrates” notion of how our lives take the shape of the quality of ideals we are serving. As the Upanishads say, As we act and behave in life, so we become. If we do good, we become good; if we do evil, we become evil. By pure actions we becomes pure; by evil actions we becomes evil. You can feel how close this is to Greek thought – some scholars believe the Greeks got it from the Hindus – by remembering one of the most famous of Greek sayings, attributed to Aristotle but perhaps being much older: “Plant a thought, reap a deed; plant a deed, reap a habit; plant a habit, reap a character; plant a character, reap a destiny.” Hear how modern this is: it’s existential religion, like Buddhists talking about our duty to nurture the Buddha-seed within us, or the Christian Meister Eckhart talking about the God-seed within us, and how we should help it come alive and define us.

Now a paragraph or two about Buddhism. This terribly quick romp through some of the world’s great, deep and complex religions is not meant to be flippant; it’s trying to fly over a lot of territory to show that the patterns are profoundly liberal to the core, and profoundly empowering and commanding, as all honest religion must be.

The Buddha grew out of, and away from, Hinduism. He taught that we just need to wake up from the illusions we create for ourselves through our ways of talking and thinking. When we wake up, the world won’t be perfect or ideal, but it will be real, and we can find our real place in it.

Every one of these ancient religions and philosophies is concerned with how to live, how to become the person we can be most proud of having been. And every one of them finds the power to do this within us, rather than through pleading with an external deity for it. All believed we must tune ourselves to a higher frequency, align ourselves with an enduring or eternal order, serve others, see ourselves as small parts of a much larger reality. But the power to do this was always within us. We were not missing pieces, not missing parts. We were born as a mix of good and evil, but basically good, though we’re ignorant of the thing we need to know, which is that we have the power to become the kind of people we can be most proud of. We also have the responsibility. The gods won’t do it for us. we’re not saved, not made whole, through believing this or that – only through being.

Perhaps the best that preachers and churches can do is aspire to the role of Socrates, to be midwives and help us give birth to the greater possibilities within us, and to do it – as Alciabiades testified – whether we like it or not.

The soul of the liberal spirit is about waking up – waking from dogmatic slumbers, but also waking from lethargic slumbers that don’t or won’t look beneath the surface of life into its more complex – and darker – depths. That waking up is an individual calling, challenge, task and achievement. It’s the birth of our individual soul from the globular mass of our class, our social identity, our political or sexual or racial identity, to ask who we are – individually, personally, really, beneath all those other important but secondary influences that help to shape and mis-shape us.

You can feel the depth, presence and power of these questions, can’t you? They have always had that power of birthing our better selves, once they grab hold of us enough to wake us up.

We await and yearn for that kind of birth, that level of being “born again, born of the Holy Spirit.” How can it happen? “We can only hope,” some say. But Socrates and the rest of our liberal predecessors wouldn’t buy that, and neither should we. Perhaps we can only hope, but not only only hope – not only only hope.

What the world needs from Liberal Religion- Rev. David E. Bumbaugh

KEYNOTE ADDRESS – SWUU DISTRICT ANNUAL MEETING

AUSTIN, TEXAS

David Bumbaugh

APRIL 26, 2008

“What the world needs from Liberal Religion.” That is a sweeping topic and one that is daunting to say the least. Who among us is qualified to speak for the world? For that matter, who among us is qualified to speak for liberal religion? Unitarians and Universalists have long been part of what is generally known as liberal religion, but the scope of liberal religion is far larger than our movement. Liberal Religion is a context in which we exist, but it is neither defined by nor exhausted by our particular history, institutional structures and visions. Nonetheless, that is the topic we have been called to address, and a long career as a preacher has equipped me fully to speak with great authority on vast subjects about which I know precious little.

In May of 1961, I stood on the floor of the General Assembly, waiting for the Moderator to announce the result of the vote that would bring the Unitarian Universalist Association into formal existence, a vote that would end the separate histories of the American Unitarian Association and the Universalist Church of America. When the formal announcement came, it was a surprise to no one. The assembly had reaffirmed the will of the constituent congregations–an overwhelming vote for consolidation. The delegates responded with a standing ovation.

This was a moment I had worked for since I began my ministry to Universalist congregations in April of 1957. I had preached, written editorials, and debated about the promise inherent in the consolidation of the American Unitarian Association and the Universalist Church of America. I had attended the meeting in Syracuse that had hammered out the details of the consolidation process.

The congregation I was serving had voted for consolidation, even though the members of that small rural church confessed to feeling profoundly outclassed by and inferior to every Unitarian they had ever met. I should have been among those applauding. Instead, I stood off to one side of the hall, weeping.

I was overwhelmed by the sense that something important had just died, that I had just voted away my religious home, that I had just witnessed the end of the Universalist movement, in the words of the historian, Whitney Cross, a church whose impact …on reform movements and upon the growth of modern religious attitudes might prove to be greater than that of either the Unitarians or the freethinkers. [A movement whose] warfare upon the forces fettering the American mind might be demonstrated to have equaled the influence of the transcendentalist philosophers.

Over the nearly half century that has passed, I have devoted my life to the movement we brought into being in Boston on that day in May of 1961. In parish ministry, and now, teaching in one of our two remaining seminaries, my life has been trammelled up in Unitarian Universalism. But, truth be told, I have never felt quite at home in this movement. I have felt like an orphan who has been taken in by a kindly family, but who never has mastered the skills necessary to be fully a part of that family. Somewhere, deep in my soul, there is a sense of loss that never quite goes away. In odd moments, I have tried to plumb that deep loss.

Over time, it has occurred to me that the loss, which often seemed so personal, is, in truth, much more corporate and institutional. Somewhere, over the years following consolidation, we have lost an important insight into the essential nature of religion, and the role it plays in the life of the human community. The process by which that loss occurred, is rooted deep in the history of the two movements that came together in May of 1961.

In the first third of the twentieth century, Unitarianism and Universalism both were confronting serious losses. The catastrophe of the Great War, that war to end all wars, had made a mockery of the easy optimism that had characterized much of liberal religion. The debacle of the Great Depression had only deepened the sense of pessimism and despair.

By the middle of the 1930’s the condition of the Unitarian movement was so desperate that the American Unitarian Association was forced to appoint a Commission of Appraisal. The central charge given that Commission consisted of a series of questions: Has Unitarianism any real function in the modern world?…How far does Unitarianism in America measure up to the requirements of the new age? What must be done to bring it reasonably close to that ideal? Is the expenditure of effort necessary to bring about that change justified by the promise of success?

The report of that commission addressed a number of topics, ranging from a sketchy effort to define areas of doctrinal agreement and disagreement to a concern for restructuring religious education and providing adequate training for leaders. But the elements in the report that received most of the attention, centered upon restructuring and reorganizing and streamlining the institutional processes of the Association itself. The effect of the report was to give short shrift to questions of faith, and to focus much more attention on questions of structure and process.

The Commission of Appraisal is widely believed to have saved the American Unitarian Association and to have ushered in a period of renewal and growth. In my reading of the history, it did so by simply assuming Unitarianism has a function in the modern world, even if that function is difficult to define, by finessing any serious conversation about theological concerns and by focusing instead on the question of how to reorganize the national Association so it might be more effective in attracting and retaining members. Out of the work of the commission came a series of initiatives, ranging from the New Beacon Series in Religious Education, to the famous Laymen’s League advertising initiatives based on the question, “Are You a Unitarian Without Knowing It?”, and ultimately the Fellowship Movement.

During this same, period, Universalism was experiencing an even more catastrophic decline in numbers. Once having been described as “the reigning heresy of the day” and credited with being the sixth largest denomination in the country, Universalism had declined to fewer than 50,000 adherents, was closing one rural or small town church after another all over the country, and was watching as one urban church after another either went out of business or merged with its Unitarian counterpart. Universalism responded to that challenge in quite a different way.

Universalists sought to confront the loss of members and the threat to their continued existence by theological exploration. Under the leadership of men like Robert Cummins and Brainard Gibbons, Universalists began to explore their relationship to the Christian tradition out of which they had come. They asked, “What is the essential message of Universalism, given the fact that mainline Protestants are no longer proclaiming doctrines of hellfire and damnation?” They asked, “Does Universalism have anything distinctive to offer to the larger theological conversation?” They asked, “What does Universal Salvation mean in a pluralistic world grown ever more integrated and ever more interconnected?” Cummins, General Superintendent of the Universalist Church, began to address those questions when he told a Universalist General Assembly that: Universalism cannot be limited either to Protestantism or to Christianity, not without denying its very name. Ours is a world fellowship, not just a Christian sect…..A circumscribed Universalism is unthinkable.

Subsequently, Tracy Pullman of Detroit called for a new understanding of Universalism that would be greater than Christianity. Cummin’s successor as General Superintendent, Brainard Gibbons insisted that Christianity and the larger Universalism were simply incompatible.

These observations led a group of younger ministers to engage the challenge to define a new theological base for the Universalist Church. They advocated what they called a New Universalism–one that sought to define a religion adequate to a global community. They did not seek to create a new world religion, but they dreamed of creating a religion that would be adequate to one world. This led them to engage virtually all the theological categories that had structured their tradition, and seek to determine how to reform that tradition for a new time and a new context. This process continued throughout the years leading up to consolidation.

The point to this long excursion into history is to suggest that Unitarians and Universalists brought quite different agendas to the consolidation. Those differences were reflected in much of the debate surrounding the proposal to consolidate. As I remember those years, I am struck by the fact that much of the Universalist opposition to consolidation was theological in nature– traditionalists like Ellsworth Reamon fearing that the new movement would strengthen the hands of those who sought to move Universalism to an enlarged and non-Christian theological base. On the other hand, much of the Unitarian opposition was institutionally focused–a fear, as A. Powell Davies suggested, that consolidation with the Universalists would slow or halt the numerical growth that had allowed Unitarians to claim to be the fastest growing denomination in American in the 1950’s. I have sometimes summarized the two agendas by suggesting that Universalists brought to merger an important, but unfinished theological concern, while Unitarians brought to merger a set of highly questionable marketing plans.

I would suggest to you that in the years after consolidation, the concern for marketing has triumphed. The overriding concerns have centered upon the need to identify our market niche, and to devise programs and strategies that will attract and keep the clients. Increasingly, much of our social justice effort can be defined as expressionist politics, less intended to change the world than to serve our own egos, to present a profile to the world and attract and expand the client base. Our efforts at self-definition–notably the all-but-deified purposes and principles–are grounded in no deep confession of faith, no significant meta-narrative. They simply hang there as unanchored assertion– not a covenant, but a temporal agreement–and because that is so, they betray the fact that a primary motivating force in their construction was to offend none of our stake holders, while being so general that likely recruits will not find us too challenging.

Our programmatic focus has been upon growth, both in the size and the number of churches. At all levels, programs are initiated and justified on the basis that they will produce numerical growth. Congregations and individuals who question whether growth is an adequate mission are regarded as bordering on the heretical. Education programs are designed specifically to counter and inhibit the essential developmental tasks of young people and to bind them effectively to the church. We have toyed with creating mega-churches by offering something called “theology light seeker services.” We have devised advertising programs structured around slogans like “The Uncommon Denomination” and “The Church That Puts Its Faith In You,” slogans that pretend to communicate but that avoid any careful definition. Most recently, the triumph of marketing can be seen in the process by which the flaming chalice has been transformed from religious symbol into marketing logo.

Missing in all of this is any coherent theological foundation. Over and over, we hear each other and officials of the Association proclaim the conviction that we have a moral obligation to grow, to spread our word because we possess a vital message, one that is of central importance to the world and to the crises in which the world is entangled. When, however, we are challenged to say what that message is, what our faith consists of, what defines us as a religious people, often we are driven to an embarrassed silence, or we smile smuggly and confess that no one can speak for all Unitarian Universalists, or we stutter and stammer and mutter some half digested truisms about the worth of every person or the importance of embracing each person’s freedom to follow his or her own spiritual path.

Those are not wrong affirmations but they provide an incredibly weak foundation for a religious movement and a wholly inadequate program for saving the world. They offer an unexamined piety rather than a solid faith. The unfinished task Universalists brought to consolidation–the effort to redefine the faith tradition in light of contemporary challenges–has been swept away by the fear that if we define ourselves too clearly, someone may be offended.

Nor are we the only example of Liberal Religion trying to survive by fudging uncomfortable self-definitions. In Chicago, and perhaps elsewhere across the country, the United Methodist Church observed Lent, this year, by broadcasting a series of television spots in which people who are lonely, people who are burdened with grief, people who are engulfed by sorrow, are told that they do not have to walk this painful path alone. They will find support and companionship at the United Methodist Church. Except for that last word, “church,” it is hard to tell that the welcome is from a religious community. It sounds very much like an institution offering therapy rather than faith, comfort rather than challenge, sanctuary rather than adventure.

In his book, American Religious Traditions, Richard Wentz suggests that religion “is the dialectic of the sacred and profane,” the way in which the sacred and the mundane are held in “dynamic tension.” He claims that religion “provides the ideas and actions that enable us to maintain the significance of the sacred in circumstances that deny it.” This suggests that a movement that is unwilling or unable to define what it holds sacred has surrendered both its claim to religious significance and its ability to respond meaningfully to the larger world. If we are to respond to the needs of the world from a liberal religious basis, it is critical that we be able to address and answer three central questions: What do we believe? Whom do we serve? To whom or what are we responsible? Several years ago, I was asked to deliver a lecture on the title “Beyond the Seven Principles: The Core of Our Faith.” In that lecture, I suggested that the question of what do we believe cannot be answered adequately until we have struggled with the question, “Whom do we serve?” I am increasingly convinced, now, however, that given the make up of our movement–a movement comprised of people who value education, a movement that reflects a tradition of accommodation to science and embraces concern for creating a tolerant, moral society, a movement that is socially located with access to the levers of power, it is important that the question of what it is we believe, what it is that provides a foundation for a vital religious vision be given priority over the other two.

That first and foundational question, “What do we believe?” is simple, but profoundly challenging for a post modern people. It drives us to consider what are the boundaries of our religious community? What is so central to our identity that we must proclaim it, even at the risk of offending someone? This is the question Universalists were struggling to answer in the years prior to consolidation–the question we have struggled ever since to evade in the interests of more effective marketing. It is in answering that first question that we may discover effective responses to the other two: “Whom do we serve and to whom or what are we responsible?” Ignoring that first question, our institutions are easily seduced by the consumerist imperatives that dominate our times and our response to the world tends to be shallow-rooted, short-lived, self-serving and episodic.

Strange as it may seem to us, the fear of defining ourselves has not always dominated Unitarianism or Universalism. The founding document of American Unitarianism was Channing’s 1819 Baltimore Sermon, “Unitarian Christianity” in which he laid out a clear platform that not only rallied Unitarians, but influenced large numbers of non-Unitarians as well. Later in the same century, when Unitarianism was grappling with the dissent generated by the radicalism of Theodore Parker and his followers, William Channing Gannett offered a statement of “Things Commonly Believed Among Us.” Gannett boldly began his statement by affirming “We believe.” That statement of a central faith helped to heal the divisions within Unitarianism. In 1935 the Universalists, struggling to redefine the movement, adopted a statement that, while not a creed, unashamedly began with these words: “We Avow our Faith.”

Let me suggest to you that what the world needs from Liberal Religion, or at least from our version of Liberal Religion is clarity about who we are and what matters to us; clarity about what vision has called us into being, and what promise we serve. Nor is this such an impossible challenge. While we proudly proclaim the great diversity among us, every study I have seen of Unitarian Universalists suggests that our diversity rests in a powerfully homogeneous core of shared beliefs and attitudes. Indeed, the studies suggest that at the core we are far less diverse than many other religious groups. Let me suggest to you some of the content of that core:

We believe that the universe in which we live and move and have our being is the expression of an inexorable process that began in eons past, ages beyond our comprehension and has evolved from singularity to multiplicity, from simplicity to complexity, from disorder to order.

We believe that the earth and all who live upon the earth are products of the same process that swirled the galaxies into being, that ignited the stars and orbited the planets through the night sky, that we are expressions of that universal process which has created and formed us out of recycled star dust.

We believe that all living things are members of a single community, all expressions of a planetary process that produced life and sustains it in intricate ways beyond our knowing. We hold the life process itself to be sacred.

We believe that the health of the human venture is inextricably dependent upon the integrity of the rest of the community of living things and upon the integrity of those processes by which life is bodied forth and sustained. Therefore we affirm that we are called to serve the planetary process upon which life depends.

We believe that in this interconnected existence the well-being of one cannot be separated from the well-being of the whole, that ultimately we all spring from the same source and all journey to the same ultimate destiny.

We believe that the universe outside of us and the universe within us is one universe. Because that is so, our efforts, our dreams, our hopes, our ambitions are the dreams, hopes and ambitions of the universe itself. In us, and perhaps elsewhere, the Universe is reaching toward self-awareness, toward self consciousness.

We believe that our efforts to understand the world and our place within it are an expression of the universe’s deep drive toward meaning. In us, and perhaps elsewhere, the Universe dreams dreams and reaches toward unknown possibilities. We hold as sacred the unquenchable drive to know and to understand.

We believe that the moral impulse that weaves its way through our lives, luring us to practices of justice and mercy and compassion, is threaded through the universe itself and it is this universal longing that finds outlet in our best moments.

We believe that our location within the community of living things places upon us inescapable responsibilities. Life is more than our understanding of it, but the level of our comprehension demands that we act out of conscious concern for the broadest vision of community of we can command and that we seek not our welfare alone, but the welfare of the whole. We are commanded to serve life and serve it to the seven times seventieth generation.

We believe that those least like us, those located on the margins have important contributions to make the rest of the community of life and that in some curious way, we are all located on the margins.

We believe that all that functions to divide us from each other and from the community of living things is to be resisted in the name of that larger vision of a world everywhere alive, everywhere seeking to incarnate a deep, implicate process that called us into being, that sustains us in being, that transforms us as we cannot transform ourselves, that receives us back to itself when life has used us up. Not knowing the end of that process, nonetheless we trust it, we rest in it, and we serve it.

This faith statement is not a creed. (Perhaps we might attach to it the historic Universalist Freedom Clause: Neither this nor any other form of words will be used among us as a creedal test.) Nor can it be easily reduced to an elevator speech. Nonetheless this faith statement attempts to achieve several things.

First of all, it seeks to avoid the morass of hyphenated Unitarian Universalism. Secondly, it seeks to avoid the dreary debate between humanists and theists, between spirituality and rationality, by offering a kind of godless theism–an affirmation that we are not sui generis, that we are products of a natural process we did not create, cannot command and do not understand, but a process to which we are responsible, a process that is grounded in a vision of a dynamic universe, constantly incarnating emergent possibilities and larger alternatives.

It offers a vision that is consistent with our history, our tradition, responsive to the people we serve and to the challenges of our time–a vision grounded in three central enlightment commitments, defined by Susan Neiman as reason, reverence and hope. And, most importantly, it seeks to define a religious position that provides us a distinct location within the spectrum of religious alternatives available to the world.

Perhaps this statement will not prove adequate or acceptable to most of us, but the times demand some kind of formulation of the basis of our faith if we are to be serious about the world and if we are to be taken seriously by the world. Out of this kind of faith statement, imperatives for action emerge that are deeper than a political program or a class or ethnic loyalty. Such a faith statement reminds us that we are called to serve the largest vision of community we can imagine and that all our lesser loyalties stand under the judgment of that great affirmation. In serving the party, the cause, the national or ethnic identity, am I serving the largest community I can envision? In failing the weak, the lost, the marginalized, have I failed my deepest defining obligations? Such a faith statement allows us to recognize that ultimately we are responsible to the larger, sacred context out of which we have come and in terms of which we live. It provides a compass by which to steer amidst the uncertainties of a chaotic world.

This particular statement may not capture adequately the immagination of Unitarian Universalists. I am quite certain that some statement of faith is required if our brand of liberal religion is to address the needs of our world. Why we prefer to focus on our disagreements rather than on a core faith that might define us and might offer a religious alternative, I am not certain. Perhaps it is something deep in our institutional DNA that is at work here. In his two volume history of Unitarianism, Earl Morse Wilbur argued that for most of our history, Unitarians have resisted any real theological definition. Only when faced with some great threat to the continued existence of the movement could Unitarians could brought to define who they were and what vision they served.

I would suggest to you that we face such a threat at this moment in our history. To be sure, the threat does not seem to take the form of repression, persecution, or proscription. Despite the occasional thrust from religious extremists, we are scarcely important enough to justify the effort that repression and persecution would require. The threat to our existence is more subtle and therefore more dangerous. Liberal Religion faces the possibility that it may be overwhelmed by a kind of ambient spirituality that resists definition or institutional form, but functions to use the human longing for meaning to serve other purposes, an ambient spirituality that has no outward focus but slides easily into the therapeutic mode, offering an endless journey of infinite regression into the self. Look around you and you will see everywhere evidence of the manner in which spiritual longing has been commodified, offered on the open market, used to sell everything from soap, to self improvement, to political platforms. Over and over, and over again, the sacred is stripped of its deepest meanings and chained to the chariot wheels of a triumphant consumerism.

By refusing to define itself, Liberal Religion surrenders its ability to stand in judgment on the idolatries of our time. Worse than that, fearing that it will not be taken seriously, Liberal Religion is tempted to try to turn the commercial spirit of the age to its own uses. Oz Guiness has remarked that it used to be the case that religion looked for an audience for its message, but more recently, he suggests, religion looks for a message that will hold the audience.

There is a world of difference between those two approaches. To the degree that Liberal Religion in general, and Unitarian Universalism, in particular, have succumbed to this kind of marketing ploy they have betrayed their own traditions, they have failed the world, they have become captive to the very processes that threaten to destroy our best hope for the future. If we are to serve our people, and the world in which we find ourselves, it is critical that we now take up the unfinished project that Universalism brought to the consolidation in 1961, that we have the courage to define ourselves in ways that offer a clear alternative both to the dangerous and divisive orthodoxies that seem to have capture the religious venture, and the refusal to embrace a clear identity, that threatens to sweep liberal religion into commodified, thumbsucking irrelevance. It is time for liberal religion to declare clearly the faith we hold. The world has a right to expect that of us.

Who Are We?

© Davidson Loehr

SWUUD Spring Conference

Friday 25 April 2008

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

READING: Who are you?

A woman in a coma was dying. She suddenly had a feeling that she was taken up to heaven and stood before the Judgment Seat.

“Who are you?” a Voice said to her.

“I’m the wife of the mayor,” she replied.

“I did not ask whose wife you are but who you are.”

“I’m the mother of four children.”

“I did not ask whose mother you are, but who you are.”

“I’m a schoolteacher.”

“I did not ask what your profession is but who you are.”

And so it went. No matter what she replied, she did not seem to give a satisfactory answer to the question, “Who are you?”

“I’m a Christian.”

“I did not ask what your religion is but who you are.”

“I’m the one who went to church every day and always helped the poor and needy.”

“I did not ask what you did but who you are.”

She evidently failed the examination, for she was sent back to life. When she recovered from her illness, she was determined to find out who she was. And that made all the difference. (Anthony de Mello, Taking Flight, p. 140)

PRAYER

We pray not to something, but from something, to which we must give voice; not to escape from our life, but to focus it; not to relinquish our mind, but to replenish our soul.

We pray that we may live with honesty: that we can accept who we are, and admit who we are not; that we don’t become so deafened by pride and fear that we ignore the still small voices within us, that could lead us out of darkness.

We pray that we can live with trust and openness: to those people, those experiences, and those transformations that can save us from narrowness and despair.

And we pray on behalf of these hopes with an open heart, an honest soul, and a grateful reverence for the life which has been given to us.

Amen.

HOMILY: Who Are We?

That parable about the woman who didn’t know who she was beyond all the secondary identities she’d worn raises the most basic question of liberal religion, perhaps the most basic question of all religion: who are you, beyond the hand-me-down identity of your sex, race, social and economic class and political biases? These are add-ons. Who is inside? Who are you?

This is an especially good question for us, because you know that most people have heard of us – if they’ve heard of us at all – through Garrison Keillor’s jokes about us. Before I was called to Austin in 2000, I served a year as the interim minister at Unity-Unitarian Church in St. Paul, about five blocks from Garrison Keillor’s mansion, and I heard a slew of those jokes from church members, some of whom knew him.

It seems a shame to start a conference like with without some humor, so I’ll share two of those with you. The first was when I heard him tell of the Unitarian missionaries of the 1960s and 1970s, who came to Minnesota and tried to convert the Ojibway Indians through interpretive dance.

The second one is by far the better known, and is my very favorite. It’s the one about what you get when you cross a Unitarian with a Jehovah’s Witness. You get someone who knocks on your door for no apparent reason.

The reason the jokes work is because it isn’t easy saying who we are, or what we believe that has the depth and power to be a gift either to our people or to the world around us, beyond our second-hand identities of social class and political biases – or, on a much more local scale, the Seven Principles, also known as the Seven Dwarfs or the Seven Banalities. Some of you may know the history of how these came to be born, but I suspect many of you don’t know the history. The first church I served played a part in that history, so it’s a story I was made aware of as soon as I entered the ministry in 1986 – the year after those Principles were adopted at General Assembly.

In the late 1970s, some people began saying – and I usually heard it in these words – that “The problem is that our children don’t know what to tell their friends they believe.” I had just started graduate school in 1979 when I heard this, and remember thinking, “No, the problem is that neither our members nor ministers know what they believe that matters any more.”

It was – at least in an ideal sort of world – time to ask very hard religious questions. These would have included questions like, “What’s worth believing? What beliefs are necessary for forming people of high character? What gods (where “gods” means “ideals or beliefs”) are worth serving, and can lead us toward lives worth living?” To be fair, I don’t know of any denomination that asked such questions – and at least all the liberal denominations needed to be asking them by at least thirty years ago. But we didn’t either.

Instead, we took a poll. The UUA asked some churches – I don’t know how many, whether it was more like thirty or a hundred – to hold discussion groups. The purpose of these discussion groups was to find out what people who happened to come to our churches, and happened to like discussion groups, happened to believe. The first church I served was one of these churches.

What the results showed – and when you think about it, all they could show – was the generic biases of America’s cultural liberals in the early 1980s. That’s not useless. It does show – still pretty accurately, I think – the demographic slice from which our people (including me) come. It’s a sociological and semi-political sort of orthodoxy, though of course not any sort of a religious orthodoxy. We”ve always been against that.

However, the social and political biases of liberals became our real orthodoxy, as it pretty much is to this day.

Taken together and framed and hung on pink posters throughout our churches – including this one – they have the look and feel of a kind of de facto creed, a religion manufactured for our masses, and while the UUA is clear that they do not speak for the beliefs of our masses, they’re still there, and many think they look like they must. No one, I hope, would suggest that they belong alongside some of the timeless teachings of the world’s great religions – the Ten Commandments, the Sermon on the Mount, The Eightfold Noble Path of Buddhism, the insights of the Hindu Upanishads and Bhagavad-Gita or the rest. But if these aren’t high, noble, first-rate timeless beliefs, are there any that can and should command all decent people? If so, from where? Under what authority? Who says? Is that all there is? Who are we? The principles are a good guide to the general demographic from which our members come, meaning the generic beliefs of America’s cultural liberals. So their creedal feel is kind of a rough sketch of America’s social and political liberals, at least from the early 1980s. In most of our churches – to our credit, I think – we’re not terribly judgmental about what a person’s individual religious beliefs are. You can believe in a god, a goddess, a whole slew of deities or none at all, and you’ll fit right in unless you’re too evangelical about your beliefs. But if you step very far outside of our social and political orthodoxy, you might have trouble getting many people wanting to engage you in serious and respectful conversation at coffee hour. Here are a few of the ways I’ve thought of that you could do it:

– By wearing a pro-life button

– By wearing a pro-Bush button (in at least the vast majority of our churches)

– By wearing one that says “I’ll give up my gun when they pry it from my cold, dead fingers.”

– Or one that says “Evolution is wrong” or “Science is only a bad guess.”

You get the idea, and you can amuse yourself this weekend when you get bored by thinking of other buttons or signs that would mark your visitors as among the Unclean, the Untouchables, the Damned.

All these are examples of people exercising free choice of both belief and expression, but they would make you as unwelcome here as signs with the opposite message might make you at your local megachurch. The difference is that at the megachurch, they would be able to give you some specifically religious beliefs they said they regarded as sacred and commanding – something beyond the generic biases of social and political conservatives. In my experience, that would be much, much harder to do in nearly all of our churches.

But if the current assigned ideology of the social and political left doesn’t speak for our beliefs, or for the mission and purpose of this little non-moving movement, what does? Because we’re in trouble.

We have about the same number of members we had in 1961, while the country’s population has increased by about 70%. Any business consultant would say that a business that’s lost 70% of its market share is in dire straits. Are we simply doomed, is it time to pass out the razor blades and poisoned Kool-Aid, or is there hope? If there’s an answer, is it a really easy one, that wouldn’t require us to do anything, like, hard? And if there is an answer but it’s hard, are we really interested in it?

The basic assumption that has helped to frame this weekend’s programs is that there is an answer, it will take work, some re-definition and digging beneath merely superficial understandings of religion, but it is exciting work that can reconnect us with the ancient and life-giving spirit of liberal religion – a spirit which, as I’ll show you in tomorrow morning’s worship service, goes back to the very oldest story we have, a story from before the beginning of recorded human history or the appearance of any of the world’s current religions. It isn’t limited to the biases of Democrats, the Green Party, or whatever the current Politically Correct habits are. It is not about walking in intellectual or actual lock-step to some agenda that’s really just about us – whether it’s an official creed or seven “principles” created by a few hundred people over a quarter century ago – people who meant for them to be a snapshot of their times, not a prescription for ours.

It’s about becoming more aware of that spirit of liberal religion that has been with us, and has been whispering in our ears, since the dawn of written history. It’s about learning about more of the forms that spirit has taken through the world’s great religions and philosophies and lives. Then it’s about nurturing the spark of that spirit until it becomes a flame in our own lives that can illuminate and enlighten us – two of the key prayers of all religion – and which can finally command and transform us.

You may know much of the story, but I hope those guiding religious, intellectual and emotional spirits that have always characterized the soul of liberal religion – I hope those spirits will be present within and among us this weekend. Because they are the spirits – spirits probably older than our human species – best able to help us answer some of those questions more profound than answers: like “Who are you? Why does it matter? What do you offer to the world?” or “What does the world need from religious liberals?” The spirits that answer these questions have given life abundant to millions and millions of people for thousands of years, all over the world. They can do the same for us, if we will let them in. This weekend together, let’s let them in.

The Most Dangerous Fundamentalism in the World, Part V

© Davidson Loehr

 13 April 2008

 First UU Church of Austin

 4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

 www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

 

Children’s Story, Part 2:

Last time we talked about a special valley, and the many children who lived there. It was a wonderful place to live, until some new, short and mean people came there. They said, for some odd reason, that they were taller than the valley’s children, when anyone could see they were all shorter. When the valley children pointed this out, the short mean little people got even meaner, and shouted that this was because the children should be walking on their knees. They yelled this, and their yelling scared some of the children so much that they did begin walking on their knees, just to stop the yelling. Then others followed, and before you knew it, all the children in the valley were walking on their knees – which made the short and mean people the tallest in the valley after all.

This continued for years! For years the children of the valley kept walking on their knees. They continued to grow, of course – some of them grew almost a whole foot – so that, even on their knees, some of them were almost as tall as the short mean people.

There are so many things you just can’t do if you’re on your knees. You can’t play baseball, football, soccer or volleyball. It’s very hard to swim; racing and pole vaulting and high-jumping are out of the question. And this valley didn’t have television or computers or Play Stations or even Game Boys or cell phones! So there really wasn’t a lot to do.

Then, slowly, things began to change. No one knows just where it started. But in one part of the valley, a girl suddenly stood up. She just said her knees hurt, so she stood up. Another girl got angry at the small mean people yelling all the time, so she stood up just to spite them, and to show she was no longer afraid of them. Then one of the taller boys stood up, and found that he was almost a foot taller than the mean little people! This gave him an idea. He picked one of the short mean people up and lifted him right off the ground. This made the mean little person stop yelling. Then the boy said, with lots of children watching and listening, “You know, you’re almost a little cute when your mouth is closed!” The children laughed and laughed. And when other mean little people began coming around yelling at the tall boy, some other tall boys stood up, picked them up, and began passing them around like little dolls. This really made the mean people mad! But something was changing, and the madder they got, the more children stood up, the more they laughed, and the more they tossed them around like toys.

Then something very unexpected happened. One boy looked far away – they could see a lot farther when they were standing up – and over in another part of the valley, he saw other children standing up. They waved at them, and the other children waved back. A girl looked in another direction, and saw children standing up in another part of the valley. She shouted out to them, and they shouted back, and waved. Then some of the children began running to greet the children from other parts of the valley – it’s amazing how fast you can run when you’re not on your knees!

And the more children stood up, the more it gave other children courage to stand up. Before long, they were all standing up, for the first time in years. The mean little people were about hysterical by now, screaming at the top of their lungs. But the children were no longer afraid of them – after all, the children were all bigger than they were – and began passing them around like toys, and laughing. Then the little meanies started to bite the children – so they put the meanies in cages – like those dog cages you see in people’s cars.

But while they were having fun and getting a little revenge, they learned something much more serious. It turns out that during the years when they were on their knees, the meanies had not only been mean, but had also broken laws – a lot of laws. They had stolen a lot of money and done even worse things. Before long, they were arrested, and instead of being put in dog cages, they were put in prisons.

But there were so many of them that even the prisons soon filled up. Then they looked for other kinds of cages to hold the little meanies, and thought of – the zoos! With no children to visit the zoos for years, almost all the animals had been shipped somewhere else, and there were lots of empty cages. They weren’t too clean, but they were empty. Soon, they were all filled with the meanies, who stayed there for a very long time. So long that the children grew up, found mates, had their own children, and took their children to the zoo to see the many cages of Little Meanies, as they named them.

But their children weren’t very interested. All they saw were some small old people who yelled and said mean things. So soon they wouldn’t even feed them peanuts or any other zoo food, then they just stopped visiting, and forgot about them altogether.

But their parents didn’t forget about them, ever. Because they remembered what it had been like when they were afraid, and forced to walk on their knees, and they remembered how good it felt when they finally stood up. They have a lot to teach other people, including us – and that’s why I told you the story.

Prayer:

Let us remember the answer is always to become grounded in a love of life more abundant. There is a courage that comes from that love of a transcendent and commanding sense of life. That courage can let us stand up when most around us are still scared into kneeling. Let us have faith that our solitary act of standing up will give others the courage to consider standing up in their own lives.

There is a healthy kind of humility that can come from kneeling before authentic altars to worthy gods. Let us pray that the gods we serve with our lives are worthy of our service, and let us have the humility to serve them with all that we have, for such service can bless and empower us.

But let us not forget what we already have, for it is also life-giving. We already have the ability to walk upright, and never to kneel before moral and ethical ideals that are beneath us. We already have the strength and the courage to do this when we know that we must.

This strength and this courage also bless and empower us, and they are closer at hand. Let us never be seduced into becoming so frightened that we forget to stand up for all we know to be life-affirming.

For that is the spark of God that is an essential part of almost all of us, and we must nurture that spark, and must use it to ignite our spirits, or it may go out. And that, we cannot afford.

And so let us kneel when kneeling is appropriate. But on those other, more numerous, occasions when we should stand up for ourselves, for others, and for what truly gives us life, let us stand, and receive those special blessings that come only to the courageous.

Amen.

SERMON: The Most Dangerous Fundamentalism in the World, Part 5

This is the fifth and final in the series of sermons adapted from Naomi Klein’s book The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism, which as I’ve said before, I think is the most important book I’ve read in the past twenty-five years for understanding the “master narrative” – the plot behind much that has been going on in our world since at least 1973. Today I want to share her insights about 9-11 and our illegal invasion and occupation of Iraq, and then some real-world very optimistic signs from another author, to end both the sermon series and the children’s story – which, like all good children’s stories, isn’t just for children.

Naomi Klein’s focus is on some of the economic back-story of 9-11 and Iraq, in Israel and the U.S.

It starts with the dot.com crash of 2000, which threatened all the stock markets in the world, but which threatened Israel most of all, because they had the most high-tech-dependent economy on earth. The country went into immediate free fall, and by June 2001, analysts were predicting that roughly three hundred high-tech Israeli firms would go bankrupt, with tens of thousands of layoffs. A Tel Aviv business newspaper declared in a headline that 2002 would be the “Worst Year for Israeli Economy Since 1953.” Then in the summer of 2001, the government encouraged the tech industry to branch out into security and surveillance. A slew of new start-ups were launched, specializing in everything from “search and nail” data mining, to surveillance cameras, to terrorist profiling. When the market for these services and devices exploded after 9-11, the Israeli state rejoiced that the growth provided by the dot.com bubble would be replaced with a homeland security boom. Ideologically, it was the perfect marriage of the Likud Party’s hawkishness and its commitment to Chicago School economics. By 2003, Israel was already making a stunning recovery, and by 2004 the country had seemed to pull off a miracle: it was performing better than almost any Western economy. Much of this growth was due to Israel’s savvy positioning of itself as a kind of shopping mall for homeland security technologies. The timing was perfect. Overnight, Israel became, in the words of Forbes magazine, “the go-to country for antiterrorism technologies” (The Shock Doctrine, p.435).

The business of providing “security” – in Israel and around the world – is directly responsible for much of Israel’s meteoric growth in recent years. The War on Terror industry saved Israel’s faltering economy, much as the disaster capitalism complex I talked about last week helped rescue the global stock markets (The Shock Doctrine, p. 436).

Be aware of code words like, “the global stock markets.” When the health of stock markets is taken as indicator of a healthy economy, it means those writing about it have privileged the profits of stock-holders over the well-being of workers whose release, cuts in insurance and benefits, etc. all make the stock prices rise. “The health of the global stock markets” has already privileged the owners above the vast majority of living human beings.

And since this is another application of the Chicago School plan, we already know the plot. So we won’t be surprised to learn that Israel’s post-9/11 growth spurt has produced a rapid division of their society between rich and poor. In 2007, 24.4 percent of Israelis were living below the poverty line, with 35.2 percent of all children in poverty – compared with 8 percent of children twenty years earlier (The Shock Doctrine, p. 439).

This discarding of 25 to 60 percent of the population has been the hallmark of the Chicago School crusade since the “misery villages” began mushrooming throughout the Southern Cone of South America in the seventies. In South Africa, Russia and New Orleans the rich build walls around themselves. Israel has taken this disposal process a step further: it has built walls around the desperate and dangerous poor (The Shock Doctrine, p. 442).

There have been many articles on the deep overlap between our own neo-con group and a group of men with dual citizenship in both the U.S. and Israel. I’ve read lists with the names of up to sixteen men with dual citizenship among the big players in Washington, including Rabbi Dov Zakheim, who was comptroller of our Defense Department when it came up missing $2.3 trillion, Paul Wolfowitz, Richard Perle, Michael Chertoff, head of our Homeland Security, George Tenet, former head of our FBI, and Eliot Abrams, who played a key role in the Iran-Contra scandal under President Reagan as Assistant Secretary of State, and has served George W. Bush as Deputy Assistant to the President, and Deputy National Security Advisor. The list also includes Donald Kagan, one of the chief architects of the Project for the New American Century, as well as Marc Grossman, Douglas Feith and a half dozen others whose names aren’t as well known (Richard Haas, Kenneth Adelman, Edward Luttwak, Robert Satloff, David Frum, David Wurmser, and Steven Goldsmith – Google “dual-citizen Israelis,” and you’ll see thousands of sites. Some are clearly angry about the fact that we have citizens of Israel determining our national policy – in ways the clearly benefit Israel – but no dual citizens from, say, Mexico. Most of these men were contributors to that Project for the New American Century, which was published in September 2000 and which contained the blueprint for our American imperialism that has come to life since 9-11.

Even the strongest critics from the Left, however, tend to see the neoconservatives as true believers, motivated exclusively by a commitment to the supremacy of American and Israeli power that is so all-consuming they are prepared to sacrifice economic interests in favor of “security.” But this distinction, as Naomi Klein puts it, is both artificial and amnesiac. The right to limitless profit-seeking has always been at the center of neoconservative ideology. With the War on Terror, the neocons didn’t abandon their corporatist economic goals; they found a new, much more effective way to achieve them. Of course these Washington hawks – both our US citizens, and our dual-country US and Israeli citizens – are committed to an imperial role for the United States in the world and for Israel in the Middle East. But both in Israel and the U.S., we now have a state of endless war abroad, and a security state at home. This matches perfectly with the methods of the disaster capitalism complex I talked about last week, which has built a multibillion-dollar industry based on the structure of war outside and a security state within. (The Shock Doctrine, p. 322).

The Chicago School and its disciples are back to looting markets, now with a new clever pitch. If the looting can be linked, even loosely, to terrorism, then everything is fair game, and all accounts is up for grabs – maybe, if they’re lucky, even Social Security. Bush can get around laws, courts and congress easily, and pass new secret signing statements that let him legally ignore any directives from Congress he doesn’t like. He can revoke the habeas corpus acts, letting us kidnap our own citizens and send them elsewhere for torture and perhaps murder. And he can revive the posse comitatus acts, letting him use government armies – or armed private contractors like Blackwater, as he did after Katrina in New Orleans – to frighten our citizens with loaded guns. And he can give himself the power of a dictator in the event of any emergency or crisis he deems worthy to put us under martial law. He has already done all this and more, with hardly any significant media coverage. All of this was enabled by the paralyzing shock of 9-11, just as similar changes in the laws were enabled by the shocks inflicted on many other countries on which the Chicago School scheme was inflicted.

In a speech on September 10, 2001, Donald Rumsfeld announced that the Pentagon could not account for that $2.3 trillion I mentioned earlier. He also announced his intention to outsource many defense jobs to private industry. By the next day, nobody remembered much about either of these subjects. (The Shock Doctrine, p. 287).

But the idea at the heart of Rumsfeld’s forgotten speech is the central tenet of the Bush regime, following Milton Friedman’s economic ideas: that the job of government is not to govern but to subcontract the task to the private sector, which will do it for profit (The Shock Doctrine, p. 288). Let me translate that. What this means is transferring our tax dollars away from governmental agencies – which are answerable to us – to private contractors, which have no accountability to us. Over 90% of Blackwater’s money, for example, comes from state and governmental contracts, which means our tax dollars. But in Iraq, Blackwater employees cannot be prosecuted for crimes they commit – including murder – either under Iraqi laws or under U.S. laws, as we learned when they killed seventeen Iraqi civilians last September.

It’s surprising how many roads lead back to Milton Friedman. For Rumsfeld, this idea of selling off the job of providing security to private contractors like Blackwater can be dated back forty years to the early sixties, when he attended seminars at the University of Chicago’s Economics Department, and developed a particularly close connection with Milton Friedman (The Shock Doctrine, p. 289).

What happened in our country in the period of mass disorientation after 9-11 was, in retrospect, a domestic form of economic shock therapy: the Chicago School plan, finally inflicted forcefully on our own country. The Bush team, Friedmanite to the core, quickly moved to exploit the shock that gripped the nation to push through its radical vision of a hollow government in which everything from war fighting to disaster response was a for-profit venture. This is how it was done in every other country: a crisis that paralyzed the nation was used to provide cover for the very fast looting of the government and disempowerment of the middle class. The Bush team created a whole new rationale for its actions – the War on Terror – built from the start to loot our government and systematically remove the social supports from underneath the middle and lower classes (The Shock Doctrine, p. 298). For decades, the Friedmanite market had been feeding off the appendages of the state; now it could devour the core. The mantra “September 11 changed everything” neatly disguised the fact that for Milton Friedman disciples and the corporations whose interests they serve, the only thing that changed was the ease with which they could pursue their ambitious economic agenda (The Shock Doctrine, p. 299).

There have been some amazing statements made to justify this looting. To take only one of them, Ken Minihan, former director of the National Security Agency, said, “Homeland security is too important to be left to the government” (The Shock Doctrine, p. 300). Think about this: the security of our country is too important to be left to the government? The rules have been changed under our noses, under the cover of the distraction and manufactured War on Terrorism following 9-11. But this is just how it was done in dozens of other countries.

There is much more to 9-11, its effects and implications, but now I need to move on to Iraq.

It’s been well established that the Bush administration wanted to invade Iraq when they came into office, and had discussed it even in January 2001. The invasion of Iraq to control its oil, as well as the removal of Saddam Hussein, was called for in that Project for the New American Century published by our neocons in September 2000.

Iraq was, as Paul Wolfowitz said, where the oil was, and it was also an enemy of Israel. But other reasons for invading Iraq were tactical and economic.

There was little interest in the idea that war was a rational policy choice, that the architects of the invasion had unleashed ferocious violence because they could not crack open the closed economies of the Middle East by peaceful means, that the level of terror was proportional to what was at stake (The Shock Doctrine, p. 327).

But the existence of a plan to use our military to serve our country’s corporate interests is not new. General Smedley Butler laid it out in the 1930s, detailing his role as what he called a muscleman for the first three decades of the 20th century.

And recently, Stephen Kinzer has written in his 2006 book Overthrow that our overthrows of fourteen governments from Hawaii in 1893 to Iraq in 2003 have followed this same general plan:

He says, “In the modern world, corporations are the institutions that countries use to capture wealth. They have become the vanguard of American power, and defying them has become tantamount to defying the United States. When Americans depose a foreign leader who dares such defiance, they not only assert their rights in one country but also send a clear message to others (Overthrow, p. 4).”

In an interview with Democracy Now! On April 21, 2006, Kinzer broke the plan down into its three stages:

1. One or more of our giant corporations are frustrated by a country’s protective or non-compliant laws.

2. They take this to our elected representatives, where it is translated to a case – not of corporate interests, but “U.S. interests.”

3. It is then translated into a war of Good against Evil in order to sell the military intervention to the citizens, and send American soldiers to kill and to die (www.democracynow.org).

John Perkins also wrote about our plans to control and loot other nations, in his best-selling book Confessions of an Economic Hit Man a few years ago, where he says, “Iraq was very important to us, much more than was obvious. Contrary to common public opinion, Iraq is not simply about oil. It is also about water and geopolitics. Both the Tigris and Euphrates rivers flow through Iraq; thus, of all the countries in that part of the world, Iraq controls the most important sources of increasingly critical water resources (John Perkins, Confessions of an Economic Hit Man, p. 183).

“Also, Iraq is in a very strategic location. It borders Iran, Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Syria and Turkey, and has a coastline on the Persian Gulf. It is within easy missile-striking distance of both Israel and the former Soviet Union. Military strategists equate modern Iraq to the Hudson River valley during the French and Indian War and the American Revolution. In the eighteenth century, the French, British and Americans knew that whoever controlled the Hudson River valley controlled the continent. Today, it is common knowledge that whoever controls Iraq holds the key to controlling the Middle East. (John Perkins, Confessions of an Economic Hit Man, p. 184).

Another author says, “Controlling Iraq is about oil as power, rather than oil as fuel. Control over the Persian Gulf translates into control over Europe, Japan, and China. It’s having our hand on the spigot.” (Michael Klare, professor of peace and world security studies at Hampshire College and author of Resource Wars).

Invading and occupying Iraq also offered the chance to drive a wedge into the Arab and Muslim worlds, which would help Israel, as well as serving our own imperialist interests. And we’re planning to stay there. Remember that we have built the world’s largest embassy there, a building that could employ 5,000 people. It also fits into the Friedmanite vision. After the Chicago School had conquered Latin America, Africa, Eastern Europe and Asia, the Arab world – and of course the U.S. – called out as the final frontiers (The Shock Doctrine, p. 326). And we handled Iraq as we had handled the other countries, rewriting its laws to allow wholesale looting of the country immediately.

When Paul Bremer was sent to Iraq to act like the defacto government of the country, all the careful efforts during the 1990s to present “free trade” as something other than an imperial project were abandoned (The Shock Doctrine, p. 343). He lived in Saddam’s turquoise-domed Republican Palace, received trade and investment laws by e-mail from the Department of Defense, printed them out, signed them and imposed them by fiat on the shocked, awed, invaded and occupied Iraqi people (Naomi Klein, The Shock Doctrine, p. 344).

This is the Chicago School plan, so you know what comes next. You have probably observed, as I have, that once you understand the plot, it is disturbingly easy to see it being worked out, in country after country. Bremer changed the laws immediately to invite the corporate looting. One law lowered Iraq’s corporate tax rate from roughly 45 percent to a flat 15 percent (straight out of the Milton Friedman playbook). Another allowed foreign companies to own 100 percent of Iraqi assets – preventing a repeat of Russia, where the big money from looting the government went to the local rulers and their families. Even better, investors could take 100 percent of the profits they made in Iraq out of the country; they would not be required to reinvest, and they would not be taxed. Investors could sign leases and contracts that would last for forty years and then be eligible for renewal, which meant that future elected governments would be saddled with deals signed by their occupiers (The Shock Doctrine, p. 345).

Bremer reworked Iraq’s trademark and copyright laws, eliminated trade barriers and afforded foreign businesses the option of circumventing Iraq’s legal system and taking any disputes to international tribunals. Previously, Iraqi banks were closed to foreign ownership. Now, not only can foreign banks operate in Iraq, they can take over private Iraqi banks as well.

He refused to turn power over to the Iraqis because it became immediately clear that they would never give up their oil fields, so Bremer cancelled all elections, and cut down democracy wherever it reared its unwelcome head (The Shock Doctrine, p. 364).

GW Bush spoke of Iraq as “spreading freedom in a troubled region,” and many mistook the sentiment as a starry-eyed commitment to democracy. But it was always that other kind of freedom, the one offered to Chile in the seventies and to Russia in the nineties – the freedom for Western multinationals to feed off freshly captured states – that was at the center of the model theory. The president made that perfectly clear only eight days after declaring an end to major combat in Iraq when he announced plans for the “establishment of a US-Middle East free trade area within a decade” (The Shock Doctrine, p. 329).

So in the end, the war in Iraq did create a model economy. It was a model for highly profitable war and reconstruction – a model that quickly became export-ready. Until Iraq, the frontiers of the Chicago crusade had been bound by geography: Russia, Argentina, South Korea. Now a new frontier can open up wherever the next disaster strikes (The Shock Doctrine, p. 382).

Iraq’s current state of disaster cannot be reduced either to the incompetence and cronyism of the Bush White House or to the sectarianism or tribalism of Iraqis. It is a very capitalist disaster, a nightmare of unfettered greed unleashed in the wake of war. The deadly and murderous feeding frenzy in Iraq is one created by a careful and faithful application of unrestrained Chicago School ideology (The Shock Doctrine, p. 351).

In February 2004, eleven months after the invasion, an Oxford Research International poll found that a majority of Iraqis wanted a secular government: only 21% wanted “an Islamic state,” and only 14 percent ranked “religious politicians” as their preferred political actors. Six months later, with the occupation in a new and more violent phase, another poll found that 70 percent of Iraqis wanted Islamic law as the basis of the state (The Shock Doctrine, p. 350).

You remember the stunning quote from Boris Yeltsin’s assistant in Russia: that, “In order to have a democracy in society there must be a dictatorship in power” (The Shock Doctrine, p. 232). The phrase “democracy in society” meant the freedom to loot it, not the freedom of the people. That has been true in every country in which the Chicago School plan has been put into effect: in order for the corporations to freely loot the government assets, including the money formerly spent on social services to support the middle and lower classes, there must be a dictatorship of power, because otherwise the citizens wouldn’t allow it. Someone must put the citizens on their knees. This means it’s fair to wonder whether there will also have to be a dictatorship of power in our own country.

As proto-disaster capitalists, the architects of the War on Terror are part of a different breed of corporate-politicians from their predecessors, one for whom wars and other disasters are indeed ends in themselves (The Shock Doctrine, p. 311).

I saw figures this week saying our illegal invasion and occupation of Iraq has cost us nearly 4,500 deaths and almost 75,000 casualties – not counting more than a million Iraqis we have killed. But these numbers aren’t significant if you’re only looking at the opportunity for profit, oil, and controlling the Middle East. First, we choose the gods we will serve. They, in turn, determine what we are capable of seeing and caring about.

The most important negotiations going on in Iraq today are still to try and transfer control of their oil primarily to American investors and corporations for the next generation or two. The Iraqi Parliament has so far refused to approve any of this, even though there are reports that members of their Parliament have been offered bribes of $5 million each if they’ll sell out their country in favor of U.S. control of their oil. How many of our own elected officials in Washington do you think could resist a $5 million bribe?

One last thought on Iraq. The cost of the war has recently been estimated at $3 trillion. From a Friedmanite perspective, the huge cost of the war is a very good thing, because it helps drain the money that might otherwise go to social support services, education, health care, and maintaining the U.S. infrastructure. The longer the war can be continued, the more drastic and permanent these cuts can be. When budget cuts are made, remember that they are virtually always made to those social support services. So huge war expenses help disempower and disable the middle and lower classes for generations to come, as the Chicago School plan has done to every other economy – like an Invasion of the Body Snatchers, but more deadly and in real-world time rather than just sci-fi time. Meanwhile, the atmosphere of war makes it easy – as we”ve seen – for the President to claim and take increased powers. War is not only good business; it is a brilliant tactic in the Friedmanite scheme to do unto the U.S. what we have done unto dozens of other countries over the past thirty-five years.

When the contractor infrastructure built up during the Bush years is looked at as a whole, what is seen is a fully articulated state-within-a-state that is as muscular and capable as the actual state is frail and feeble. This corporate shadow state has been built almost exclusively with public resources (90 percent of Blackwater’s revenues come from state contracts). Yet the vast infrastructure is all privately owned and controlled. The citizens who have funded it have absolutely no claim to this parallel economy or its resources. The actual state, meanwhile, has lost the ability to perform its core functions without the help of contractors. Its own equipment is out of date, and the best experts have fled to the private sector (The Shock Doctrine, p. 417).

Even more surreally, governments are now seen as competitors. In a 2006 report titled, “Neglected Defense: Mobilizing the Private Sector to Support Homeland Security” – whose advisory committee included some of the largest corporations in the sector – warned that “the compassionate federal impulse to provide emergency assistance to the victims of disasters affects the market’s approach to managing its exposure to risk.” Too-compassionate governments could, unless controlled, hamper the corporate fleecing of desperate people. Published by the Council on Foreign Relations, the report argued that if people know the government will come to the rescue, they have no incentive to pay for private, for-profit, protection. In a similar vein, a year after Katrina, CEOs from thirty of the largest corporations in the US joined together under the umbrella of the Business Roundtable, which includes in its membership Fluor, Bechtel and Chevron. The group, calling itself Partnership for Disaster Response, complained of “mission creep” by the nonprofit sector in the aftermath of disasters. Apparently charities and NGOs were infringing on their market by donating building supplies rather than having Home Depot supply them for a fee (The Shock Doctrine, p. 418).

For the corporations involved, the bad news is that, unfortunately, large-scale disasters – whether made by CIA-backed armies, IMF-sponsored destruction of their economy, or Mother Nature – these lucky breaks can’t continue forever. Naomi Klein predicts that when the disaster bubble bursts, firms such as Bechtel, Fluor and Blackwater will lose much of their primary revenue streams. The next phase, she thinks, is all too clear: with emergencies on the rise, government no longer able to foot the bill, and citizens stranded by their can’t-do state, the parallel corporate state will rent back its disaster infrastructure to whoever can afford it, at whatever price the market will bear. For sale will be everything from helicopter rides off rooftops to drinking water to beds in shelters (The Shock Doctrine, p. 419).

In a widely circulated manifesto for Fast Company magazine, John Robb (former covert-action mission commander with Delta Force turned successful management consultant) describes the “end result” of the war on terror as an approach to national security built not around the state but around private citizens and companies”. [Your] security will become a function of where you live and whom you work for, much as health care is allocated already. Wealthy individuals and multinational corporations will be the first to bail out of our collective system, opting instead to hire private military companies, such as Blackwater and Triple Canopy, to protect their homes and facilities and establish a protective perimeter around daily life. Parallel transportation networks – evolving out of the time-share aircraft companies such as Warren Buffett’s NetJets – will cater to this group, leapfrogging its members from one secure, well-appointed lily pad to the next.” That elite world is already largely in place, but Robb predicts that the middle class will soon follow suit, “forming suburban collectives to share the costs of security.” In other words, a world of suburban Green Zones. As for those outside the secured perimeter, “they will have to make do with the remains of the national system. They will gravitate to America’s cities, where they will be subject to ubiquitous surveillance and marginal or nonexistent services. For the poor, there will be no other refuge” (The Shock Doctrine, p. 420). To translate, this means that how safe you are will depend on race and economic class, not citizenship or your rights as a human.

The American Society of Civil Engineers said in 2007 that the US had fallen so far behind in maintaining its public infrastructure – roads, bridges, schools, dams – that it would take more than a trillion and a half dollars over five years to bring it back up to standard. But of course these are the types of expenditures that are being cut back. It’s easy to imagine a future in which growing numbers of cities have their frail and long-neglected infrastructures knocked out by disasters and then are left to rot, their core services never repaired or rehabilitated. The well-off, meanwhile, will withdraw into gated communities, their needs met by private companies – hired guns (The Shock Doctrine, p. 415).

The process is already well under way. Another glimpse of a disaster apartheid future can be found in a wealthy Republican suburb outside Atlanta. Its residents decided that they were tired of watching their property taxes subsidize schools and police in the country’s low-income African-American neighborhoods. They voted to incorporate as their own city, Sandy Springs, which could spend its taxes on services for its 100,000 citizens and not have the revenues redistributed throughout the larger Fulton County. They had no government structures. In September 2005, the same month that New Orleans flooded, the residents of Sandy Springs were approached by the construction and consulting giant CH2M Hill with a unique pitch: let us do it for you. For the starting price of $27 million a year, the contractor pledged to build a complete city from the ground up. A few months later, Sandy Springs became the first “contract city.” Only four people worked directly for the new municipality – everyone else was a contractor. The Atlanta Journal-Constitution reported that “when Sandy Springs hired corporate workers to run the new city, it was considered a bold experiment.” Within a year, however, contract-city mania was tearing through Atlanta’s wealthy suburbs, and it had become “standard procedure in north Fulton County.” Soon, a campaign began for the new corporate cities to join together to form their own county, which would mean that none of their tax dollars would go to the poor neighborhoods nearby. This will create areas like the Green Zones in Baghdad, and New Orleans”. (The Shock Doctrine, p. 422).

These patterns of economic class (and race) stratification have been repeated everywhere that the Chicago School ideology has triumphed. In December 2006, a month after Friedman died, a UN study found that “the richest 2 per cent of adults in the world own more than half of global household wealth.” The shift has been starkest in the US, where CEOs made 43 times what the average worker earned in 1980, when Reagan kicked off the Friedmanite crusade. By 2005, CEOs earned 411 times as much (The Shock Doctrine, p. 444).

Throughout its thirty-five-year history, the Chicago School agenda has advanced through the intimate cooperation of powerful business figures, crusading ideologues and strong-arm political leaders (The Shock Doctrine, p. 445).

This is about the master narrative of our times, the “back-story” of the world, the fact that it has almost never really been run by voters, citizens, never followed the polite rules, almost never run like a democracy. It indicts the deep and now dangerous naïveté of citizens – perhaps especially liberals. Too many citizens – goaded on by the media that are owned by about five giant corporations – act as though this is a democracy, as though of course those are the rules, and we just need a bigger parade or bigger protest or self-righteous PBS specials to get our leaders to return to playing by those rules. But the rules were changed to enable better profit-taking by the few from the many, as they were changed in many other countries.

The forty- or fifty-year history of “terrorism” conducted in European countries by right-wing groups within those countries in order to put citizens into manageable states of shock – all of which were apparently done with the philosophical and economic backing of our own CIA – should raise some sober and frightening questions about the violence done to our own country that achieved similar ends. The reluctance to acknowledge that, to name the real powers and principalities that actually run the world, to challenge the biggest of the lies, is to remain in a kind of Disneyland, irrelevant to the world around us, as meek accomplices in the rape of the world. When we read that there are now about ten lobbyists in Washington D.C. for every elected official, or that all nominated presidential candidates are funded primarily by corporations – do we really think this has no implications? John Jay, the first Chief Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court, once said that the people who own the country ought to run it. That was accomplished quite a while ago – we have been on our knees far longer than we want to acknowledge.

Now, still rushing, I want to move toward some of the very real and very optimistic signs that are going on all over the world.

The kind of hope that is flowering is like the widespread grass-roots movements going on in Latin America that I talked about a few weeks ago, but on a much, much larger scale. A church member sent me a wonderful essay by Paul Hawken that I hadn’t seen, which describes a lot of this. The essay is taken from his new book Blessed Unrest, but he’s been writing books on ecology and commerce for twenty years. (A Global Democratic Movement Is About to Pop, by Paul Hawken, Orion Magazine, posted on May 1, 2007, printed on April 1, 2008

http://www.alternet.org/story/51088/)

He says he’s given nearly a thousand talks about the environment in the past fifteen years, and has noticed something he believes is unprecedented in human history: the existence of what he now believes are between one and two million organizations working toward ecological sustainability and social justice all over the world. They represent the hope for a better world that beckons us.

This is a kind of burgeoning awareness, growing and spreading in every city and country, made up of families in India, students in Australia, farmers in France, the landless in Brazil, the poor of Honduras and Durban, villagers in remote places, indigenous tribes of Bolivia, and housewives in Japan. Its leaders are farmers, zoologists, shoemakers and poets.

Our media don’t make us aware of the huge movement bubbling up. When the African woman Wangari Maathai won the Nobel Peace Prize a few years ago, the wire service stories didn’t mention the network of six thousand different women’s groups in Africa planting trees. But that’s the really empowering story, not the more sensational story about the one woman who started it, even though Maathai deserves recognition for her hard and brilliant work bringing the problem to the world’s attention. When we hear about a chemical spill in a river, is it ever mentioned that more than four thousand organizations in North America have adopted a river, creek, or stream in order to clean it up and save it?

Paul Hawken says this is the first time in history that a large social movement is not bound together by a charismatic leader. What bind it together are ideas, not ideologies. What this nameless movement is doing is to offer solutions to what appear to be insoluble dilemmas: poverty, global climate change, terrorism, ecological degradation, polarization of income and loss of culture. And what drives it is tens or hundreds of millions of people getting back in touch – in spite of their governments – with what it means to be fully human, alive, and involved. Theologically, it is people getting back to serving a god worth serving, a god of life, love, justice and courage. It is like children beginning to stand up in that valley, to notice and connect with the others who are standing up.

I hope and believe that this dispersed movement will prevail, will suffuse and permeate most institutions. I think it may change enough people to begin the reversal of centuries of frenzied self-destruction. This is like the story of The Hundredth Monkey from a generation ago.

The kind of healing, the kind of revolution we need, according to Naomi Klein, Paul Hawken, John Perkins and millions of others involved in these movements, will not come from our governments, and will not come from electing a Democratic president. It won’t come from superficial NPR and PBS programs merely milking the surface features of deep crimes for the day’s entertainment. Both NPR and PBS, it seems to me, have become a lot like the opiates of the intellectual class. It’s unrealistic to expect our mass media to educate us, because this kind of education does not draw crowds, but our mass media are struggling for existence and need crowds in order to attract advertisers. And these financial controls apply to NPR and PBS almost as much as they do to the mainstream media.

If we are to have a safe and fair new world, it will come, as it came in the children’s story, from individuals beginning to stand up to the moral midgets who have run roughshod over our world for a very long time. It will come from individuals standing up to them – here, there, and everywhere. Like the Iraqi Parliament members who are refusing to be bribed even for five million dollars because they serve higher and holier values. To stand up is to refuse to be terrorized by governments who learned long ago that keeping us frightened is the best way to make us give up our freedoms. Healing ourselves and our world is not a liberal or a conservative activity. It is a sacred activity, and it is absolutely within our reach. It is time to stand up.

The Most Dangerous Fundamentalism on Earth, Part IV

© Davidson Loehr

 6 April 2008

 First UU Church of Austin

 4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

 www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

Children’s Story, Part 1:

Once there was a wonderful green and pretty valley with lots of boys and girls who all got along with each other. Even brothers and sisters never fought! That’s almost impossible to believe, isn’t it? But that’s what this valley was like. They spent their time in the summer playing games, always playing fair, and making lots of friends. It was a place where everybody had a lot of friends. They played all kinds of games together, and got along a lot better than they sometimes do in school here.

Then one day some strange new people came to the valley. They hadn’t had new people in so long nobody could remember if they’d ever had new people. These people were very short, and that was ok, but they also looked really mean. Their eyes squinted and when they talked to you, you got the idea that they really didn’t care about you at all, they were just looking to see if they could trick you out of anything. And when they talked, they talked too loud, and always seemed angry. They yelled. Just listening to them was kind of scary, you know?

And they said things that just sounded silly. They would say, “You little kids are all very short.” When they were the shortest people in the valley. When one boy spoke up and reminded them that they were short, while the kids in the valley were all taller than they were, they got that squinty-eyed look, and said “That’s because you’re supposed to be walking on your knees. Why are you standing on your feet? You’re supposed to be walking on your knees!” A bunch of kids, while still trying to be polite, pointed out that no, nobody was supposed to walk on their knees, and yes, they really were taller than these new mean people. But the new people just got meaner, and louder. “You’re supposed to walk on your knees!” they would shout. “Get down on your knees!” And that kind of a voice can really scare you, even if you’re right and they’re wrong, you know?

Before too long, one or two of the kids who were really scared by the yelling said, “Well maybe we are supposed to walk on our knees. Maybe we should get down on our knees.” Other kids laughed at them and said that was nonsense, but they’d say, “But they’re yelling it. they’re so loud. They act so sure. Maybe they’re right. Or maybe if we’d walk on our knees, they’d stop yelling.” Some other kids chimed in and said it was worth it to get them to stop yelling. And before you knew it, most of the kids actually began walking on their knees! The other kids told them they were being silly, but the truth is that they were afraid, and sometimes when we’re afraid we do silly things. Before long, every boy and girl in the valley was walking on their knees. Some of the kids even lay down on their backs, or turned over and hid their faces, trying to disappear. And so now these strange new short mean little people really were the tallest people in the valley.

Something is wrong about getting people to walk on their knees. But still, that’s where they are, and they’re going to stay there until next week when we hear the end of the story.

PRAYER:

Let us bow to causes that serve life, truth, justice, the empowerment of the many – all the things that the great prophets and sages of history have preached. Their insights linger in our cultural DNA, and still tempt us to serve such high, deep, broad pleadings of life more abundant.

Let us be appropriately bowed to these transcendent ideals, and yoked to their demands on us, for that kind of bowing and yoking cherish us and put within our souls the breath of a god of life.

But let us never be put into the position of bowing as though we were meant to be on our knees, as though we were inferior beings.

And let us not bow too far or for too long to fear, for fear can so easily be used to paralyze our spirits and enslave us.

We bend to the voices of a high moral calling; we yoke our spirits to serve life, but not the enemies of life.

When we bow, when we consent to be yoked to persons or to causes, let us remember we are children of God, the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself, and the hope of our world. Bowing to callings that are worthy of that spark of God within us empowers us. Let us seek to be empowered, and to empower others. Amen.

SERMON: The Most Dangerous Fundamentalism on Earth, Part 4

I want to talk about some more applications of the three-part plan to loot national economies that have been done since 1990. It was Milton Friedman’s economic plan for transferring wealth to the top and disempowering or eliminating the middle class. Ironically, or perhaps cynically, it is called Free Trade. In practice, it looks like this:

First, there needs to be what Friedman called a crisis: something to paralyze or distract the citizens, to get them off-balance for awhile.

1. Then the plan is quickly put into effect, to sell off government assets to privileged private buyers. The code word for this is “privatization.”

2. The second part of the plan is to remove all laws that could get in the way of this easy looting and allow foreign companies – especially U.S. companies – free access to all their markets, without tariffs or taxes meant to protect the local economy. The code word for this is “deregulation.”

3. The third part is to disempower and begin to dismantle the middle class, the workers, as obstacles, by eliminating their social support services – and transferring the money from them to privileged private buyers. The code words for this are “cuts to social spending.”

If you’ve been here for even one or two of the three earlier sermons, you know the plot, and you know what’s going to happen each and every time, though it may happen a bit differently each time, as they react creatively to each kind of crisis.

One thing you can count on is that the stories we got from our media were never the whole story. Another is that beneath all the stories of robbery, manipulation and violence, we’re really talking about the gods we are serving as we shape and misshape our world. As a theologian, that’s what most interests me. Let’s start with a country we all remember being excited about in the 1990’s: South Africa after Nelson Mandela was released from prison, and the African National Congress was given a certain kind of power in 1994. I remember it as an exciting, positive time, but never heard the deeper economic story. See how much of the rest of this you remember getting from the media, and ask yourself what values, what gods, are being served.

To summarize it, the story is that after Nelson Mandela was released from prison, F. W. De Klerk and others made much of the “freedom,” while secretly writing the economic and legal agreement that would insure that blacks received no economic freedom, and in fact had to pay the whites huge sums, so the whites were still supported by the blacks, whose economic condition became worse. Mandela and the others had been snookered, and so were the rest of us, through the misleading or uninformed media coverage.

Thabo Mbeki, Mandela’s right hand during his presidency and his successor, introduced the Chicago agenda in June 1996, even saying “Just call me a Thatcherite” to signal that South Africa was largely for sale to foreigners (The Shock Doctrine, p. 209). How has it worked for the people? You know the plot by now, so the general picture won’t surprise you, though the details might.

Forty percent of the government’s annual debt payments go to the country’s massive pension fund. The vast majority of the beneficiaries are former white apartheid employees. So in the end, South Africa has wound up with a twisted case of reparations in reverse, with the white businesses that reaped enormous profits from black labor during the apartheid years paying not a cent in reparations, but the victims of apartheid continuing to send large paychecks to their former victimizers. And how do they raise the money for this generosity? Through taxes, and by selling off the government’s assets – a modern form of the very looting that the ANC had been so intent on avoiding (The Shock Doctrine, p. 213).

Since 1990, the year Nelson Mandela left prison, the average life expectancy for black South Africans has dropped by thirteen years (The Shock Doctrine, p. 206).

– Since 1994, the year the ANC took power, the number of people living on less than $1 a day has doubled, from 2 million to 4 million in 2006.

– Between 1991 and 2002, the unemployment rate for black South Africans more than doubled, from 23 percent to 48 percent.

– Of South Africa’s 35 million black citizens, only five thousand earn more than $60,000 a year (that’s one in 7,000). The number of whites in that income bracket is twenty times higher, and many earn far more than that amount.

We must not pretend that it is a coincidence or aberration when these economic disempowerments happen in any society, including our own. This awareness of the design behind the destruction – the master narrative – is the greatest source of our hope, and of our power.

Now let’s leave Africa, though its tragic stories may stay with you, as they have stayed with me. But there’s more to tell, for the 1990’s saw another dramatic and far-reaching new tactic emerge, that you probably didn’t know about.

On January 13, 1993 the new Friedmanite rulers were at a small invitation-only conference at the Carnegie Conference Center, near the White House, the IMF, and the World Bank. John Williamson, the powerful economist known for shaping the missions of both the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund, had convened the event as a historic gathering of the Chicago School tribe. In his address, he raised a stunning, nearly paralyzing, question:

One will have to ask whether it could conceivably make sense to think of deliberately provoking a crisis so as to remove the political logjam to reform.

Williamson’s remarks represented a major leap forward for the shock doctrine: the idea of actively creating a serious crisis so that Friedman’s economic shock therapy could be pushed through was now being openly discussed by people who could and did influence economies around the world (The Shock Doctrine, p. 256).

The first country to do this was Canada. The financial community circulated rumors that Canada’s currency was in trouble and the stocks were a dangerous investment – these were all lies. They wanted to create a false deficit crisis. By the time Canadians learned that the “deficit crisis” had been invented and grossly manipulated by the corporate-funded think tanks, it no longer mattered – the budget cuts had already been made and locked into law. As a direct result, social programs for the country’s unemployed were radically reduced, successfully robbed, and have never recovered, despite many subsequent surplus budgets.

The strategy of intentionally creating crises was used again and again in this period. In September 1995, a video was leaked to the Canadian press of Ontario’s minister of education, telling a closed-door meeting of civil servants that before cuts to education and other unpopular reforms could be announced, a climate of panic needed to be created by leaking information that painted a dire picture. He called it “creating a useful crisis” (The Shock Doctrine, p. 258-259).

Two years later, Michael Bruno, chief economist of development economics at the World Bank, re-emphasized John Williamson’s new plan, again without attracting media scrutiny. In a lecture to the International Economic Association in Tunis in 1995, later even published as a paper by the World Bank, Bruno addressed five hundred assembled economists from sixty-eight countries. He said that there was a growing consensus about “the idea that a large enough crisis may shock otherwise reluctant policymakers into instituting productivity-enhancing reforms.”

And just in case the audience missed the point, Bruno said, “I have emphasized one major theme: the political economy of deep crises tends to yield radical reforms with positive outcomes.”

Remember to unpack the code words. “Productivity-enhancing” does not mean plans to increase production by raising workers” salaries and benefits. It means those legal reforms making it easy for high-level investors to loot the economies of target nations – including their own nation, as Canada had shown. There is no national loyalty in this scheme; it is only about making money.

To help create these wonderful profit-taking opportunities, Bruno argued that international agencies needed to do more than just take advantage of existing economic crises to push through Friedman’s fundamentalist capitalism – they needed to preemptively cut off aid to make those crises worse”. Bruno conceded that this was frightening – government salaries would go unpaid, public infrastructure would rot – but, Chicago disciple that he was, he urged his audience to embrace this destruction as the first stage of creation. “Indeed, as the crisis deepens,” he said, “the government may gradually wither away” (The Shock Doctrine, p. 259-260).

This, of course, was seen as a good thing for predatory investors. The effects of a withered government, robbed of its ability to provide social support or infrastructure services to protect its citizens – these things were never considered. They didn’t matter. Once you choose the gods you will serve, you find that all gods are jealous gods, and serving them automatically eliminates some actions even from being seen, let alone considered.

These are the plans for economic looting that have run much of the world and been used to devastate and rob country after country under the Nixon, Reagan, Bush, Clinton and Bush administrations in an uninterrupted, bipartisan line since Nixon’s 1973 CIA-funded coup in Chile – or even going back to the Johnson administration and our CIA-backed coup installing Suharto as the brutal dictator of Indonesia in 1965.

It usually involves finding people within a country who are willing to sell it out, betray it or even attack it. They may do it for great personal wealth, as the rulers get, or in service of a far right-wing ideology in which they believe, and which they believe demands violence in order to succeed. And of course, some of them are simply psychopaths, drawn by the violence and lawlessness.

Some of the backstory of a lot of the violence and terrorism in the West since 1953 has only come to light during the past decade. There is an important book called NATO’s Secret Armies: Operation Gladio and Terrorism in Western Europe by Daniele Ganser (published September 2001).

It is a detailed study of the secret right-wing armies formed by our CIA and the secret services of nearly all West European countries after WWII and continuing into recent times – perhaps to the present day.

The stated purpose of the violence – which involved the murders of thousands of their own citizens – was both to suppress the Left and to induce such fear and terror in the citizens that they would willingly give up more of their rights, helping to create a more autocratic state. In Ganser’s detailed research, both former CIA operatives and those active or in charge of the many secret armies planted throughout western Europe stated that all terrorism in western Europe since 1953 was done by the secret intelligence agencies within the victims” own governments, with the tactical and economic aid of our own CIA. They were killing their own people to create the atmosphere of terror that makes people easier to command and control.

Ganser says, “The secret armies were involved in a whole series of terrorist operations and human rights violations that they wrongly blamed on the Communists in order to discredit the left at the polls. The operations always aimed at spreading maximum fear among the population and ranged from bomb massacres in trains and market squares in Italy, the use of systematic torture of opponents in Turkey, the support for right-wing coup d’etats in Greece and Turkey, to the smashing of opposition groups in Portugal and Spain.” (Ganser, p. 2)

So these bold plans to pro-actively cripple entire societies and induce an atmosphere of fear or terror that were spoken out loud by influential Chicago school economists in the 1990s were not new plans, just new variations on old and established plans, just as their economic shock therapy had footnotes to the electroshock experiments at McGill University in the 1950s.

Now we have to move on again. The next happy accident that opened doors for this now-perfected scheme of looting a society came through crises that were neither militarily nor economically imposed, but through natural disasters. The first natural disaster this Chicago school group took advantage of was Hurricane Mitch.

In 1998, Hurricane Mitch lashed the coasts and mountains of Honduras, Guatemala and Nicaragua, swallowing up villages whole and killing more than nine thousand people. University of Chicago-trained economists immediately flew there to help. Within two months, the Honduran congress passed laws – now you’ll be able to see this coming – selling off government-owned airports, seaports and highways, the state telephone company, the national electric company and parts of the water sector. It overturned progressive land-reform laws, making it far easier for foreigners to buy and sell property, and rammed through a radically pro-business mining law (drafted, as you would now expect, by the mining industry) that lowered environmental standards and made it easier to evict people from homes that stood in the way of new mines (The Shock Doctrine, p. 395).

By the time the big tsunami hit on December 26, 2004, Washington was ready to take the Hurricane Mitch model to the next level – aiming not just at rewriting the laws and looting the country’s assets, but now also at our direct corporate control over the reconstruction (The Shock Doctrine, p. 396), squeezing even more money out of disasters.

A year after the tsunami, the respected non-governmental organization ActionAid, which monitors foreign aid spending, published the results of an extensive survey of fifty thousand tsunami survivors in five countries. The same patterns repeated everywhere: residents were barred from rebuilding, but hotels were showered with incentives to build on their land; temporary camps were miserable militarized holding pens, and almost no permanent reconstruction had been done. The study concluded that the setbacks could not be chalked up to the usual villains of poor communication, underfunding or corruption. The problems were structural and deliberate: “Governments have largely failed in their responsibility to provide land for permanent housing,” the report concluded. “They have stood by or been complicit as land has been grabbed and coastal communities pushed aside in favor of commercial interests” (The Shock Doctrine, p. 399).

Backed up by the guns of local police and private security, it was militarized gentrification, class war on the beaches (The Shock Doctrine, p. 402).

This is only partly about a violent economic scheme born in the University of Chicago School of Economics that has wreaked havoc all over the world. More fundamentally, it is about the gods we serve the gods our country is serving, and the terrible cost of serving gods not worth serving.

If you can ignore the plight of the vast majority of people, you see what a terrific opportunity for profit intentionally created military and economic crises and natural disasters can offer to those prepared to capitalize on them, as Milton Friedman had written back in 1982. But to think that way, you have to serve a god whose heart has been ripped out and replaced by a safety deposit box.

Everywhere the Chicago School crusade has triumphed, it has created a permanent underclass of between 25 and 60 percent of the population. It is always a form of war, always a form of economic genocide (The Shock Doctrine, p. 405).

Let’s spend a few final minutes on Katrina. It won’t surprise you to learn that Milton Friedman wrote in his Wall Street Journal op-ed, that Katrina was “also an opportunity” (The Shock Doctrine, p. 410), because now you know exactly what he meant by that.

In New Orleans, as in Iraq – which I’ll talk about next week – no opportunity for profit was left untapped. For example, Kenyon, a division of the huge funeral conglomerate Service Corporation International (and a major Bush campaign donor), was hired to retrieve the dead from homes and streets. The company charged the state, on average, $12,500 per victim (The Shock Doctrine, p. 411).

Who pays for all this? In order to offset the tens of billions of dollars going to private companies in contracts and tax breaks, in November 2005 the Republican-controlled Congress announced that it needed to cut $40 billion from the federal budget. Among the programs that were slashed were student loans, Medicaid and food stamps. In other words, the poorest citizens in our country subsidized the contractor bonanza in New Orleans twice – first when Katrina relief morphed into unregulated corporate handouts, and second when the few programs that directly assist the unemployed and working poor nationwide were gutted to pay those bloated bills. Not so long ago, disasters were periods of social leveling, rare moments when communities put divisions aside and pulled together. Increasingly, however, disasters are the opposite: they provide windows into a cruel and ruthlessly divided future in which money and race buy survival (The Shock Doctrine, p. 413). While the assets and social programs of a government – including our own – are plundered, laws are rewritten to make the plundering technically legal, and social supports are cut, helping to weaken and eliminate the middle class.

Here’s another way to put this. A small but powerful group of moral midgets has invaded our world. Through tactics of fear and terror, they have put hundreds of millions of people who are their moral and spiritual superiors on their knees or on their backs. It is not right. Can so many good people really be kept on their knees and their backs forever? Would any decent gods sanction such brutality? Could any people of decent and healthy faith abide such an unfair and immoral state?

Well, as you’ve also seen coming, this story is continued until next week.