The Religious Instinct and Modern Civilization- Gary Bennett

© Gary Bennett

October 22, 2006

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

SERMON

Imagine this: you are surrounded by loved ones, without inflated egos or scrambling for rank, wealth and power. Private property is limited to the decorative or personal. There is no “marrying or being given into marriage,” at least not as an economic unit. There is plenty to do, but it is meaningful. You labor until the task is done; then everybody rests or celebrates. You feel pleasantly tired, doing work your body was designed to do, without grinding you down. Fruits and nuts are there to be picked from the trees and bushes; game is plentiful. The land flows with milk and honey in Earth’s Great Garden. Best of all is the sharing with close friends of poems, stories, gossip, jokes; discreet flirtations and wild romances; mountaintop experiences of shared religious ecstasy or the serenity that comes from deep understanding.

This may not be your vision of Paradise, but it has commonly been so for peoples throughout the ages. Some, like the Jews and Greeks, had it as the Golden Age at the beginning of the world; others, like Christians, Moslems and Marxists, made it the outcome at the end of History.

The Greeks might insist Eternity is only for souls stripped of all human traits; Christians might fill up Heaven with activities that bore us silly on Earth. But there is a part of us that deeply craves a proper existence, one we never seem to get in this life, of intimacy, acceptance and meaning. This Heaven also resembles the reality of hunter/gatherer life for millions of years of our ancestors, at least “on a good day;” there were ups and downs, times when the game was scarce, the berries poisoned, the milk soured and the honey got you stung.

The Serpent in the Garden brought agriculture, starting about 10,000 years ago. It did not win because it was attractive to the tribes: the originally nomadic Hebrews called it the “curse of Adam;” and farming cultures have often lived in fear of having their own children “go native.” Agriculture won out nonetheless because it could support far larger populations.

Human nature was shaped in a fiery caldron. Without a strongly cohesive band of adults watching over the young and passing on skills and lore, humans were the most helpless of animal species; with such bonds in place, humans were so successful that they could think about other matters beyond survival. Our normal behavior does not make sense in a usual Darwinian model – why do we spend time gossiping with neighbors instead of foraging for dinner? – unless we understand that it is the result of ages of strong selective pressure for socialization. There were several different genetic adaptations toward this end, including a retooling of sexual behavior and a hard-wiring of language abilities. Religion was also part of this species makeover.

Part of our religious instinct reinforces group bonding. Religious cravings can only be satisfied by group participation. Have you ever wondered why you wonder?

All of us desire to understand our place in the scheme of things. Why am I here? What is the meaning of life, the universe and everything? How was the world created? How will it end? Why do evils like drought, scarce food, disease and dangerous animals exist? What are thunder and lightning? Tell me about death and what comes after.

The fact that we consider these questions important is rather odd. No other animals ponder such questions: they do not enhance survival. Yes, all animals attempt to avoid danger and death, but mostly by instinct. Thinking about death, fearing it, obsessing over it, does not make humans more likely to survive; brooding about death may even decrease survival chances.

But our questions cry for answers, and to get them we need other people, if only to reassure us – thus we bond to get something we need. The road to serenity is found in The Mysteries, rituals that promote secret and sure understanding. Today we claim to value scientific knowledge, but science is always tentative, and it does not satisfy the soul. You can’t make a religion out of science, as the content keeps changing, new explanations replace the old, and lack of absolute certainty leads to anxiety.

The Mysteries are sometimes physically addictive. We lose ourselves in them; the sights, the sounds, even the smells stimulate the senses. Sex and mind-altering drugs could enhance the mood of religious ecstasy. In America we have had Jim Jones, David Koresh, Philadelphia’s MOVE and the Comet Cult; each exercised psychic power over adherents to the point of mass suicide.

But for many, serenity itself is the sweetest gift, the “peace that passeth understanding.” And none of this makes any sense whatsoever in conventional Darwinian terms; objective knowledge of the real world should always beat fantasy and thus lead to higher survival rates, while the delusional self-destruct and do not leave progeny behind.

Let’s look at the underlying problem. Selfish behavior will always produce more progeny than unselfish behavior; so it should always be selected for, even in social species. Cheaters should out-breed cooperators; those who live to fight another day should inherit the earth, tearing it from the cold dead hands of the brave and self-sacrificing.

Sociability should be steadily undermined, until it pushes a social species to extinction. Bees and ants found one workaround: cooperation, hard work, altruism and self-sacrifice on the part of workers do not result in fewer progeny, because workers are always infertile; those traits are of value to the queen; so the queen which passes on the most altruistic genes to her workers will have an edge.

Our human ancestors took another path. Perhaps the original method of selection was simple: if your tribe got too anti-social, it would drop out of the gene pool, and leave a niche for tribes that hadn’t. But religion is a more elegant response.

We are wired to carry within ourselves an image of what society and pro-social behavior should be, idealized images from our childhood – unselfish cooperation and affection among members of the group. Some of us may be more tolerant and flexible than others, but all are wired to defer to “elders” who feel and express the “conservative images” most strongly. Reactions are triggered by extremely selfish or antisocial behavior; the group takes action against the deviant, through ostracism, exile or even death, but in any case exclusion from the gene pool. Extraordinary courage and sacrifice are also socially reinforced : “none but the brave deserve the fair,” we say. In hunter/gatherer society, these mechanisms kept human sociability, cooperation and altruism stable over vast ages.

In the change to herding and farming, there were many dramatic changes, but the fundamentals of relationships changed little: it took a village instead of a tribe to raise a child; there was still a rough equality of wealth and status; religion continued to be a shared monitoring for selfish behavior.

But by 3300 BC, cities had begun to appear in Mesopotamia, piling village on village, plus those bereft of any community; in this chaos, tribal mechanisms no longer worked. The first rulers were priest-kings, originally bureaucrats handling religious rites. Religious control became political control. Non-orthodoxy was treason; religion kept citizens obedient. Reciprocity of rights and responsibilities, an integral part of human society from its origins, was gone. Some people became tools to be used by others; and the earliest human governments were among the most despotic that have ever existed.

Thus began “status quo religion,” the use of human religious instincts for the benefit of an elite. Thousands of years later Constantine made Christianity the official religion of the Roman Empire, hoping the piety of the Christians would shore up a decaying civil society. Before the American Civil War, Baptist, Methodist and Presbyterian churches split nationally, with their Southern branches remaining loyal to slavery and the planter class. And then came the modern Religious Right.

Fundamentalism among evangelical Protestants dates to the early part of the 20th century as a reaction against Darwin’s Theory of Evolution. William Jennings Bryan might be a political liberal; but as the most respected Biblical literalist of his day, he was dragooned into being spokesman for that cause and became branded forever, not as one of our heroes, but as the foolish villain of Inherit the Wind. For all that, fundamentalism was still a fringe movement in my youth. In the “60s Nixon initiated the first “wedge issue” campaign, his “Silent Majority.”

His successors in the “70s brought modern business techniques to creation of a religious right machine: mailing lists were assembled; evangelical ministers and conservative Catholic clergy were courted and tempted with power; conservative denominations like Southern Baptists were hijacked by coups, engineered by new corporate style megachurches. Conservative Protestants and Catholics, whose predecessors had spent the last 400 years trying to exterminate each other, were forged into uneasy political alliance by Radical Right apparachiks. So began the modern campaign to use status quo religion to help forge an American Fascist Movement.

Where the religious instinct originally was used to monitor the behavior of people close to you, wedge issue politics today use modern advertising methods, mass media and coordinated attacks to arouse anxieties and feed off them by generating an endless succession of issues, each painted as a spontaneous reaction to some incredible attack on values. News and entertainment media have long been used to this end; they make grisly crime stories their meat, as the public can be entertained indefinitely in anticipating an equally grisly vengeance, while coming to fear their own communities.

But modern propaganda techniques have also managed to elevate to the highest levels of public importance such things as never ending wars on drugs, wardrobe malfunctions, celebrity peccadilloes, steroids in sports, taking the X out of Xmas, teaching science in science class or sex in health class, and in fact almost anything which might suggest that sex continues to exist and motivate human beings, yea even unto the current generation.

The Terry Schiavo case is wedge issue politics at its most obscene. Her higher brain cells were long dead, and she had been in the limbo of a persistent vegetative state for 15 years. An army of doctors supported this diagnosis; an endless array of judges supported her husband’s right to terminate medical intervention.

But what was the message delivered by television news coverage? Doctored video footage was played over and over, an endless stream of libelous attacks on her husband’s character were shown, all trying to persuade us that this was a vibrant young woman on the verge of waking up, yet subjected to a slow tortured death by inhuman secular liberals. Attacks on the Constitution, death threats against judges, laws riding roughshod over separation of powers and Federal/state divisions, laws aimed at specific individuals; most frightening of all, the total disappearance of any principled opposition in Congress, leaving judicial integrity as the only barrier against government gangsterism.

The roles played by news media and government officials would until recent times have been unthinkable; now they are routine, expected. Some believe the Right overplayed its hand because polls say three-quarters of the American public disapproved; but the experience of recent politics says that the frenzied faithful have long memories and turn out in elections, whereas most of the three-quarters would forget the whole business in a month.

In what was once the world’s premier democracy, these become the stuff of the news and of public discussion, replacing health care, job creation and disappearance, deficits in government budgets and in the balance of trade, Social Security prospects, war, terrorism, nuclear proliferation, climate change, population growth and the depletion of the world’s resources.

The point of wedge issue politics is not to solve problems, for a problem solved is an issue lost; it is to keep the passions constantly at a fever pitch and so overwhelm the democratic process. Rational discussion, even on areas of profound disagreement, is the lifeblood of democracy, but it is poison to status quo religion. Your opponents must be painted as deviants and perverts, not even fully human; their very existence fuels your outrage.

If status quo religion were all that remained of our instinct, we might conclude that religion had become a dangerous atavism, that we would be better off in a totally secular world. Many liberals seem to have reached such a position: for them, secular vs. religious means enlightened vs. troglodyte or even good vs. evil.

That’s pretty much what the fashionable blue state/red state thing is all about – people on both sides of the political fence who believe that wedge issue exploitation is the only way that religion can be part of politics. But status quo religion is a perversion, not the impulse itself. The standard by which hunter/gatherer humans judged each other was not just an idealized world of their own childhoods; it was an unchanging image of cooperation, unselfishness and intimacy. History is filled with prophets who judged their societies not by the desires of rulers, but against the ideal vision of life we carry within us.

When the power of a prophet’s voice matches the strength of his convictions, the world trembles, and sometimes it changes. The prophets of ancient Israel attacked their societies in times of social and economic injustice. “Woe unto those who are at ease in Zion,” said one; of others, it was said that they comforted the afflicted and afflicted the comfortable.

Judaism gained a commitment to social action it has never lost. Jesus argued for a life built on love and compassion, sought out the company of losers, pariahs, lepers and prostitutes, and announced that it were easier “for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.” Early Christians often lived in other-worldly hippie-type communes. Much the same happened with early Islam; and social justice has been a central part of that religion ever since, even more so than in Christianity.

In America, the power of prophetic religion has produced major positive changes at least three times. In the years before the Civil War, most Bible-thumpers who tackled the issue at all were against slavery: some courageously faced death in delivering their message.

Two generations later, in a time disturbingly like our own, with both political parties owned by corporate money, with corruption, cynicism and despair everywhere, a young William Jennings Bryan – yes, he of the Scopes Trial – electrified the Democratic Convention of 1896 with a politically grounded, religiously impassioned keynote speech in which he pleaded that his countrymen not let Mankind be “crucified on a Cross of Gold.” He and his followers made common cause with more secular reformers and recreated the Democrats into a party of reform, arcing from New Freedom through New Deal to Great Society before finally losing their way in the last generation, when they stopped speaking to the needs of the whole nation and started seeing only voting blocs, electoral coalitions, corporate financing and a comfortable status quo.

The third example was the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and “60s, when Rev. Martin Luther King and others were able to share with America the vision of a great crusade for justice and equality that went beyond group interest politics. The Segregationist Deep South never got that support from its own ministers, and its cause was lost; even white Southerners understood at the deepest levels that their cause was wrong, and so the battle was already half over.

Would we then be better off without the religious impulse at all? It can be positive as well as negative in political impact. When it is a negative force, as in recent American politics, some other group is usually manipulating religious feelings for its own purposes.

But an equally important question: is there an alternative? We throw around the word “secular”: what does it mean? Is it a good or bad force in the world? The secular has probably been around from the beginning, making up our underlying personality traits, over which selected religious behaviors are superimposed. All of us, even the various kinds of saints, live in the mundane world most of the time, even if for saints, the context of that daily life is shaped by great religious life choices. And religion has in any case been more for ordinary folks than for elites, leading Karl Marx to his cynical comment about religion being the “opiate of the masses.”

But there are now whole cities, states, civilizations where public piety is exceptional and religious arguments unimportant in civil discourse. Some of America’s great cities may have reached such a condition. We can certainly see a sharp dividing line between blue tending Austin and surrounding small towns and rural areas of Texas; and similarly sharp lines could be drawn all over the country, as between Philadelphia and small town Pennsylvania.

Nobody questions that Europe has become quite secular. Europeans and Americans seemed to be on a similar path toward secularism after 1870, but have diverged rather sharply since World War II, perhaps because of our higher birth rates; having children around seems to correlate to stronger religious feelings. Are there consequences?

As a whole, European nations have made better political choices than the United States since 1945; most Quality of Life indices rank many of these countries above us and the gap widens each decade. These choices appear to be from secular moral systems. Yet an increasingly secularized Europe after 1871 was a seed bed for materialism, racism, Social Darwinism, militarism, fascism and communism, ending in slaughters running to the tens of millions in World War I, World War II, Nazi Holocaust and Stalinist purges. Like religious societies, secular ones can make good or bad moral choices.

While I am a “blue? in the present culture wars, I am uncomfortable that racist and Social Darwinist ideas from a dreadful past have slipped back into vogue among liberals. Many believe that the greater Kerry vote in blue states occurred because people in those states are intellectually superior. But demographic analysis shows that the most Republican tending groups were the richest and, in general, more educated groups, just as in every other election.

Neither religion nor a secular outlook automatically leads to doing the right thing. If you are concerned about wedge issue politics, as I am, then work to control big money spending, money that buys politicians in both parties, uses lying and manipulative advertising, undermines independent journalism with phony news channels and phony reporters – these corrupt political practices have much more to do with the decline of American politics than the passions of evangelicals do; and those who spend the money are consummate hypocrites. And if money is so out of control that the integrity of American politics cannot be restored in any conventional way – then perhaps we should all pray for a return of prophetic religion inspired politics – the only vision which cannot be bought or corrupted, cannot be lied to or manipulated, and which cuts through all pretenses, all humbug.

Much of religious evolution in the past 5000 years can be seen as an attempt to regain the certainty we enjoyed in tribal life. In the West, the first attempt was polytheism: every village religion was considered true; but where one story of deceit, seduction or cruelty by the god was a sacred mystery, a pantheon of such stories invited contempt and disbelief. So philosophers offered a God from reason; though their logic went unchallenged for millennia, common people never found it religiously consoling. Christianity brought the Infallible Church, which proved to be run by quite fallible human beings; then the Inerrant Bible, passages of which contradict not only science, morality and common sense, but each other.

If there is a religious instinct, is our knowledge of God also hard-wired? No such luck: look at the diversity of religions. On ultimate matters, we are always left with a leap of faith. Here is my own:I don’t know if there is a God, but I have staked my life on three bedrock beliefs: first, God cannot be a deceiver – if we have been given the ability to unravel the universe, it cannot be merely to trick us; secondly, God cannot be a cosmic sadist, condemning us to damnation; thirdly, God does not depend on our adulation. Deceit, vanity, torture: the worst of traits in human beings; they are unimaginable in what God must be. The patient and humble methods of science are a surer guide to truth than are sacred texts of primitive peoples or arrogant men who claim they are chummy with the Almighty. The universe is billions of years old, developing according to comprehensible laws; humans got the way they are over long ages of evolution by natural selection. Intelligent Design may lie behind it all; but this is not science.

If God doesn’t need our worship nor punish unbelievers, then our creeds may not be life’s most important religious task. If finding the right answer were crucial, we should have been born with the tools to find it, not left with as many dogmas as there are people to dream them up. What we must know is hard-wired: we are here to need, accept and embrace one another; there is no better way to love and honor God, Whom we have not seen, than to love and honor our neighbor, whom we have.

The prophets, including Jesus, have said this: “inasmuch as you have done it unto the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto me.” I personally do not wish to go back to the Garden of our hunter/gatherer origins. Western Civilization in the last 500 years has enriched human experience immeasurably by its emphasis on the Individual – and we would be diminished to be forced back into the simple life of the tribe. And competitive capitalist economies have unleashed great wealth and innovation, to which we have become rather addicted.

But if the end result of the path our economy, politics and society are on is to turn the whole world into nothing but a vast competitive arena, a war of all against all, with only buying and selling left as a bond between one person and another, then we are on a path to catastrophe, because we are warring against all that made us human in the first place. We shall see an endless succession of rebellions, fundamentalisms, random violence by the alienated, senseless rage everywhere. What our religious sense never stops telling us, the poet W.H. Auden said best: “we must learn to love one another or die.”

Gary Bennett 2006

Absent Fathers – Johnny Cash Sunday

© Jack Harris-Bonham

October 6, 2006

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

Is there any among you, who, if your child asked for bread would give a stone, or if your child ask for a fish would give a snake instead of a fish?

(Luke 11:11 NRSV)

PRAYER

Mystery of many names and mystery beyond all naming, today we’re sitting here celebrating a man’s music and a man’s life. It’s important to remember that this man was full of human foibles and wasn’t exactly in the business of hiding them. We may not agree with his theological assumptions, or like his music, or even think that such a service is appropriate. Doesn’t matter.

This morning we celebrate a man who was willing to stand up for those who have lost their ability to stand for themselves. Our jail populations keep growing each year – more and more of those who should be receiving attention for their mental health problems are ending up in our prisons, our jails, the places we put folks that we’re just not quite sure what to do with them.

In a world where notoriety leads those in the public eye to aggrandize themselves and walk on their fans we give thanks this morning that there are men and women whose fame raises up others besides themselves. No, fame does not legitimize a perspective, but whenever anyone within the public’s attention draws that attention from themselves and to those less fortunate, let us all say a silent, Amen!

And just because it is Johnny Cash Sunday I want to say something for Johnny. Johnny Cash believed that Jesus Christ was his Savior, and I don’t know about you, but that’s just fine with me.

As a matter of fact, it’s fine with me that a whole bunch of folks believe that same thing. As far as I’m concerned there’s simply nothing wrong with that notion. If it serves you, then by all means be served by it.

If it’s minorities and those out of public favor that need to be held up, then I’m holding up all UU’s today. We’re a minority. As Dr. Loehr reminded us not four months ago, more people believe that they have been abducted by aliens then are actually members of the UUA. If we’re not in a minority, I don’t know who is.

And I’m also reminded of Don Smith and what he has to say about diversity. The word diversity means what it says, various in form or quality. I challenge anyone in this congregation to find me another congregation – that is not a UU congregation – that is more diverse, more varied in form and quality than we are.

We’re a bunch of people who are so unlike each other that to know one of us is certainly not to know us all.

And I say, congratulations to us! I’m glad I’m not like you, and you should be thrilled you’re not like me. The thing that we do have in common is our uncommon ability to rest easy with this diversity.

Easy Does It as the bumper sticker used to say. So maybe you don’t like Johnny Cash, maybe he’s Mr. Monotone to you, well, rest easy, the Mozart and the Chopin will return, in the mean time, there’s somebody on your aisle that tapping a foot and sporting a grin.

In the name of everything that is holy, and that is, precisely, everything.

Amen.

SERMON

Introduction: This is an absent Father’s Sermon. This is a sermon about parenting – both present and absent. How present can anyone be in today’s society? And then, there’s the disturbing notion that we are the only Industrialized nation in the world that doesn’t openly support parenting.

There was a time in our culture, and the older members of this congregation can remember it, and some of the younger ones have heard stories about it, when parenting wasn’t the job of simply the mother and the father of the child. There was a time in this culture when parenting was a town’s job, a community’s job and an extended families? job.

But times, sadly, have changed. We are one of the most mobile societies on record. We have computers that we carry with us, phones that we carry with us, electronic appointment books, and we are on the go constantly. The Interstate Road System passed small towns by, Agricultural Mega Farms bought up small farms, churches fell to leisure time and family values have become a weapon to be wielded by politicians.

We pretend that we are in control and that all this technology has opened up new horizons for us, while in truth we are powerless. We scream that we are the most powerful nation on this earth, but this is a scam, a sham – we are dependent, a part of a web that makes the world-wide web look like child’s play, and without one another we are lost.

So this morning I want to tell you a story, a parable if you will. It’s important to remember that “While parables, like fables, allegories and myths, are stories with hidden significance, they are clearly distinguished from these other kinds of stories because of their peculiar characteristics.” (C.H. Dodd suggests) “At its simplest the parable is a metaphor or simile drawn from nature or common life, arresting the hearer by its vividness or strangeness and leaving the mind in sufficient doubt about its precise application to tease it into active thought.” So here’s my parable. I call it the “Parable of the Mismatched Deck.”

Once upon a time there was a man who liked to take evening walks in New York City. He was a big man so he wasn’t afraid of walking while it was getting dark and late. Sometimes he’d walk for hours. He walked every day, but some days when he was troubled or thoughtful, his walk would take him into the night. His wife understood.

Before he started walking he was a worrier and at times not easy to get along with. So – she never said anything about his habit of walking, and she didn’t ask to go along. If he wanted her along surely he would have asked her. About twice a year – when the colors of fall were coming in and after the first snow fall they would take a walk around the neighborhood together.

The first playing card he found was the three of hearts. He saw it lying there on the sidewalk and he walked passed it, but then he stopped, turned around and picked it up. Yep, it was the three of hearts that’s what it was. He put it in his left shirt pocket and thought no more about it.

When his wife was doing the laundry she found it in his shirt pocket and placed on his dresser, right where he put his change and other stuff from his pants.

The next morning he saw it again. There it was the three of hearts. He smiled remembering the walk he’d found it on. He picked it up and kissed it. He didn’t know why he did that. Then he placed it back in his left shirt pocket – right over his heart.

The years went by. The man walked hundreds, maybe thousands of miles. Once he started looking for playing cards, they seemed to be everywhere. He’d memorized the ones he had and he remembered the walk he found each one on. Sometimes, he’d see another three of hearts, but he’d smile and think about how it had started his collection of the 52-card deck.

When the man died his wife came home from the funeral and took the elevator to the 8th floor. She walked down the hall to their apartment, walked in, closed and locked the door behind her. She took off her coat and hat and turned the kettle on for tea. Then, she went into their bedroom and opened the top right drawer of his dresser.

There it was the mismatched deck of 52 that he’d found over the years. Once he’d found all 52, he shuffled the deck a couple of times and placed it in the drawer, and on the evenings after that, when he did walk, odd, even though he looked, he never saw another playing card – not a one.

She took the deck from the drawer, sat down on the bed, and thumbed through them. Once before he died when he was sick, he took the deck and went through each card for her, where he’d found it, what the weather was like, and where he’d walked that day.

She opened the window that overlooked the street below. She threw the cards out with a fanning motion. Some of them caught the updraft from the street below and blew higher than the building next door; some of them went down to the street fast like they had been waiting to escape. The rest were scattered to the wind.

She was smiling when she heard the kettle whistling. She shut the window, shuddered with the cold, put on her sweater and went into the kitchen to call a friend over to have some tea.

I got a letter from my son, Ian, recently. He was worried about his neighborhood. It’s pretty violent. On the day he wrote me someone was scrubbing blood off the walkway in front of where he lives.

There are loads of police-types in the neighborhood, but it seems they are beating up on the people in the neighborhood just about as much as the so-called criminal element.

He starts his letter with, “What’s up, Preacher?!” He then says he hopes everything is fine with me and I know that this is a lead in to things aren’t great with him. And they aren’t. There’s also an element in his neighborhood that’s simply crazy – they maim themselves and wear their scars like metals. My son, Ian, only gets to see his daughter, Emily, once every two months. He and his common-law wife don’t live in the same city. It’s tough on him. She was three years old when this separation happened. The same age he was when I left him with his mother and the friend who wouldn’t go away.

You see, he’s always held it against me that when he was three years old I walked out on his mom and him. He doesn’t know the stories and they weren’t his stories anyway. His story he’s got down. His father walked out of the house when he was three and he never came back. Well, he never came back to stay. His mother married a honest to God Marxist political science professor who quit his job to drive a cab, who then quit the cab business to run a bait shop. I think he was demonstrating Capitalism in reverse. It worked for me.

The Political Science Professor wasn’t even the reason I left. His mother had fallen in love with one of my friends and she wouldn’t tell this friend to go away. It was as simple as that. My whole writing career started out by me writing a story in which I was going to kill this SOB and be done with it. That’s when I discovered the power of story and writing, how you only imagine you’re in charge and when it came time for my character to kill his character it got twisted around and my character ended up dying.

We are dependent, a part of a web that makes the worldwide web look like child’s play, and without one another we are lost.

In the story I tried to change it back the way I wanted it to be. Me killing him, but it didn’t read right that way. The story had its own logic and reason. The story only made sense when my character died. That’s when I realized that if a writer can’t even control his imaginary characters how in God’s name are we as fathers, mothers, sons and daughters supposed to control any of this stuff we call life.

She opened the window that overlooked the street below. She threw the cards out with a fanning motion. Some of them caught the updraft from the street below and blew higher than the building next door; some of them went down to the street fast like they had been waiting to escape. The rest were scattered to the wind.

My son admits to me that he’s told his wife, Jennifer, not to let Emily be with me. He’s told her that because he believes that I have called him a bad father for moving away like he did. In all honesty I never said anything like that. I think it must have gotten back to him that I found it ironic that he thinks I’m a bad father for leaving when he was three and here his daughter, Emily, is three and he moves away from her. Irony appeals to me because it is literally words, deeds and acts meaning the opposite of what they obviously are. In other words when I say I love George Bush, you know that’s irony.

It’s irony that on October 23rd 1883, when Sarah Bernhardt was on her way to America for the first time that she and an older woman were knocked down by a wave that rocked the French ship L’Amerique and it was only through the strength of being an actress trained in the theatrical arts, juggling, dance, fencing, and stage fighting that the divine Miss Sarah was able to jump for that secured deck chair and grab hold for dear life, and it was only because she was a strong and agile actor that Miss Bernhardt was able to reach out then and save the older woman. And was the older woman dressed in her widow’s weeds – as formal mourning wear was called in the 19th Century – was she in the least bit grateful that her life had been saved? No, she wasn’t because she did appreciate irony. For it was ironical that an actor had taken her husband away from her and now it was an actor who was keeping her from going and joining him in his heavenly rest.

After that morning onboard the L’Amerique, Sarah Bernhardt suffered the loss of one of her more famous fans, Mary Todd Lincoln.

She opened the window that overlooked the street below. She threw the cards out with a fanning motion. Some of them caught the updraft from the street below and blew higher than the building next door; some of them went down to the street fast like they had been waiting to escape. The rest were scattered to the wind.

My son goes on in the letter to tell me how bad the food is that he’s served. He’s got a room and board type arrangement. He’s lost down to 190 pounds. He probably looks better – he was a little heavy the last weekend I spent with him.

It was the first time I ever saw my granddaughter. He had warned me that she wouldn’t go to strangers and that if I tried to pick her up she would scream bloody murder.

Her mother drove into the driveway and stopped the car. Emily Rose got out and took off running toward her father, Ian. She ran and jumped into her daddy’s arms and he hugged her real good and she kissed his neck.

The first card he found was the three of hearts. He saw it lying there on the sidewalk and he walked passed it, but then he stopped, turned around and picked it up. Yep, it was the three of hearts that’s what it was. He put it in his left shirt pocket and thought no more about it.

Ian, my son, then told his daughter that the guy standing at the end of the driveway was his daddy. Emily put her little hand up to shield the Florida sun from her eyes. We looked into each other’s eyes. She said something to her dad and he put her down.

I didn’t know what to do, so I bent down and held out my arms.

She never hesitated. She ran from her dad to her granddad and she jumped in an arc into my arms and her little arm went around my neck and she gave me a neck squeeze. I can still feel that little arm around my neck.

We are dependent, a part of a web that makes the worldwide web look like child’s play, and without one another we are lost.

My son, Ian, tells me he could sure use a couple of extra bucks a month – with that money he could buy some better food at the cantina – at least better than they serve at the boarding place. I make a mental note to send him a Western Union Money Gram once a month. He may be 36 – but he’s still my boy, right?

I remember when Serhan B. Serhan’s father was interview by one of the networks shortly after Bobby Kennedy had been killed in that hotel kitchen in Los Angeles. They asked him why his son would do such a thing. The old Arab just looked at the camera and said, “How should I know?”

A father and a son; a father and a daughter. They’re not the same people. One affects the other. The other affects the one. But the one doesn’t cause the other to do anything that the one doesn’t choose to do. Isn’t that right?

There it was the three of hearts. He smiled remembering the walk he’d found it on. He picked it up and kissed it. He didn’t know why he did that. Then he placed it back in his left shirt pocket – right over his heart.

The rest of the letter from my son, Ian, concerns his appeal. He’s appealing to a court system that put him somewhere that he doesn’t want to be. He’s saying what we nearly all say from time to time, “This isn’t fair, I don’t deserve this, Many have done more and are not punished.” He sees his crime as nothing, it’s nothing, I’m in here for nothing. Then he howls as we all have howled from time to time, “Do all you people really feel I deserve this – that I did something to deserve this!”?

Is there any among you, who, if your child asked for bread would give a stone, or if your child ask for a fish would give a snake instead of a fish?

We are dependent, a part of a web that makes the worldwide web look like child’s play, and without one another we are lost.

Conclusion: The last words in his letter are words of love. He is in the penitentiary, my son is locked up like an animal and from this place of incarceration he sends me love. He puts it just like this; “I will always love you for you are my father! But I don’t understand you! Ditto probably! Take care of yourself! Your Son, Ian. Then he adds an “X? and an “O? an “X? and an “O.”

Getting back to the Parable of the Mismatched Deck, how many of you didn’t like the wife when she threw the cards out the window? Maybe she resented all those walks her husband took without her? Maybe she thought he’d had girlfriends and simply collected the cards to remember them by.

So – when she did this, when she scattered his cards of the heart to the wind what did that mean? Was she simply destroying an accidental life’s work, or was she sending 52 other persons, the rest of the neighborhood, out on their quests for completion?

She was smiling when she heard the kettle whistling. She shut the window, shuddered with the cold, put on her sweater and went into the kitchen to call a friend over to have some tea.

The old days are gone. We can’t go back, and we may not be in control, but we are still dependent upon community. That’s what you’re doing here this morning. You are a portion of the lucky few that share community. This is your extended family and it validates your children and it connects them to something greater than the parental unit – something sacred and holy, yes, a web of life that’s vibrant, growing and trustworthy.

Through the Looking Glass

© Jack Harris-Bonham

September 24, 2006

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PRAYER

Mystery of many names and mystery beyond all naming, this Sunday we are contemplating the world – both the world of this church and the world that surrounds this blue marble of our planet.

When we see the devastation of war and the complexities of a world that is supposedly going global in its economics we are struck by the fact that it seems no matter how many countries we get involved in commerce it is nearly always the poor and the disenfranchised that suffer.

China is moving into the foreground of those countries where jobs are being outsourced and their factories are surrounded by razor wire and have armed guards posted twenty-four hours a day.

The workers are told that the wire and guards are there to protect them, but there is a sense in which these wage-slaves are being held captive by the simple fact that their children – like all children everywhere – cry when they are hungry.

Help us to remember these crying children when we go to places that sell cheap because the manufacturing has been cheap. Cheap products are one thing, but life itself should never be sold short, and if cheap means suffering for men, women and children 10,000 miles away perhaps we should reconsidered the purchase.

It’s inescapable that during this Social Action Sunday that we remember the Serenity Prayer used by so many twelve-step programs.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things that I cannot change, the courage to change the things that I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

May the words of our mouths be written on our hearts and may our hearts lead us to clothe the poor, feed the hungry and give succor to those who are in need.

This morning, too, we remember how blessed we are. Before we complain this week about anything may we search our hearts and see that even though we may be in pain, there are roofs over our heads, food on our tables, and hot water in our baths.

We pray this in the name of everything that is holy, and that is, precisely, everything.

Amen.

READINGS

The Parable of the Great Banquet,

Luke 14:16-24 (NIV)

from Through the Looking Glass,

Lewis Carroll

“Oh Kitty! How nice it would be if we could only get through into Looking-glass House! I’m sure it’s got, oh! Such beautiful things in it! Let’s pretend there’s a way of getting through into it, somehow, Kitty. Let’s pretend the glass has got all soft like gauze, so that we can get through. Why, it’s turning into a sort of mist now, I declare! It’ll be easy enough to get through.” And certainly the glass was beginning to melt away, just like a bright silvery mist. In another moment Alice was through the glass, and had jumped lightly down into the Looking-glass room. The very first thing she did was to look whether there was a fire in the fireplace, and she was quite pleased to find that there was a real one, blazing away as brightly as the one she had left behind. “So I shall be as warm here as I was in the old room, – thought Alice: “warmer, in fact, because there’ll be no one here to scold me away from the fire. Oh, what fun it’ll be, when they see me through the glass in here, and can’t get at me!”

SERMON

Introduction:

This morning we have readings from the New Testament and a children’s story by Lewis Carroll. Both are children’s stories in that the Bible comes from a time when Humankind looked upon the world as if it’s author stood afar in heaven and after having created everything looked down upon us. We may no longer believe that there is an old man with a white bread whom we might know as God beneficently looking down and gauging how the world is going any more than we believe that it is possible to walk through a mirror and be in the room that is reflected there in the mirror. Nevertheless, both are parables – both are short fictitious narratives from which morals or spiritual truths can be derived.

When my daughter, Isabelle was little she used to walk through the house with a good-sized mirror in her hand. I would see her stepping over the lentils above the doors as she made her way into the different rooms of the house. I had not realized up until the time I’m writing this sermon that my daughter was doing something that probably all children have done since the invention of the mirror. Her world was not literally through the looking glass but it was interpreted through the looking glass as she navigated our house as if it had been turned upside down. The floors were now the ceilings and the ceiling was now the floor.

It must be gratifying for a child to turn the adult world upside down. To take that which they do not completely understand, a world that they do not make the rules for, and do not control and flip it so that the new world, the one they have created, is known only to them and they are the only ones who know that one should step around the light fixture on the ceiling.

As Alice put it, “Oh what fun it’ll be , when they see me through the glass in here, and can’t get at me!”

Today we will be turning worlds inside out and upside down so that we might glimpse through a rearrangement of life the possibilities that may have escaped us – escaped us because we have grown too accustomed to the manner in which our world is arranged – so accustomed, in fact, that we now take this arrangement as the status quo, or the state in which everything has always been.

Today is Social Action Sunday, and that doesn’t mean we’re going to take to the streets with banners and bullhorns, it also doesn’t mean that today you put two cans of tuna in the Caritas baskets instead of your usual one.

It’s interesting, to say the least, that during times of great economic boon people are less likely to get involved in social action projects. In fact, it was during the great depression of the 1930’s that the per capita charitable giving was at its highest in these United States of America. Think on that. During times of great economic boon – charitable giving reaches all time lows.

There’s an analogy going around about churches. In this analogy it’s stated that churches either have windows through which the parishioners can see and engage with the world, or there’s the flip side – churches whose windows are more like mirrors where the parishioners mainly see themselves and the focus is on their needs. We have windows, don’t we? But they look out on a peaceful garden with a gurgling fountain – not every much like the real, is it?

It has also been said that social action is the true measure of a congregation. Based on its social action agenda what sort of grade do you think this congregation deserves?

In a recent newsletter that I received from my home church, 1st Church Dallas they had two boxes separated in the newsletter from all the other articles. In one of those boxes it proclaimed – “The Power of Commitment – 1st Church Dallas raised $138,952 in 2005 to aid the survivors of Katrina, Rita and the Asian tsunami.” In the other box further on into the newsletter it proclaimed – “The Power of Commitment – 1st Church Dallas inspired over 100 volunteers to adopt 21 families during the Katrina evacuation.” Yes, 1st Church Dallas is larger than we are. To be exact they have precisely 1,067 members.

But it isn’t the numbers that put them ahead of us. It’s the level of commitment. It’s been said that in any given congregation less than 10% (Raising Money for Social Action, Michael Durall, 1999) may be truly interested in social action. Again, it’s not the numbers that are as significant as the level of commitment within those numbered.

So what are the benefits of a church that has a high level of commitment within the social action area?

When I was a member of 1st Presbyterian Church of Dallas I traveled with a group of 35-40 people who went down from several different churches to Cuidad Juarez. We had a sister church – also Presbyterian – down in Juarez and we stayed in their community center. A Community Center that was built with monies from donations from many churches in Texas, and also built with the labor of many Texas Christian Churches. The accommodations were minimal – there was a men’s dormitory and a woman’s dormitory – bunk beds in each – with dormitory style shared bathrooms, and a communal dining hall. The food was incredible. We paid the Mexican woman who cooked for the community center to go out and buy groceries and we ate Mexican style the whole time we were there! Yum!

The projects varied, but first and foremost was the building of a new house for a destitute family. Now, when I say house, I mean a square about 40 feet by 40 feet with two small bedrooms and a kitchen half walled off from a very small living room. There was electricity and running water, but no bathroom. The community in which we built this home shared outhouses that were scattered throughout the community.

We gather on the first morning of our project with the family – all except the father who was at work – we made a sacred circle, prayed with the family, and then dedicated the project and our work to the greater glory of God. You can think what you like about that – suffice it to say that we made a conscious choice to be deliberative about what we were doing. We built that home in less than four days, and then the majority of the workers went on to other projects while the skilled carpenters, and the electricians finished out the inside of the house.

Toward the end of the week we gathered once again with the family and the father was there this time. There they were, father, mother, and three children, two girls and a little boy. Once again we circled the house, prayed, and then we planted a tree in the front yard in hopes that their lives like this tree would take root there and that they would prosper and grow. I don? t think there was a dry eye when we got through.

The point isn’t about what we did for that Mexican couple and their children. No, the point is that by working together as a congregation, through the sweat and tears that we shed on that project something strange happened to all of us. We didn’t exactly know what it was that happened until the first Sunday after we had returned to Dallas.

That morning all those who had participated in the Cuidad Juarez project were asked to sit down front and before the sermon was given we were asked to stand. There was thunderous applause as all those in the congregation leapt to their feet to congratulate the congregation at large for 1) putting together the resources necessary for such a project to happen and 2) to recognize that within that congregation there were those – about 10% who were willing to go out and get their hands dirty doing the work.

But the real payoff occurred on another level. You see those 15-20 of us who were on that project from First Church Dallas; we never saw each other quite in the same way ever again. Running into each other in the hallways we didn’t simply say hello, we stopped and hugged and genuinely inquired into each other’s lives.

You see we thought that we had gone down to Mexico to help them build up their community, but in truth it was our community that had been enlarged and built up.

There’s a short story written by Albert Camus entitled, The Artist at Work. In this short story, which is more like a novella, Jonas, is one of those people who grows up believing in his star. That’s a metaphorical way of saying he believed that something good was always on the horizon for him, and all he had to do was wait and it would arrive.

In the story he goes from working in his father’s publishing house to painting. He falls into painting really and before he knows it he’s married has several kids and art critics all over the world are vying for the right to say that they discovered him. The problem with Jonas is, like the Biblical character he’s named after, Jonah, the fame that comes to him swallows him much like the whale swallowed Jonah in the biblical narrative. Jonas has no boundaries and before he knows it the fame and the money has filled his house with admirers and well-wishers to the extent that fairly soon, he can no longer find a private place to paint. But never being one of those people who despair of their situation, Jonas makes the most of being swallowed by fame. He builds in one corner of a large room with enormously tall ceilings he builds a cubicle where he can climb up to and paint in peace.

Jonas begins staying up in his cubicle in the corner of that immense room longer and longer. Pretty soon there are parties going on below him well into the night, and at meal times his dinner is passed up to him on a hoist while those down below sing his praises and enjoy the food that his painting has brought in.

Finally, one night Jonas collapses and falls from his loft. And this is how the story ends.

“It’s nothing,” the doctor they had called declared a little later. “He is working too much. In a week he will be on his feet again.” “You are sure he will get well?” asked his wife Louise with distorted face. “He will get well,” said the doctor. In the other room, his old friend, Rateau, was looking at the canvas Jonas had been working on in the loft. It was completely blank, but in the center of it Jonas had written in very small letters a word that could be made out, but without any certainty as to whether it should be read solitary or solidary.

Conclusion:

It is suggested in the article I read that churches either have all windows or all mirrors. In other words, the author of that article fell into the commonplace error of seeing things either one way or the other way. The final word in the above story – the word that could not quite be deciphered – it’s either solitary (as in solitude) or solidary (the root for solidarity). I used to think when I was younger that there was an obvious answer to this quandary. It had to be solidarity.

Camus was conveying that people had to stick together and without this cohesiveness society would degenerate into the chaos of narcissism. But I am older now. And now I see that there must be time alone, and time together, and to be exclusive in either is to be sick in one-way or another. A church with only windows – a church which is constantly reaching out to the world and not taking care of its own is a church that is co-dependent upon reaching out to the world. A church that only has mirrors is obviously a social club and what they need to raise money for is a golf course, and a clubhouse.

Real churches like real people use both windows and mirrors. Yes, we must reach out to the world at large, but we must also be self-reflective on how we do this. Are we doing this in consideration for those that are being helped? Are those being helped actually being reduced to children and are we playing the patron? Social Action can degenerate into noblesse oblige. And noblesse oblige is nothing more than social Darwinism. We reach out to help others because obviously our cultural, our way of life is so superior that these poor, ignorant bastards would be nowhere without us.

Yet, too much self-reflection can put us in the same situation that Alice found herself in. In the looking-glass house everything was backwards.

There is a tale told about an off Broadway revival of The Anne Frank Story. Now here is a play that if done right will elicit sympathy for the Jews during the Holocaust. But there were troubles within this production, as a matter of fact, the actress that was playing Anne simply wasn’t up to snuff. When the Gestapo showed up at the house in which Anne was hiding, someone from the balcony yelled out, “She’s in the attic!”

There are times in which social action work done poorly is worse than no social action work done at all.

Real churches have both windows and mirrors. Real churches look out upon the world and realize that they must step into the fray and help. Real churches are able through their self-reflective abilities to judge how best to help those who are in need. In these situations so-called victims become survivors and one’s position in a class structure does not determine the genuine quality of one’s life.

The banquet alluded to in the passage in Luke this morning points out the fact that there is a feast taking place on this earth. This feast is open to all, but there are some who are invited that have an opportunity to serve the others. Within this feast, we have the blessing of having enough that we might actually share what we have with those who have not been sufficiently blessed. The point of Jesus? parable is that if we don’t share, if we don’t partake there will come a time when even the bread on our table will lose its taste, life itself will lose its zest and when that happens then we know we have been essentially excluded from the banquet.

On this social action Sunday let us covenant together that we will be that church that has both windows and mirrors. Let us covenant together that we will reach out when there are those in need, that we will write that extra large check when disasters strike, that we will investigate our motives and our intentions so that as caring, loving and responsible sentient beings we can make a church where we will be proud of the action we take in the world and equally proud of the reflection that, that action makes upon this church.

Our Destination

© Jack Harris-Bonham

September 17, 2006

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PRAYER

Mystery of many names an mystery beyond all naming, as we gather here this morning our hopes are that the detritus of the week – the flotsam and jetsam of time will wash on by us. We commune together in this hour in hopes that we may draw closer to that, which is the essence of life.

That essence at times seems erratic and fleeting. Let us settle into this moment – breathing deep into our bellies, let the anxieties of life be lifted up with our breath and exhaled into the world at large.

Our foundation – the place that’s firm and unmoving – that place is nowhere outside of us. Going inside now as we are we feel that the cosmos is reflected in the darkness of our inner being. The moment that we are told is fleeting that moment upon which we ride like the second hand of the clock, once inside that evanescent moment evaporates and we come face to face with eternity which is now and now and again now. We are the world, the universe, the cosmos experiencing itself.

Our consciousness is the mirror upon which time seemingly flies. Yet the mirror remains constant and letting our minds go blank we finally understand that we are nothing more than that mirror and also nothing less. No image sticks to a mirror. Fear, anger, anticipation, expectation, anxiety these we finally see as ghosts in that mirror.

Thinking we see them brings life to them again and so we let go – we relax and in that relaxation we finally see that even who we think we are is a ghost in that mirror. There is freedom in that disappearance. The past, the present, the future – all right here, right now.

Knowing that there is no true reflection of who we are we accept all reflections and hold onto none. That which once scared us is nothing more than that which once scared us. That which brought joy simply that which brought joy. Not pushing away or resisting, not holding on or clinging we awake – the inner world – the outer worlds – the same and we – the swinging door of our breath connects them both.

In the name of everything that is holy, and that is, precisely, everything.

Amen.

The Peace of Wild Things

Wendell Berry

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

SERMON

Introduction:

In the Gospel according to the good doctor, Luke, Jesus says in this part of the narrative, “do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or your body, what you will wear” – I can tell by looking out upon this congregation that you’ve obviously heeded Jesus’ fashion statement! – for “Life is more than food, and the body more than clothes.”

And then Jesus goes on “Consider the ravens. They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them? – in other words – they don’t make a whole lot of plans but the natural cycle of life supplies them with their needs.

“Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest?”

We’re given similar messages in other religious traditions.

There is the Zen story of an older monk and a young monk traveling between monasteries. They come to a stream where a beautiful young geisha is unable to cross. The old monk ties up his robe, and offers the geisha a ride on his back. She accepts and he carries her across the stream. Three miles down the road from the stream the young monk can stand it no longer when he blurts out, “I can’t believe you actually touched that woman back at the stream!”

The older monk stops, looks at the younger monk and pats him on the shoulder. “You must be tired,” he said, “I carried her across the stream, but you have carried her ever since!”

Being in the moment allows you to let go of the past!

The point is to be in the moment. The point is to be in the moment.

Still we are Westerners and we have a built-in desire to improve our life, our surroundings, and our world. How can things be as they are at this moment and be perfect? How can we look upon the journey of life and not be concerned about reaching the destination? If we are for peace in the world, then we must be concerned with when and how peace will arrive, yes? If we wish to abolish the death penalty then we had better be prepared to work long and hard in a society that does not believe in restorative justice to help bring about the end of vindictive punishments.

In his book, Lateral Thinking, Edward De Bono suggests that we in the western world are concerned mainly with product and goals. Once we have decided what our goal is, we have a tendency to put the petal to the metal and scream down the street of life toward the object worth winning – the goal. De Bono suggests that it is this sort of practicality that has gotten the western world in the most trouble. For when we race toward our goal we are blind to the alleyways and detours along the path. With our eyes is on the prize everything else dwindles in the background as we become obsessed with the end product.

What was it that we always used to give the Communists a hard time about? Do you remember? Marxist philosophy suggests as we approach the transition from the exploitation of the capitalist workers and begin the rise of the proletariat between the exploitation and true communism, what is it the Marxist say, the end will justify the means.

Hasn’t there been something in the papers and news recently about the torture of terrorists – the information that those terrorists may have being so important that we will go to any length to get that information even if it means torturing them? The end it seems again will justify the means.

Lateral thinking suggests that what looks like a goal in the beginning of an inquiry may in fact not be the goal once we have begun the process of attaining it. How does this come about? It comes about because as we pay attention on a moment-to-moment basis, we do discover the alleyways and side paths and in those detours we discover meanings that we never knew existed. Those meanings change us and our goals thereby rendering the original goal obsolete, and its attainment unnecessary.

Two of the most famous Civil War Confederate Generals, Major General Thomas Jonathan “Stonewall” Jackson, and General Robert Edward Lee, Commander of the Army of Northern Virginia, both held onto their roles in the Civil War up until the very last moments of their lives. After Stonewall Jackson had been mortally wounded at Chancellorsville and moved to the railway spur at Guinea Station, Jackson’s arm was amputated and he seemed to be recovering. But a fever set in and after having said goodbyes to his wife, Anna Morrison Jackson, and his daughter, Julia Jackson, Stonewall lapsed into a fevered sleep. When he awakened from that sleep around 3PM, he called out, “Order A.P. Hill to prepare for action! Pass the infantry to the front. Tell Major Hawks?” He left that sentence unfinished and in the midst of the Civil War on May the 10th 1863, his last words were, “Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees.”

Robert Edward Lee survived the Civil War and was President of Washington College in Lexington, Virginia when he was struck down by the heart disease that had perused him since Gettysburg. As would seem normal for a Civil War General, Lee’s last thoughts centered on the war, but bizarrely enough Lee’s last words also ordered A.P. Hill into battle, “Tell Hill he must come up!” Lee said before letting go of the battle and ending his life with a soldier’s eulogy, his last words were, “Strike the tent.”

Death had taken both men back to their previous goals – the winning of the war between the states, and yet, in the end, when death made its final claim, both Generals, obsessed as they had been with a Confederate victory, both Generals, let go of that struggle and ordered themselves a rest.

I am reminded here of the character in Caddy Shack, played by Bill Murray. He tells the story of the summer that he worked in an Ashram and was the personal servant of the His Holiness the Dalai Lama. When the summer was over and all the other waiters/attendants had gathered together, Bill Murray’s character realizes that they have all received large sums of money for their duties while he has received nothing but a promise. In his own words, he says, “The Dali Lama pulled me aside and told me that for my services that summer I would receive full, complete enlightenment on my deathbed – so, I got that going for me!”

The point in living life isn’t to find the solution for our woes on our deathbeds. I mean, that wouldn’t be terrible, but wouldn’t it be a bit more enlightening to understand life before life’s door is slamming shut in our face?

There is a Zen Buddhist saying when one is looking for enlightenment. “Look under your feet!”

There was an Air Force Pilot who was shot down over Vietnam and spent many years as a prisoner of war. He lost 80 pounds and a great deal of his health. When he was finally released the first thing he wanted to do was play a game of golf. Some buddies of his took him to a golf course and had pretty much decided that he’d be lucky to make it through 9 holes of golf – much less 18. To their great surprise he finished all 18 holes and played a superb game – beating every one of them.

When questioned about his superb play he admitted that during his imprisonment he had played 18 holes of golf everyday. He played on courses he knew well from memory, but eventually he designed new courses that better stimulated his skill and kept his game sharp.

This Air Force Pilot is a perfect example of someone who looked under his feet for his treasure. Unable to do anything inside a confined space, not offered much food or distraction, the Air Force Pilot decided that his feet were not bare, but clad in golf spikes, and that what lay before him was not a bamboo wall but the expanse of a 400 yard fairway.

There are those who say that one must be born into a family that will teach one to be this ingenious in trying situations, or if not taught then one must be born with the genes that will allow such creativity.

It is true children who have parents that set boundaries, are interested in what their children do regardless of whether it reflects well on the parents or not, children who feel as if they have choices in life, including the choice of disobeying the parents, children who are able to commit to what their doing unselfconsciously, and who feel challenged with increasingly complex opportunities for action – these children tend to be those who are able to cope with whatever life has to offer them.

The Air Force pilot was probably one of those lucky children.

Yet, even if we weren’t raised in such an optimum family situation it is possible to learn to be a person who sees a challenge not a threat, a person who sees an opportunity for learning and action.

Such a person is said to be in flow. A person who is in flow is a person whose consciousness is not disordered. This type of person moves easily through life knowing that whatever is presented it can be incorporated into their consciousness and those things which are not helpful will be discarded, those things that can be processed will be processed easily and readily. And when this person hears voices – the voices are congratulatory and encouraging.

The battle to remain in flow is not a battle between the world and oneself, it is rather a battle for the control over our own consciousness.

There is a Buddhist saying that the fool sees himself in others, while the wise man sees others in himself. And there is a difference. A fool projects his fears and prejudices onto those around him, while a wise person is able to see the foibles of others easily in himself.

There are two obstacles to remaining in flow and they are anomie and alienation.

Anomie means literally – a lack of rules – no boundaries! If there’s one thing I’m learning in this Interim Preaching experience it’s a reaffirmation of my own boundaries.

What’s lacking when we feel there are no boundaries is a lack of propriety. The poet and essayist, Wendell Berry, says, “The idea of propriety makes an issue of the fittingness of our conduct to our place and circumstances, even to our hopes. It acknowledges the always-pressing realities of context and of influence; we cannot speak or act or live out of context. Our life inescapably affects other lives, which inescapably affect our life. We are being measured, in other words, by a standard that we did not make and cannot destroy.” We are being measured, in other words, by a standard that we did not make and cannot destroy.

There is a sense in which propriety is the opposite of individuality, but a self in flow does seemingly contradictory things at the same time.

When we are in flow we have a tendency to stick out from the crowd because the crowd does not know what is proper and is basically alienated from their own lives. That’s why the crowd looks to the crowd to see what the crowd wants! Yet this tendency of a person in flow to differentiate themselves from the crowd and stand out as unique is counterbalanced by the ability of those people in flow to feel in union with others and other’s ideas.

A leader is a person who can and does define themselves – self-differentiates – and at the same time stays in contact with those who are looking to them for leadership.

The second obstacle to staying in flow is alienation. Karl Marx knew that alienation would be one of the main problems of the industrialized world and he was dead right.

Alienation is a social problem in that we are constrained by society to do things that go against our own happiness and our own goals. The constraint is usually an economic one. We do a job not for the sake of the job, but for the money so that we might have a roof over our heads and food on our tables. It’s important to know that our children will be dry and fed.

Alienation has all kinds of effects, but the main one I see today is to lead people to the point of killing others without thinking about what they are doing. Children are taught to play video games in which they kill or eliminate the “enemy? and they win when they are not killed and the enemy is decimated.

It’s a short jump from this sort of computer warfare to the smart bombs of both the Gulf War and the War of Iraqi Freedom.

In the film, The Ground Truth, shown last Monday night in this very sanctuary digitalized computer images of a group of people were shown walking down a street in Iraq. The images were grainy and broken up and it was impossible to tell, whether these were women, children, goats, Iraqi fighters – impossible to tell! But the audio accompanying these images simply reported the movement and it was relayed back that, that movement was to be eliminated. “Roger that,” came a voice, then he voice said, “ten seconds to impact.” Ten seconds later a horrific explosion and the images were obliterated.

There’s a disconnect here. A disconnect between pushing a button and total annihilation. Those were more than blips on a screen – more than grainy digitalized images – these were sentient beings.

The story I am about to tell you was told to me in parts and pieces over many a drunken evening. For it was only drunk that my father could talk about his war. His sober mind had put the experiences out of reach, tucked away, buried. This is my father’s story.

Before I was shot down I flew seven combat missions – seven. Always thought seven was a lucky number, you know – “seven come eleven,” huh? Seven come eight would have been all right with me. I was shot down. Didn’t bail out – rode the plane down – nobody was killed – one guy lost an eye. I kept both of mine – so still kinda lucky. Not a whole lot to do with your eyes in a prisoner of war camp – watch the guards watch you! So, I read a lot. The Bible mostly. My Dad’s Bible – he’d given it to me the day I left for the war.

He was sitting on the porch, sort of lying back in the porch swing, the way he always did. A lemonade in one hand and his Bible resting on the seat. He closed the Bible – got up – gave me a hug and kissed me – right on the mouth – couldn’t remember the last time he’d done that, then, he tucked the Bible in the pocket of my B-4 bag. “Bring that back to me,” he said, “you mother gave me that – she’d raise hell if I lost it.”

I carried it in my navigation bag, didn’t have any intention of reading it, really, just thought it would be good luck to have.

As you can see, I didn’t lose it. Pop had these pieces of paper, little corners of paper stuck in special places – each had two numbers on them: Chapter and Verse – Chapter and Verse.

This is the one in Proverbs. “These six things doth the Lord hate; yea, seven are an abomination unto him.” I guess “seven” had never been the Lord’s lucky number, either. “A proud look, a lying tongue and – hands that shed innocent blood.” Sorry, I can never get any further than that part.

No, really it’s okay. I did what I had to do, right? I made the world safe for democracy! But whose world am I talking about? I mean, how many worlds are there? What about their world? You know, them – the enemy.

Oh yeah, yeah, sure, sure – they’re just targets – little blips on a screen, right? But just because you put yourself miles above them, and even though they appear like ants – people are still people.

And those abominations, oh my God, those abominations!

They blew those people to bits, tore them to shreds, burned them alive. I didn’t even know those people, I could never have done those things in person, never! And all I did was push a button.

Sooner or later, we all get our buttons pushed, I guess.

But that’s not the end of it. Oh no, if you’re with the aircraft, and you are, cause you’re flying it with the bomb sight – if you follow the armament down, and you do – it’s simple follow through – then you’re right there when they flash out.

That’s the thing about technology – it gives you an illusion of separation – but you can never be separated from what you’ve started.

Never. Ever.

Push a button, pull a trigger and you release a part of yourself, the projectile, the armament, it’s you – otherwise you couldn’t hit squat!

It’s when that idea hits home you realize how destructive intention can be – the best – the worst – makes no difference – paving stones to hell. Part of you has left – gone out, done what it will do. That part – it never returns, ever.

Conclusion:

In conclusion I’d like you to stop thinking that what you’re doing now is preparing for something else. Don’t buy into that retirement illusion. The way you are now is the way you will be then. As my wife is fond of saying – wherever you go you take your head with you.

In the words of Thich Nhat Hanh, “This is it!”

The way you treat the least of those in your life is the way you will be treated.

In the words of the John Lennon song,

Instant Karma’s gonna get you

Gonna knock you right on the head

You better get yourself together

Pretty soon, you’re gonna be dead

What in the world you thinking of

Laughing in the face of love

Coming and Going

© Davidson Loehr

September 10, 2006

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PRAYER:

Jack R. Harris-Bonham

Mystery of many names and Mystery beyond all naming,

we sit here this morning feeling solid and permanent, and yet, a nagging voice in all of us admits and possibly celebrates the fact that life is transient.

The most important things in life are simply invisible. We can’t see the love that exists between all of us, but it’s there.

It’s there in our helloes, and our asking, “How are you today?”

It’s there in our answers, even when we’re just being polite and say, “We’re fine,” regardless of our feelings.

Gathered together there is created between and among us something greater than the sum of individual parts. This is called community and in this case a covenant community.

Covenant means we’ve made a solemn compact to maintain our faith and discipline. In our case we have no dogma, and no sacred, holy book so our covenant is different.

Our solemn compact is to maintain our faith in each other. This is a loving and giving faith. We give each other the benefit of the doubt because we have an abundance of doubt.

The Buddhists say great faith and great doubt are the hallmarks of discernment.

When we UU’s read character we bring to that reading an abundance of faith in humankind, and an abundance of doubt in the idea that any god can save us. We put our invisible faith in one another and with that belief we promise to serve not because we will be served, but because a sacred command to serve the other and to see the other in ourselves has been given.

We serve ourselves by serving others.

Today we rejoice in things that seem contradictory.

We expand and contract stretching who we thought we were, admitting when we are wrong, taking back things said, asking forgiveness for acts unbecoming a friend and existing together as less than perfect human beings; loving as best we can, living better than we could have imagined, and laughing at ourselves all the while.

We pray this in the name of everything that is holy and that is, precisely, everything.

Amen

SERMON: Coming and Going

I’m starting the first half of my sabbatical tomorrow. Jack will be the minister for the next three months. Then I’ll be back for three months, then gone between mid-March and mid-June.

With all the coming and going, it’s a good time to ask what’s at the core of this place, and of liberal religion. What stays here? If you took a picture of this place once a day for fifty years, then ran all those pictures at 32 frames per second like a movie, everything but the building would be a blur. But you don’t come just to see the building; that isn’t the attraction. What makes this place worth having is invisible, but more important than all the visible parts.

What is at the center of liberal religion? If it isn’t the minister and we don’t have one book we call Holy, like the Bible or the Koran, then what’s the center – or is there one? Is it just a bunch of people who can believe anything they like and expect others to respect it just because they believe it?

No. That would be a group of narcissisms, each writing the others blank moral checks, as though it didn’t matter what we believe. But it does matter. Some beliefs are awful, or narrow or willfully ignorant, destructive, or just too silly.

But if it matters, why? By what authority? What must we believe, and how can you say it in a religion without a creed or a Holy book? You may see the pink poster in the hall with the Seven Banalities on it. And if you’re from an orthodox religion, you may assume that’s the creed here, the beliefs required or assumed of all members. But it isn’t. It even says so. It’s a behavioral agreement between church, not of individuals. As St. Paul said in one of his greatest lines, we must all work out our own salvation “in fear and trembling.”

That’s what I want to talk about this morning – what liberal religion, or any honest religion, is about, and why it’s a good thing for you, for our country, even for the world.

In some ways, it’s implied in the Invocation I use to begin each service:

It is a sacred place, this:

A place for questions more profound than answers,

Vulnerability more powerful than strength

And a peace that can pass all understanding.

That’s not an orthodox Invocation. Orthodoxy poses answers more profound than questions. Turning it around the way we do means we have the ability and the duty to question all received answers: religious, social, or political.

And some of the core of liberal religion is in the Benediction I use each week, which is a very liberal benediction:

For those who seek God, may your God go with you;

For those who embrace Life, may Life return your affection;

And for those who seek a better path, may you find that path,

And the courage to take it: step by step by step.

Honest religion is about asking the kind of questions that can inform and deepen our appreciation and acceptance of ourselves and others, our love of life, and our passion to try and make a positive difference in the world around us, as the rent we pay for living.

There are a lot of ways of saying this. The theologian Howard Thurman put it this way: “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” You need something to connect the passions of your soul with the needs of your world.

Another way of putting it, a little scarier, is told in an old Buddhist story.

A seeker reported to the local guru.

“What do you want?” asked the teacher.

“To know the truth!” said the student.

“Very risky,” said the older man. “Do you know what is demanded of you in this quest?”

“Oh yes,” said the student: “A passionate desire for Truth.”

“No,” said the guru, “a never-ending ability to admit that you are wrong.”.

It is a mixture, perhaps, of arrogance and humility that’s required here. The arrogance comes with the willingness to question things we may never have questioned, that maybe even our family never questioned. Very risky. And the humility comes from knowing that life is so much bigger than we are, and that all our arrogance is both unwarranted and a little silly.

There are two wonderful stories from the Hindu tradition that picture both the arrogance and the humility. Part of what we’re about here is borrowing from any religious, philosophical or other tradition that offers us healthy spiritual nourishment. If it helps us to a wiser and more responsible path, it is equally valid, whether it comes from Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism or all the other religious and non-religious traditions reflecting on life.

Before telling you the first story, I’ll tell you how I learned the story, which is an interesting story in itself. A few years ago there was an Indian Hindu woman who used to attend here, always arriving late and leaving early. For months, I wondered who she was and why she came in late and left early. Then one Sunday we had some special music, and I snuck out to the foyer and caught her. “Aha! I’ve caught you!” I said. She said she knew she’d be caught sooner or later, and we laughed.

I asked her why she came late and left early. Well, she explained that she had to drive her son to Barsana Dham (perhaps a 35-40 minute drive from here) then had to drive back to pick him up after the service. “Why don’t you bring him here?” I asked.

“No!” she said quite forcefully. “Why not?” “Because he was bored here.” “Why?” She wagged a finger at me, and said, “Because you have no good stories here!”

Now I’m not about to go toe-to-toe with a Hindu over the quantity and quality of stories! But I was curious. “They have better stories for him there?” “Hah! They have hundreds of better stories!”

“Tell me one.” “One? I could tell you a hundred!” “Just one.” Very well, she said she would tell me the story he had heard last week, which they had been discussing at dinner every night because he wanted to talk about it.

It is a lovely story about the favorite Hindu god Krishna, as a boy. Krishna, if you don’t know, was a bit of a brat, so kids especially like those stories. The teacher saw him chewing in class one day and asked what he was chewing – they all knew that chewing gum was forbidden in the classroom. “Nothing,” he replied, and kept chewing. “Liar!” she said, and she walked to his desk. “Stand up,” she commanded, and Krishna stood up. “Now open your mouth and let me look inside!” Krishna opened his mouth. She looked in, and inside of his mouth she saw – a thousand million galaxies. That’s the kind of potential we have inside of us: a thousand million galaxies. Possibilities beyond measure, beyond imagining. You could get pretty arrogant believing only that!

The second Hindu story is one I heard from the great scholar of mythology, Joseph Campbell. It’s about Indra, who is sort of the king of all the gods, the #1 god. In this story, Indra had a big head. After all, he was chief among the gods, and it hardly gets better than that. So a wise man took Indra, said there was something he needed to show him. In Hinduism, as you know, there is a belief in reincarnation: that we keep coming back in one form of life or another. So the wise man pointed down to the ground, and there, in formation, were thousands upon thousands of ants marching along. “Ants!” bellowed Indra. “What are ants to me? What are they?” “Ah,” said the wise man, “They are all former Indras. Thousands upon thousands of former Indras.” Today, king of the gods; tomorrow just another ant. Great story!

How do we realize some of our infinite potential? How do we do it? Well, imperfectly, to be sure. The goal isn’t to be perfect; it’s to become more whole. How do we do that? There are clues from nature, from the world around us.

If you’ve lived in Texas for long, you’ve heard of mesquite trees, and probably seen some. Around here, they’re usually scruffy and small, seldom even a foot in diameter. But if you drive a couple hours west, you can find mesquite trees, growing by rivers, that are up to six feet or more in diameter. Same species of tree. Without enough nourishment, it will stay small; put it by a nice river, and it can grow huge.

Or think of the fish called Koi, those fish in the carp family that are so prized by many Asians, and found in pools at a lot of Asian restaurants. One of the most amazing things about koi is that how big they get is determined by the size of the pond they’re in. Put them in a fish bowl and they’ll stay very small. Put them in a bigger tank, they grow bigger. Put them in a very big pond, they will grow to lengths of a foot and more. Same fish. It’s potential can’t be unlocked without giving it the right amount of the right kind of nourishment. And neither can our potential be realized without the right kind of nourishment and an environment of large scope.

Sometimes, the vast potential we may feel inside is too big to cope with, and we go back to our smaller selves and cling to them because they’re all we know. And sometimes, we can grow from small to large in vision very quickly.

Just a few weeks ago, I saw an example of how this works in real life and real-time. I was in Colorado, near Aspen, to spend a week studying with a very good British woodturner named Ray Key. As some of you may know, woodturning is my hobby, my therapy and sometimes my obsession. I like to study with Masters, because it’s like swimming in a very big pond or growing near a big river. These guys have been woodturners for forty years or more, are better at it than I’ll ever dream of being, so there’s a lot to learn from them – as long as you can leave your ego at the door. I get a little better each time, though I may never be more than a fervent amateur.

There were eight of us in the class, covering the spectrum. One man I’ll call Bob had turned very few pieces before coming to this class advertised as being for intermediate to advanced students. So Ray, the teacher, suggested he focus on just one form, one bowl shape he really liked, and learn how to do that well this week. He showed Ray some magazine photos of bowls he liked, and Ray helped set him up to turn that shape. By the end of the week, he had made eight or ten bowls in this shape, and two or three of them were very nice. He had created small works of beauty, done with skills he learned that week. The ocean is very big. Just take the sips you can handle. Don’t worry about containing a thousand million bowls – just start with one small bowl you can handle.

We learn life and religion this way, too: step by step by step.

Another man I’ll call Tom had spent $5,000 on his lathe – you learned this within about thirty seconds – a couple thousand on tools, and seemed to need to be seen as good, though the truth is that he wasn’t very good. He kept exploding his bowls on the lathe, pieces flying everywhere as he made the cut wrong on a bowl spinning at over 1,000 rpm. And he simply couldn’t see the difference between a really nice form and an awkward one.

Ray was as blunt as any Buddhist guru. Once when Tom called Ray to look at a bowl he was doing to ask for suggestions, I heard Ray say, “Well, there is nothing you can do to save this form – it’s a disaster!” Very risky studying with masters, if you can’t leave your ego at the door!

But Tom couldn’t let go of his ego enough to open up and find a new way of looking at forms. He couldn’t really admit that he had a heck of a lot to learn, or that he had picked up a lot of bad habits. Day after day, he kept doing what he did at home, wanting it praised, it seemed, and day after day he exploded bowls and made graceless shapes.

At the end of the week, we had a three-hour class critique. We were each to show what we thought was our best work, and our worst work. Even more, we were to paint our worst work black, with blackboard paint. This ruined the piece, but made it very easy to see what was right and wrong with its form.

When Tom’s turn came, some of us were surprised with the piece he painted black, because it looked pretty good. The one he held out as his best work looked mediocre. Ray said, “No, you don’t have anything better than the black piece” – the one he’d just ruined by painting it. He couldn’t tell the difference, even after a week with one of the best in the world.

This reminded me of so many stories from religion and life. The title of this week-long wood-turning workshop was “Pure Form,” taught by a master wood turner whose stunning pieces are in some of the world’s best museums, art galleries and private collections. Form is what he had an exceptional eye for. He would be bothered by a little swelling in a curve that couldn’t have stuck out more than 1/100th of an inch. To him, it was glaring and grotesque. And once he pointed it out, you couldn’t forget it either, and had to try and recut it. And this man Tom, since he wouldn’t let go of the smaller vision he came in with, seemed to learn nothing.

The stories of these two men are like the difference between one who goes on a spiritual journey, and Rip van Winkle. The first returns transformed; the second spends the same amount of time away, but has only a beard to show for the time passed.

Life and religion are a lot like this. While there is more than one form – for a bowl or for a life – there is still a difference between good form and poor form, and it’s a difference we’re trying to learn: in life, and here in this church.

We have a duty to bring ourselves to our own kind of fullness. For some, that fullness will be more intellectual, or more athletic, or assertive, or nurturing, or mystical or artistic. We’re different people, and one path doesn’t fit all, in religion, politics or life.

And there is a responsibility – I think it’s a sacred responsibility – connected with serving high ideals. Ray did it as well as any Buddhist teacher, both in bringing his art down to the level of a serious beginner, and in being flat-out honest with a pretender. If he had flattered mediocre work, he would have betrayed his art. And if he had just wanted to show us his own work, he would have betrayed his duty to serve us that week.

Serving high ideals is like picking up a Stradivarius violin: they take the measure of you, and demand a high quality of service from you. This is true in every area, certainly including public service and religion. When I get angry at politicians – from this or any other administration – it’s usually because they forget their job is to serve the majority of us, rather than the special interests that butter their bread. That’s a betrayal of trust, and of their office.

And when ministers serve lower ends, they are committing the same kind of betrayal. When Pat Robertson says we should murder Hugh Chavez, he has betrayed every high teaching in the religion he claims to serve. When Jerry Falwell says we should blow away terrorists in the name of the Lord, he cannot in the same breath pretend to give a damn about the teachings of Jesus. Likewise when Rev. Hagee in San Antonio urges the president to launch a nuclear attack on Iran and start World War III – this is a betrayal of a high calling, of high ideals, and it is unforgivable. It is serious business, and we must take it seriously. As a theologian I’ve sometimes liked once said to a group of young preachers, “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 hope that coming here can offer you the chance to find some of the galaxies you contain, some of the arrogance needed to break away from a vision that may be too small for you, and enough of a challenge to keep you humble. For vulnerability, humility, really can be more powerful than strength. Remember that an ocean is bigger than a river, yet it is big because it’s lower than rivers. That’s why their waters flow into the ocean. Its humility gives it strength.

A final story to make a final point about what liberal religion and this church are about, and what stays here through all the comings and goings of ministers and members. It’s from twenty-five years ago, when I was in graduate school studying with other kinds of masters. David taught “Arts of the Ministry,” and was one of the most gifted preachers I’ve known, with a sure grasp on what this religion business is about, on both sides. There were about fifteen of us in the class, covering many different religions. We met on Monday afternoon, and one Monday, before the seminar began, about four or five of the Lutheran students were complaining about the service at their church the day before. They went on about how awful it was, how inept the preacher was, how amateurish the liturgist was, how cheesy the music, and the rest of it. Then one of them said, “I didn’t get one damned thing from that service!” That’s when David finally spoke up from across the room, from where he had been eavesdropping on us. What he said was, “How hard did you try?”

I sometimes hear people say that life sucks, or they don’t see what there is to give thanks for, and I want to say, “How hard did you try? How much of yourself have you invested in it?” That’s the other part of liberal religion. You don’t get canned, pre-packaged answers or paths here. We can’t give you a slogan that will save you, just some imaginative building materials and a safe place to try your hand at building. It’s a do-it-yourself kit, in an atmosphere where everyone who’s trying is doing it themselves, with the material they get from sermons, from discussions after church, and from interacting with and being around one another.

It matters what we believe. You’ll always hear, I hope, that it matters how we live: that life is a gift, but we owe something in return for the gift of life. We owe the world our best efforts to bring ourselves to fullness, then to offer something back, to try and make a positive difference in the world around us. How close to the river have we managed to live? How big a pond have we tried swimming in? When there are things to learn, can we let go of our smaller selves and admit we need to learn? We need to go where nourishment is, and stay away from people and places where there is no nourishment. And then, before we can throw a fit about how unsatisfied we are with life, there is that question always hanging in the air: “How hard did you try?”

Inside of us are a thousand million possibilities. There is also a clock, ticking, reminding us that we move every day toward that time when we shall not move at all, and that it is our move. And we learn these things here in this pretty big pond, this large river of people moving through life, touching each other as we pass. In all of life, there are so very few places like this. That’s why I wanted to remind you, on this canvass Sunday, just why this marvelous church is worth supporting, as generously as you can.

Any Port in a Storm

© Jack Harris-Bonham

September 3, 2006

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

PRAYER

Mystery of many names and mystery beyond all naming we’re all dropping anchor now as we settle into our church berths. We are all creatures of habit and most of us have found the spot to tie up to during the service. We are afraid of change in a world where the only constant is change. So we make habit our cloak of familiarity.

We put on the habit of coming to church and sitting where we sit. The God of your choice forbid that someone else should be sitting in your pew in exactly your place. Who do these people think they are!” We can be forgiven our propensity to resist the inevitable, and yet, we need to know that there is constancy in this covenant to which we belong.

We have in essence all agreed to disagree and there lies the rub. Not willing to give up our quirky beliefs, we’re hesitant to ask others exactly what they believe. It’s not that we don’t want them to believe what they believe it’s more that we fear that their belief support system may be more user friendly than ours. Then, what would we do? We might have to change. We might have to compromise.

In these stormy times we find ourselves in a congregation that allows us to be ourselves, but to truly be ourselves we must reveal who we are. This is a risk. We may reveal who we are and then be sorry we hadn’t kept quiet. For we all know that great maxim, it is better to keep one’s mouth shut and be thought stupid, then to open one’s mouth and erase all doubts.

Today, it is my prayer, and my hope that anchored here in this congregation, floating comfortably in our own little berths, we might open up and reveal to the battleship next to us that we are possibly nothing but a sampan, or a pleasure vessel. First it would behoove us to look beyond the exteriors of those drifting near us, and in a moment of fellowship ask permission to come aboard. We may find that the fierceness we see in others is but a projection of our own fears and insecurities.

And now let us take a moment to get into gratitude about First Unitarian Universalist Church of Austin. Yes, there are things about this church that are not perfect, there are people here who annoy us, there are situations that we find untenable, and why can’t the church see that if things were only run the way we’d like them things would be perfect. In spite of all that we are here – now, and now – here we have this fellowship – this ship of fools – and letting down our guard and turning off our security systems let us relax into appreciation. Shaking off the images that our dislike of change has cemented into our heads, let us see anew this wondrous place.

We pray this in the name of everything that is holy, and that is, precisely, everything.

Amen.

SERMON

We were never meant to survive

“Il n’ya pas de soleil sans ombre, et il faut connaitre la nuit.”

There is no sun without shadow and it is necessary to know the night.

A. Camus

It is hard to say if this sermon had any effect on our townsfolk. M. Othon, the magistrate, assured Dr. Rieux that he had found the preacher’s arguments “absolutely irrefutable.” But not everybody took so unqualified a view. To some the sermon simply brought home the fact that they had been sentenced, for an unknown crime, to an indeterminate period of punishment. And while a good many people adapted themselves to confinement and carried on their humdrum lives as before, there were others who rebelled and whose one idea now was to break loose from the prison-house.

–from The Plague

Stream of consciousness here – I’m thinking about what it’s like being a harbormaster and the port being 1st UU. A harbor master is there to show the way – the way to their berths. No two ships are alike. We come from different places, we know different things, and we carry different cargos. Our ports of origin are sometimes kept secret. Some of us sail under false colors. Others have received direct hits amidships, and wear our battle scars proudly.

I’m thinking of Camus and The Plague – the novel. It was an allegory for living under the heel of Nazi oppression. How will we fare under the oppression ahead – how are we fairing now?

The night that we must know has come about because the sun that rose in the Enlightenment began to set after the defeat of the Axis Powers. To defeat Hitler we must become like him. This truth first uttered by the Trappist Monk, Thomas Merton, is coming home to roost in our lifetime. What will we do? Can enough of us escape this time, to a land where corporatism – another word for fascism – will not reach out and tap us on the shoulder? Will there really be a national identity card,” Show me your papers!” just when nations are consciously fading into the background.

There are those who believe that the world banks have been ruling for nearly a hundred years. Buckminster Fuller talked about this in Operating Manual for Spaceship Earth – he said the Great Pirates ruled, that they had always ruled. As men and women fall to battlefield deaths, the rich – on both sides – watch the stock reports, and count their money.

Albert Camus was part of the resistance in France during the Second World War. He lived in Paris and wrote for the Underground newspaper, COMBAT. On the night of the liberation of Paris, Camus was there among the whistling bullets overhead, and the intoxication of a city that for four years squirmed under Nazi occupation. In a short essay entitled “The Night of Truth,” Camus writes, “nothing is given men, and the little they can conquer is paid for with unjust deaths. But man’s greatness lies elsewhere. It lies in his decision to be stronger than his condition.”

Now, this from Camus’ essay – The Myth of Sisyphus:

The gods had condemned Sisyphus to ceaselessly rolling a rock to the top of a mountain, whence the stone would fall back of its own weight. They had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor.

You have already grasped that Sisyphus is the absurd hero. He is, as much through his passions as through his torture. His scorn of the gods, his hatred of death, and his passion for life won him that unspeakable penalty in which the whole being is exerted toward accomplishing nothing. This is the price that must be paid for the passions of this earth.

Myths are made for the imagination to breathe life into them. As for this myth, one sees merely the whole effort of a body straining to raise the huge stone, to roll it, and push it up a slope a hundred times over; one sees the face screwed up, the cheek tight against the stone, the shoulder bracing the clay-covered mass, the foot wedging it, the fresh start with arms outstretched, the wholly human security of two earth-clotted hands.

At the very end of his long effort measured by skyless space and time without depth, the purpose is achieved. Then Sisyphus watches the stone rush down in a few moments toward that lower world whence he will have to push it up again toward the summit. He goes back down to the plain.

It is during that return, that pause, that Sisyphus interests me. A face that toils so close to stones is already stone itself! I see that man going back down with a heavy yet measured step toward the torment of which he will never know the end. That hour like a breathing-space which returns as surely as his suffering, that is the hour of consciousness. At each of those moments when he leaves the heights and gradually sinks toward the lairs of the gods, he is superior to his fate. He is stronger than his rock.

If this myth is tragic, that is because its hero is conscious. Where would his torture be, indeed, if at every step the hope of succeeding upheld him? The workman of today works everyday in his life at the same tasks, and his fate is no less absurd.

But it is tragic only at the rare moments when it becomes conscious. Sisyphus, proletarian of the gods, powerless and rebellious, knows the whole extent of his wretched condition: it is what he thinks of during his descent. The lucidity that was to constitute his torture at the same time crowns his victory. There is no fate that cannot be surmounted by scorn.

If the descent is thus sometimes performed in sorrow, it can also take place in joy. This word is not too much. Again I fancy Sisyphus returning toward his rock, and the sorrow was in the beginning. When the images of earth cling too tightly to memory, when the call of happiness becomes too insistent, it happens that melancholy arises in man’s heart: this is the rock’s victory, this is the rock itself. The boundless grief is too heavy to bear. These are our nights of Gethsemane. But crushing truths perish from being acknowledged.

At that subtle moment when man glances backward over his life, Sisyphus returning toward his rock, in that slight pivoting he contemplates that series of unrelated actions which become his fate, created by him, combined under his memory’s eye and soon sealed by his death. Thus, convinced of the wholly human origin of all that is human, a blind man eager to see who knows that the night has no end, he is still on the go. The rock is still rolling.

I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain! One always finds one’s burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night filled mountain, in itself forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.

Albert Camus

It’s one thing to imagine Sisyphus happy, but it is imperative to ask one important question.

What does justice look like from inside fascism? How can a person stay and be just within an unjust system? The answer lies in the harbor and ports that we can find berth in, places that allow us to tie up, refuel and prepare to set sail again. These worship services are our Sisyphean moments, time to contemplate our fates, time to amble out in the morning air, and look beyond the trees to the hills and the beauty of this earth.

My father had thirteen months of a Sisyphean adventure when he was guest of the German government. They put my father behind bars because he had flown over their cities and ports in a Boeing model 17 – a B-17- and dropped bombs on them.

At the end of that Prisoner of War adventure the Russians showed up at Stalage Luft 1, Barth, Germany. The guards had left the night before fearing the Great Russian Bear. My father ran along side a Russian tank shouting, “Trinkvaser, Trinkvaser,” Water, Water! The Russian tank commander was smiling broadly when he handed my father, a bottle of clear liquid, that he upturned and drank nearly half way down before realizing he was chug-a-lugging straight Vodka! In Paris he and a friend from the camp had partied, till my Dad, thinking he was the Lone Ranger, jumped a horse used to pull a Taxi and rode it off into the night.

That was the last thing my father remembered before he awakened in a four-poster bed in the middle of a brightly lit room. The sun was streaming down through the skylight, and he was lying on clean sheets. Would wonders never cease? Then the door across the room opened. There stood a beautiful French woman. She was naked and carrying two glasses of orange juice. Do you have any idea how long it had been since he’d seen orange juice?!

In the movie, Good Will Hunting, the character of the psychiatrist, played by Robin Williams, is assailed by Matt Damon’s character, who pointing at a painting of a small craft headed into harbor, says, “Any Port in a Storm,” Is that why you married your wife, doc, was she just a safe place to park your vessel, while the scary world went by?” Robin Williams’ character gets angry, and we think that there’s probably some truth to this accusation, but who really cares? Who among us has not detoured into relationship, and been fine with that?

We’ve all been to other churches, other places of worship where it wasn’t okay to doubt, or fear, or have an opinion different from the senior pastor, but that’s not what we’re about, and more pointedly, that’s why we’re here because we can and do have different opinions. We fled the slave mentality of the dominant culture and echo the Camusian line, “Liberty alone draws men from their isolation; but slavery dominates a crowd of solitude.”

(A. Camus, Create Dangerously, Resistance, Rebellion & Death)

In studies done on tortured populations, it has been shown that those who get tortured don’t talk about their torture. There’s a reason for that. Those who torture tell their victims, if you talk, we’ll torture you again! Torture is negative communion, negative community. When fascism and dictatorship take over, the idea is to push a wedge between all of us, make all seem suspect to all. Homeland Security has a number that you can call to report suspicious behavior! Is anyone listening to this?!

I recently saw a film – a documentary entitled, From Freedom to Fascism. After the film I was sure of one thing. I was going to look mostly in Canada when it came time for doing my national search for a permanent position within UU Ministry. I didn’t want to end up like Bonhoeffer, lynched in the last minutes of a fascist regime, to satisfy no one but the hangman himself.

When Martin Luther broke from the Catholic Church, he did more than say that we were justified by faith alone. He said that it was necessary to fill all positions in government, and to realize that to disobey civil authority is the same as disobeying God. With this logic he recommends waging war and doing the killing dispassionately as if you were the instrument of God, to be the hangman if one is needed, because it is God that’s doing the hanging.

In a 20th Century rebuttal to Luther, Karl Barth said that it was this subservience to authority that made it impossible for the German people to rise up against Hitler.

I don’t like feeling trapped. I don’t think any living thing likes feeling trapped.

Back when I was writing a play about a slaughterhouse I called the Dallas Packing Company and was invited on a tour of their largest plant along the Trinity River.

Lines of cows waited to be let into a chute where a large man held a pneumatic gun. That gun forced a ten-inch nail into the brains of the awaiting cows. There was room for two cows in the chute. Both cows were oblivious to what was going on until the first one was felled. It was the reaction of the second cow that interests me. The second cow knew immediately that legs do not voluntarily collapse beneath cows. Oh how that second cow struggled to keep the pneumatic gun from its forehead!

When they do come for us, and I am assuming that they will. They will come for us to have national identity cards, they will come for us to mark our money and destroy the liberty of cash, they will come for us to implant chips into our bodies that will track us wherever we go. And if we go where they tell us we should not go, they will come for us a final time.

It’s interesting to remember that it was the artists that the Nazi’s took away first. They had discovered an amazing fact. Left to nothing but the artist’s life – the artist fulfills the position of the one in society who holds up for us all the banner that reads, “Live free or die.” Every great work of art lifts up for our admiration the human spirit that will not, cannot be dominated. Why do you suppose those with money and power think that they can keep this spirit under taps? Great art has always spoken for spirit and great art always will. If we think we’re safe in a place like Austin, we’re crazy. This is one of the first places they will shake down. Art is dangerous to tyranny – why do you think it is so poorly subsidized by this government?

But still I say this is a time to rejoice. Yes, rejoice. For those of us who are creative, and that’s what UU’s are – creative! For those of us who are creative, doubt authority and trust our own gut feelings, these will be unforgettable times. We will literally be torn from our daydreams, awakened in the light of day, we will be faced with a choice, become a public enemy of the dominant culture, or assume the fetal position.

During the Civil War many soldiers retreated by walking backwards. Yes, turning and running would have expedited their exit, but being shot in the back has a ring to it that can be read in two ways – betrayer, or betrayed.

I will search all over this country when it comes time for my national search. I will take the job that seems right no matter what side of the Canadian border it lies on. I will protest national identity cards, I will protest the death of the fluidity of cash, I will not, repeat not, allow myself to be injected with a homing devise like some rat in a maze.

There’s a pictorial story that circulated recently on the Internet. It concerns a baby hippopotamus and a hundred year old tortoise. I know, it sounds like an Aesop’s fable, but when the tsunami hit the Kenyan coast it washed this year old baby hippo and its mother out to sea. The continuing waves following the tsunami brought the baby hippo back to the land. The mother hippo was lost. When the baby hippo was washed ashore it landed on this hundred-year-old tortoise.

Well, you can imagine what happened. The baby hippo imprinted on the tortoise, as far as the baby hippo was concerned the tsunami washed its mother out as a hippo and washed it back in as a hundred year old tortoise. Now, think about it. This is a baby mammal and an adult reptile. Something given live birth a year ago as opposed to something that one hundred years ago, in 1906, was hatched from an egg. I think I will do as the Chinese suggest and let these pictures do the next few thousand words.

“This is a real story that shows that our differences don’t matter much when we need the comfort of another. We could all learn a lesson from these two creatures of God. Look beyond the differences and find a way to walk the path together.”

Finally, I have this caveat women leaving battered women’s shelters and returning to their husbands are not practicing “any port in a storm.” Rather they are sailing back into the storm. For a conscious person a port must be a place of relative safety. We are anchored here in this church and it is a safe port. When the clouds have cleared and the sun of freedom shines once again, we will gather here to rejoice that we kept the faith and weathered the storm together.

I leave Sisyphus at the foot of the mountain! One always finds one’s burden again. But Sisyphus teaches the higher fidelity that negates the gods and raises rocks. He too concludes that all is well. This universe henceforth without a master seems to him neither sterile nor futile. Each atom of that stone, each mineral flake of that night filled mountain, in itself forms a world. The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.

The Corruption of Grace & The Grace of Corruption

© Jack Harris-Bonham

August 27, 2006

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PRAYER

Mystery of many names and Mystery beyond all naming, we’re here today in our herky-jerky manner. We’ve raced here to find peace, and tranquility. We’re caught up in our contradictory thoughts that scold us worse than any parent ever could have – we are, in truth, our own worst taskmasters. What can we do about it?

It’s time to realize that we are not alone in this business of having a life that seems ordered on the outside, but on the inside is a web of tangled skeins. Trying to separate the threads of the skein internally only pulls the knots tighter and we long for release from this mind that will not let us be.

It’s time to start to show the cracks in our lives, time to let others in on our big secret, which, once we do it, we find out it’s their big secret, too. We’re lost and lonely, and there isn’t a prayer in the world that can change that. But we do have each other.

Help us to realize that what separates us from our neighbor is our inability to simply open up and let out our secrets. We are individuals, that’s true, but defining ourselves takes community, and the only way to define yourself inside community is to share with others what’s on your mind. You might be surprised.

It may very well be that collectively we hold things that we are not proud of, and yet, we are not alone in this shame. There’s an old tradition in Jewish synagogues, one person stands up and tells a bad story about themselves, and then another stands and tries to top that bad story by a worse story. The winner is the congregant who can tell a horrible story about themselves that no one else can top! What a turning of the tables that would be for us all – to admit our foibles and be rewarded.

May we have the strength today to admit that we are human, not perfect, a marble cake of contradictory feelings, and may this admission be greeted with the loosening of others as they decide to leave the conspiracy of silence and let it all hang out. In a popular song we are reminded that there is a crack in everything, and that’s how the light gets in. Let’s open up and let in the light of love and friendship. Let’s embody our humanity and be proud of it. We pray this in the name of everything that is holy and that is, precisely, everything.

Amen.

Song of the Open Road

Blaise Pascal, Pensees 434

“What a chimera then is man! What a novelty! What a monster, what a chaos, what a contradiction, what a prodigy! Judge of all things, imbecile worm of the earth; depository of truth, a sink of uncertainty and error; the pride and refuse of the universe? These foundations solidly established – make us know that there are two truths of faith equally certain: the one, that man, in the state of creation, or in that of grace is raised above all nature, made like unto God and sharing in His divinity; the other, that in the state of corruption and sin, he is fallen from this state and made like unto the beasts.”

Here’s the same thought expressed by Kris Kristofferson in his song from the early 70’s, entitled, The Pilgrim, Chapter 33.

The Pilgrim; Chapter 33,

Kris Kristofferson

“He’s a poet, he’s a picker?

He’s a prophet, he’s a pusher?

He’s a pilgrim, and a preacher, and a problem when he’s stoned?

He’s a walkin’ contradiction, partly truth and partly fiction,

Takin’ ev’ry wrong direction on his lonely way back home.”

SERMON

There was a professor at the University of Florida in the Psychology Department by the name of Sydney Jourard when I was attending that university from 1965-1969. The first book I read that Dr. Jourard wrote was Disclosing Man to Himself. It is a study in self-disclosure and how telling others about ourselves not only informs them who we are, but also keeps authentic the notion that there is something about us that is real and perhaps the best way to discover what is real is in dialogue with another human being.

Also, at the University of Florida in 1965 was Dr. Thomas Louis Hanna, Head of the Philosophy Department, a graduate of Texas Christian University, where he played football and was also a collegiate middle-weight boxing champ in the late forties. He graduated from TCU with a BA in Philosophy, and a minor in Music. Dr. Hanna went on to the University of Chicago where he earned a Bachelors of Divinity degree, and then his PhD in Philosophy.

I first met Dr. Hanna in Hume Hall, the dormitory I lived in during my freshman year at Florida. I saw a poster on the bulletin board of Hume Hall and it advertised that a Dr. Hanna, Head of the Philosophy Department, would be speaking on the Playboy philosophy in the Recreation Room that night.

I wandered down there expecting to see a few people, but the Rec Room was packed. It was standing room only, and I was one of the ones that were standing. Dr. Hanna went on to explain to his audience, who were, if not subscribers to Playboy Magazine, certainly borrowers of that same magazine, what he saw to be the implications of the Playboy philosophy. We were all anxious to hear about this because we all wanted to be the BMOC. Does anyone remember what the BMOC was? The Big Man on Campus. And although we knew that the BMOC was popular, wore the right clothes, drove a cool car, we also suspected that an explanation of the Playboy philosophy might give all us geeky freshmen a leg up on how to woo the girls and get them where we all wanted them – nudge, nudge, wink, wink!

Dr. Hanna was smooth. He explained the Playboy philosophy from Hugh Hefner’s viewpoint, and really I can’t remember what that entailed, but then he went on to do a critique of this same Playboy philosophy as being mainly masturbatory and definitely non-personal.

This, I shall never forget. He, in fact, wasn’t saying anything bad about masturbation, but he was saying that a magazine whose literary merits were sublimated by the pictures of naked co-eds, or at least young women old enough to be co-eds whether they were or not, a magazine of that type lent itself chiefly to the masturbatory process.

And the final question he asked all these very young men was, What kind of relationship and philosophy can you expect to have with and toward women, when the majority of the time spent with the magazine is practicing sex with an air-brushed symbol totally removed from any personal interaction, and hermetically sealed from the sights, sounds and smells of a real woman?

We may have been freshmen but we understood the answer to this merely rhetorical question, and further more, we understood the implications of a philosophy so implemented. More interesting to me than the Playboy philosophy is how Dr. Hanna had played a sort of bait and switch with us, we had expected to learn how to be the BMOC, but what we had really learned was that such a person would be a hollow man, a straw man whose attitude toward women was based upon only one of the attributes of femininity and lacking all basis in the real world.

But what does this have to do with the corruption of grace and the grace of corruption? Perhaps you can see parallels already, perhaps not? There is a connection, and as we go along, it will become clearer, I promise.

I remember very clearly one afternoon in spring as I was leaving another dormitory, Murphy Hall, I saw Dr. Jourard and Dr. Hanna playing handball on one of the outside courts that lined University Avenue. I stopped and watched as these two youthful full-grown men played a difficult game at top speed. I didn’t stay to see who won, but I can tell you that they could have played against much younger men and held their own.

This image of these two men playing handball is especially poignant for me, because both of these men are now dead. Dr. Sidney Jourard was working on his sports car when the jack he was using collapsed and the car landed on his head. Dr. Thomas L. Hanna, at the age of 62, and with the physical reflexes of a man in his 30’s swerved to miss, it is conjectured – since no one saw the one-car accident – swerved to miss a dog, cat, squirrel or other sentient being and left the roadway and collided with a telephone pole.

Two years before Dr. Hanna died (when he was 60) he realized that he had to tell everything he knew about our bodies and their inherent dignity, divinity and grace, he had to tell all this to the world at large.

He and Sidney Jourard were buddies, and Tom Hanna knew that not to disclose fully everything that he had learned about himself and his body would be in essence hiding from his fellow human beings and ultimately hiding from himself.

The point is most people are taught to hide their true feelings. In polite society it is not considered kosher to be frank, it is not considered a part of everyone getting along to disclose that you do not agree with the dominant cultural position, no matter what the issue is.

It doesn’t take a great deal of imagination to see that this same sort of suppression, this same kind of domination is at work today when it comes to the war in Iraq, the proper treatment of prisoners of war, the growing gap between the rich and the poor, and the erosion of our democratic processes, global warming – the list goes on and on. In some circles it is still considered unpatriotic to voice an opinion counter to the dominant culture.

Shifting back in time.

In 1799 Frederick Schleiermacher, who is sometimes called the “father of liberalism? published his first work. Schleiermacher maintained that religion was not a form of knowledge (as the rationalists and orthodox believed) nor was it a system of morality, as Immanuel Kant put forth.

For Schleiermacher religion was not grounded in pure or practical reason, but in Gefuhl – the German word for “feeling.” This is not sentimentalism, nor sudden conversion experiences, but a profound experience of our “dependence? upon the ONE on which all existence depends.

In other words an absolute dependence upon God, or the ground of Being. The purpose of the church for Schleiermacher is to relate these absolute feelings of dependency within the church and to future generations. The emphasis is on sharing these feelings with one another – disclosure.

These feelings of dependency occur on three levels; the self, the self’s relation to the world and the self’s relation to the ground of being. For Schleiermacher anything that doesn’t deal with these three levels of feeling is not theology, period.

For theology to deal with the feelings of the self, and its relationship to the world and the ground of our being is as close to existentialism as one can get without calling it that. And the kind of philosophy that Dr. Hanna was doing back in the sixties and seventies, and the kind of psychology that Dr. Jourard was practicing – both of these were existential in nature. Existentialism is concerned with the feelings that one has within one’s body – feelings of grandeur, feelings of passion, anxiety, despair – all heavy internal emotional states.

Within the world of theology I come down with the existentialists and with Schleiermacher. Religion is about my relationships with myself, my relationship with my world and my relationship with that which I am totally dependent upon for my well being.

Most of us come from religious traditions that claim that we were born into sin. That is, we were raised within an environment that saw human life as basically tainted from the word go! Obviously, this is a way of thinking about life that is basically pessimistic.

Buddhists do not believe in the notion of original sin, and their quests through meditation and sutra readings are bent in the direction of rediscovering our original face before we were born, or in other words, finding out what the world and we looked like before we were told by the world what they’re supposed to look like.

In his work Sidney Jourard was stressing that if we successfully hide from others, we will end up hiding from ourselves and there will come a time in which we do not know who we are simply because we have not shared who we are. We are individuals, true, but we define ourselves through community.

In the vein of liberal religion, via Schleiermacher, our first responsibility is our responsibility to our selves. If we are to have adequate relationships with the world and with eventually the ground of our being, then we had better be in communication with ourselves. Who are we?

Quite simply, we are this body. We live our lives within the framework of this physical entity and we receive impressions of what the world is like both from outside our skins and from within. To not honor the communications that we receive from within our bodies is to short-circuit our understanding of who we are and what our place is in the world.

Thich Nhat Han said world peace begins within the human heart. For the world to be at peace we must first be at peace inside ourselves.

In like manner, if we are to be autonomous and free individuals, who can make responsible decisions about who we are and how we ought to operate in the world, then we must honor the first relationship – the relationship we have with ourselves. Jesus said, and he was merely quoting older Jewish scriptures, You must love your neighbor as yourself. Yet, if there is no love of the self, there can be no neighborly love.

We can no longer speak of a mind body split. Dr. Hanna retooled a Greek word to stand for both the body and the mind, because he saw no separation between them. He called human beings somas. The Greek word “Soma” is used in science and medicine to refer to a cell body, but Dr. Hanna’s contemporary definition sees somas – sees us – as much more than simply bodies acted upon by outside forces. We are at one and the same time, somatic beings that have internal perceptions about the world and ourselves and we are capable of controlling how we function.

But how do we regain control in a world, which seems to be spinning out of control. The first thing we do is to take charge of our bodies.

In Dr. Hanna’s terms about 85% of the Industrial populations of the world suffer from SMA – “sensory-motor amnesia.” That is, we have lost contact with our bodies and forgotten how certain muscle groups are supposed to feel when relaxed. SMA describes the effects that a lifetime of daily stresses has upon our bodies.

There are basically two disorders that demonstrate this sensory-motor amnesia.

The first is the “red light? reflex and is best demonstrated when someone fires a gun behind you and you didn’t even know they had a gun. And it looks like this. (Demonstrate)

There’s nothing wrong with this reflect, it has saved many a soldier’s life. What’s wrong is when these responses are continually involved in our daily stressful lives. Worry brings the shoulders up because it’s part of this same withdrawal response. In fact, it’s impossible to say, “Oi Veh!” without lifting the shoulders.

The second is the green-light reflex. This is very prevalent in industrialized societies. It’s that get-up and go quality that typifies the North American consciousness.

This is what the Green Light response looks like. (Demonstrate)

If we are to typify these two responses – the red and green light responses – we have to say that while the red light reflex is negative distress, the green light reflex is a positive response.

This response is awakened in us when we are just babies. The ability of a baby to finally hold its head up, to flex its legs out at the age of six months, and finally with its head lifted and straightening out its knees, the child begins to crawl and that is the culmination and full discovery of the Green Lights reflex.

But what happens in an industrialized world when we are perpetually put into a Green Light reflex? What happens if the stimulus for the Green Light reflex is constant in such a society? Continual repetition guarantees that the reflex will be constant, habitual, and eventually unnoticed. When this happens we are in sensory motor amnesia (SMA) and what we feel after a day of this Go! Go! Go! is tired, sore, and worn out. After a lifetime of such stress we feel sick and tired, and ready to die!

In older people we often see combinations of these two – the red light reflex and the green light response. (Demonstrate.)

Again, what does this have to do with the corruption of grace or the grace of corruption? How does this talk of bodies and green /red light responses inform any discussion about whether we are like unto the Gods, or bestial?

It’s very simple, really. Life is a marble cake. You ever notice that? It’s never all chocolate, or all vanilla. It’s a swirl of this and a blending of that. Those who wish to see life as black or white, right or wrong are disappointed when confronted with this swirling inconsistency.

In order to maintain a philosophy of life that does not admit the marblecakeness of life children are taught not to touch themselves, that they do not feel what they feel, women are told that they are not equal to men, men are taught that boys don’t cry and older people are taught that they are misshapen because that’s what old age looks like. Lies! Lies! All lies!

It’s time to stop trying to get our bodies to fit inside philosophies and theologies that are anti-life. It’s time for the body to assert itself and say what it feels and how what it feels translates into relationship and community. It’s time for embodied spirituality.

Let’s face it; we are many things that do not go together “

“We’re poets, we’re pickers?

We’re prophets, we’re pushers?

We’re pilgrims, and preachers, and problems when we’re stoned?

We’re walkin’ contradictions, partly truth and partly fiction,

Takin? ev’ry wrong direction on our lonely way back home.”

I feel, like my mentor, Dr. Hanna, that I, too, will die before long. Let’s face it, if I live 30 more years I’ll be 90 and what are the chances of that? I do not wish to leave this world, or this congregation before I have given to you everything I know about how to be a non-anxious presence in your bodies and in this world. In an effort to do just that this sermon has been, and is, a preamble to a course that I will be offering in Adult Religious Education this fall. This sermon is the spiel of a snake-oil salesman.

This course will begin on Saturday the 2nd of September from 9-11AM and continue every Saturday after that for six weeks – ending on Saturday October the 7th.

Those who wish to explore the idea that they may be suffering from Sensory-motor amnesia are more than welcomed to attend. What I can promise you is – even if you do the movements poorly and don’t practice them everyday, you will still see a noted difference in how you feel, and how you get about in this world.

Every good sermon has a prescription for the congregation; this is my prescription for you. Come to the classes, buy the book (it will cost you exactly $16.52 if you buy the book from me), do the movements suggested, and learn to live free inside your own skin. Freedom, independence and autonomy – these qualities – are what human life is all about. And who among us could not use a means of becoming more self-responsible?

At the end of this service the ushers will have clipboards in the foyer. Please stop, sign up and together we can learn to be free and self-regulating human beings. Caution: there is a limit of 20 people in this beginning class.

Conclusion: Dr. Hanna saw over 3000 patients. He taught them the necessary information so they did not have to keep coming back to see him. He taught them that the sensory-motor system is a closed loop in the cerebral cortex and that by daily movements that take no more than 10 minutes one can retrain the brain to recognize what the relaxed state of our bodies feels like.

What is the relationship between corruption and grace, grace and corruption? Redemption comes not through ascending to the Gods, but descending into our bodies. Being totally present and taking back control on the physical level is my definition of grace. God, enlightenment, health do not reside outside our bodies, but within – come join in the journey to the center of our selves.

The true relationship between our corruption and our grace is like a Texan standing in his pasture. His feet may be in the cow manure, but his hat is in the stars. We are that consciousness that spans this great divide. The fallen state of human kind – the bestial, and the raised state made like unto God are but the warp and woof of life’s material, but as it passes through our hands and bodies surely we feel the difference, yet know it to be of one skein.

Remember the ending I give to everyone of my prayers, In the name of everything that is holy, and that is, precisely, everything.

Amen.

The Thinking Reed – The Nobility of Impermanence

© Jack Harris-Bonham

August 20, 2006

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PRAYER

Mystery of many names and mystery beyond all naming, here we are again, gathered together as a covenanted community, sitting side by side, some with eyes closed, some not, sitting and being quiet.

In the quietness of this moment we think of those places in this world that are ravaged by war, famine and strife. We thank our lucky stars that in this place tanks are not making their way down major thoroughfares, that armed soldiers are not posted on street corners and that when we fall asleep at night it is not with a symphony of bombs in the background or the thought that in the middle of the night we may be awakened by an air raid.

Being in gratitude is but our initial response to the world’s situation, which seems always to be desperate. In our vision for this church we have vowed to be an inclusive religious and spiritual community, to support each other’s search for meaning and purpose and to join together to help create a world filled with compassion and love.

Viewing the news and reading the newspapers of the past few weeks it seems inconceivable that we can help to create a world filled with compassion and love, yet just by joining together this morning, by taking the time to seek peace in our own hearts, by putting aside our petty differences, by sitting here in the stillness of this sanctuary, we are, in fact, helping to increase the peace in this world.

Thich Nhat Han said that true peace begins in the heart, for when we are at peace with ourselves, with our significant others, friends, children, and extended family we are a center of stillness, which reaches out to other centers of stillness and peace.

Together we at First Church Austin have a chance to teach peace to the rest of the world. We, gathered here today, are about as disparate a group as you can get. Yet, we have covenanted together to support one another to find meaning and purpose in a world filled with meaningless death, and purposeless destruction.

May we gather from one another this morning the will and desire to go forward into a world that does not expect us, does not necessarily support us, and will definitely be surprised when we show up. Being here today is part of that showing up. We build here today the peace we will carry in our hearts for the coming days.

May that peace reach out to other peace and may peace and meaning fill our hearts and the world. We pray this in the name of everything that is holy, and that is precisely everything.

Amen.

The Rule of St. Vonnegut

– Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

“Hello, Babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies you get about a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of, babies – God damn it, you’ve got to be kind.”

SERMON: The Thinking Reed – The Nobility of Impermanence

What’s the essence of a good scary story? I imagine a wintry evening – it’s not hard to imagine, it’s more like wishful thinking in this hot August weather, isn’t it? – so I see a blustery wintry evening.

Outside is fit neither for man, nor beast. Ah, but inside, there is a fire roaring – hopefully in the fireplace, yes, it’s in the fireplace, and the warmth it gives can warm your front or your back, but not both at the same time. The shadows from those sitting around this huge fireplace are thrown against the walls of a large room with high ceilings. Victorian furniture postures itself throughout the room, and above the fireplace is an oil painting of a man in a uniform.

You’re not sure – it could be a Civil War uniform, or maybe a uniform from an earlier European campaign. The look on the man’s face is pensive, as if he were contemplating his life as he posed for the artist, contemplating the time he has left, once he leaves the artist and goes back out into the world that has given him this uniform, not to pose in pictures, but to wear as he gallantly rides into battle facing canon and grapeshot alike, bullets whizzing overhead like bees determined to make a hive out of his head.

And you wish the lights were on in the big house, but the storm that’s blowing through has taken down the power lines, and the only light that reflects off the faces of those gathered there is the dancing firelight. It is at this moment that someone says, “I have a story to tell everyone.”

And chances are it’s not a story about blue skies and rainbows, because on a night like this one we want a scary story, a story that will delight us in its telling, raise the little hairs on the back of our necks, and afterward, when we’ve taken a candle up to bed, it will be the kind of story that haunts us in our dreams.

We gather this morning beside our chalice. There on the wall is the large representation of the flame, and here on the pulpit the literal reminder of its essence.

Religion is a funny thing. It’s organized so that we might have peace in the face of the abyss, but make no mistake it is the abyss that inspires it and us.

And so here this morning, gathered around our firelight, and I wish to tell you a scary story. It’s the story of our impending doom. It’s doubly scary because it’s a true story.

Oh, the details will be different for each of us, but the end – the end, my friends, will all be the same. Death awaits each and every one of us. And death cannot be bargained with, or thwarted, or put off. When death is on death’s mission there is only one thing that will satisfy it, and that is the fulfillment of its mission – to bring death, to end life, to have the breathing and heartbeat stop, cessation of all life functions.

There is a sense in which death can be seen as a monster. It will succeed and it cares not whom it comes to. The child you adore, the elder parent, yourself; they are all in line for death’s services.

Most of the time we are in denial about death. Oh, we know it happens, but hopefully it happens to others and when it does we breathe a sigh of relief, and say, “It’s not me. I’m alive. I’m still here!”

Blaise Pascal, the gifted mathematician and physicist of the 17th Century said, “Man is but a reed, the most feeble thing in nature; but he is a thinking reed. The entire universe need not arm itself to crush him. A vapor, a drop of water suffices to kill him. But, if the universe were to crush him, man would still be more noble than that which killed him. Because he knows that he dies and the advantage which the universe has over him; the universe knows nothing of this?”

Old Pascal, that pesky Frenchman knew what he was talking about. He didn’t even live as long as Elvis. He died after a long illness at the age of 39.

But Pascal had an advantage over us today. In the 17th Century death was omnipresent. People died at home. Persons who died at home were prepared for burial at home. Laid out on the same table on which they had taken their meals the family washed the body, dressed it, and prepared it for internment. The moveable feast continued, but now it was the worm’s turn.

Today we are protected from death. That is, we are kept away from those dying. Hospitals are there to prolong life even past the point of absurdity. Those who have died are whisked off to mortuaries, where they are drained of vital fluids, embalmed with noxious chemicals, dressed in their Sunday best and propped up in outrageously expensive oblong boxes for viewing.

When my father was a young boy, there was a man in his neighborhood in Bluefield, West Virginia who died one afternoon in his hammock. No one knew he was dead until his wife called for him, for the third time, to come to dinner. She did think that was odd. This was a man who enjoyed his feedbag, and was not known to be late to the trough. When she walked out in the twilight of the summer evening she found him peacefully asleep – forever.

The morticians had a time with his body. The body had become stiff with rigor and he was stuck in a “U? shape. They corrected this malady by tying him to a two by six that they laid in the bottom of the coffin. They were pleased with the work that they had done and on the day of the service delivered the body to the church for viewing. Members of the family and those from the neighborhood filed by and looked for the last time on the visage of the dearly departed.

After the viewing the top of the coffin was shut, but not fastened. The Minister at the Bland Street Methodist Church climbed into the pulpit and was, he thought, doing a fabulous job of eulogizing the deceased and bringing the living perhaps just a bit closer to their creator.

It was during the climax of his eulogy, when he was warning those there present that the time of one’s death was unknown and encouraging them to remember that death could come unannounced and take them, that the 2×6 broke. The top of the coffin popped open and their neighbor and friend sat up so abruptly that the whipping action of his resurrection caused his hair to fly about his head as if he were nodding in agreement to the preacher’s warning.

My father said that when the dust settled there were but a handful of those who had been there still in attendance. The old, the infirm, the feeble, and the curious were there to hear the benediction and marvel at the dead man’s acrobatic abilities.

There is the story of the Zen priest who was asked to the home of a nobleman. The nobleman had a son who was incorrigible and it looked very much as if he would be a wastrel and waste his life in pursuits of pleasure and adventure. The nobleman asked the Zen priest if he would talk to the boy. The monk came to the house one morning and he and the boy disappeared into the early morning fog. The boy was gone all day, and when he got back, he ate his supper and went immediately to bed.

The next morning, he got up bright and early, did the chores that had always been expected of him, but never really accomplished, then went to school and studied until it was time to go home. He never talked back to his father, or mother again, and it looked very much like he was going to be a different young man. Not able to stand it, the nobleman walked to the temple to see the priest. “What,” demanded the father, “had the Zen priest done to accomplish this transformation?”

The Zen priest was sweeping the sidewalk outside the monastery and he leaned on his broom, and smiled. It’s very simple, he said, we walked to the village on the other side of the mountain where I showed him the dead body of a young man his own age.

“Man is but a reed, the most feeble thing in nature; but he is a thinking reed. The entire universe need not arm itself to crush him. A vapor, a drop of water suffices to kill him. But, if the universe were to crush him, man would still be more noble than that which killed him. Because he knows that he dies and the advantage which the universe has over him; the universe knows nothing of this?”

The Tibetan Buddhist monk, Milerepa, sat in a cave for years and meditated on his impending demise. In the midst of his meditations horrible monsters visited him. But instead of fleeing the cave and his chance for enlightenment, Milerepa sang to the monsters. “Isn’t it wonderful you monsters came today. You must come again next week. From time to time, we should converse.”

How many of us when we have what we consider a bad thought, simply try to push it from our minds? Or if we have a nightmare from which we awaken in a sweat look forward to going back to sleep in hopes of reentering the bad dream?

Perhaps we have been mistaken in our judgment of death? Perhaps death is, as Don Juan tells Carlos Castaneda, our ally, on our left and an arm’s distance from us at all times. Unaware of this boon, we treat death as a monster when all along it could be a wise and discerning friend.

In her book, Kitchen Table Wisdom, Dr. Rachel Naomi Remen has a story entitled “The Wood-Of-No-Names.”

Just before she meet with Tweedledum and Tweedledee, Alice (of Alice in Wonderland fame) enters the wood-of-no-names and encounters a fawn. Neither the fawn nor Alice can remember their names.

No matter. They walk a ways together, “Alice with her arms clasped lovingly around the soft neck of the Fawn, until they come to the edge of the wood. Once there, the fawn suddenly remembers its name and looks at Alice with horror. “I’m a fawn!” it cries out, “and, dear me! You’re a human child!” Terrified, it runs away.

Dr. Remen continues, As a child I spent many summers alone on a deserted beach on Long Island, gathering shells, digging for little clams, leading a far different life than the city life I led the rest of the year. Day after day I watched everything, developing an eye for change in all its subtlety. The rest of the year in New York City, I did not look directly at anyone I did not know and did not talk to strangers.

There was great peace in those summers and a new ability to be without people and yet not alone. I have many good memories of that time. Every morning the sea would wash up new treasures – pieces of wood from sunken boats, bits of glass worn smooth as silk, the occasional jellyfish. Once I even found a pair of glasses with only one lens left in them.

Some of the most vivid of these memories concerned the beautiful white birds that flew constantly overhead. I remember how their wings would become transparent when they passed between me and the sun. Angel wings. I remember how my heart followed them and how much I too wanted wings to fly.

Many years later I had the opportunity to walk this same beach. It was a great disappointment. Bits of seaweed and garbage littered the shoreline, and there were seagulls everywhere, screaming raucously, fighting over the garbage and the occasional dead creature the sea had given up.

Disheartened, I drove home and was halfway there before I realized that the gulls were the white birds of my childhood. The beach had not changed. The sacred lives beyond labels and judgment, in the wood-of-no-names. The sacred lives beyond labels and judgment, in the wood-of-no-names.”

What am I trying to tell you? I’m telling you your death can be your friend – you need to get to the wood-of-no-names and there in the privacy of your life reach out to your death – embrace it. It has been with you since the beginning.

We stigmatize it, but we forget – companionship is companionship regardless of the source.

Besides, death teaches us. Through the death of our animal friends it teaches us, through the death of our grandparents, our parents, brothers and sisters, and unluckily even the death of our children – we are constantly in the classroom and the teacher is Death.

With us from the depths to the heights – never judging, just there – our own personal death.

Death is no enemy. Fear is the troublemaker. Death without fear is homecoming.

“But, if the universe were to crush him, man would still be more noble than that which killed him. Because he knows that he dies and the advantage which the universe has over him; the universe knows nothing of this?”

I have a friend, Brent Michael, that’s a recovering alcoholic and he’s been one for over 30 years. Many years ago when he was a practicing alcoholic, Brent was speeding his way through part of West Virginia on his way to Washington for a big meeting. He’d been drinking, but that wasn’t unusual.

This particular afternoon it was raining quiet heavily and he’d finished the bottle of Vodka that he had, and was disappointed until he realized that he had put a brand new pint of Vodka in the glove box a few days earlier. He leaned over to open the glove box, and that leaning was just enough to send the car veering off onto the right shoulder.

He knew he was going off the road, but the bottle was caught behind a map, and instead of looking up, he kept fumbling with the pint until he’d fished it from the glove box. When he looked up he was about 30 feet from a bridge abutment and before he could react, he ran smack dab into it at 60 miles an hour.

The rest of what he remembers he remembers from a height above the accident. He says he can see himself in the smashed up car and the steam rising from the crushed radiator, and now a car has pulled up behind his wrecked car. The man in the car gets out and fearing that Brent’s wrecked car might explode he pulls Brent from the wreck and lays him on the road, in the rain.

For some reason the man is concerned that Brent’s head is laying on the road so he grabs the dry cleaning from the hook in the backseat of Brent’s car, and wadding it up, pushes it under Brent’s head so that at least he looks more comfortable.

Now, the entire time, Brent is out cold, but seeing this from above, like so many who have had near death experiences. And Brent is mad, mad as hell, because he’d just picked that dry cleaning up and it had cost him a bundle.

The next thing my friend remembers is standing in a tunnel of light not sure where he is, or what it is he’s supposed to do. Then out of the darkness surrounding the tunnel a child’s hand, lily white, is extended toward him, palm open. He takes the hand and together they begin walking toward the light. Then, the owner of the hand speaks. It is the voice of a young girl. “Would you like to go into the light, or would you like to go back?” They have stopped walking toward the light and are just standing there. The voice continues, “If you go back, you’ll have lots of pain, and you’ll have to change your ways, but if you go forward into the light, you will be at peace forever.”

The next thing Brent remembers is awakening in the hospital, bandaged and in a great deal of pain. That was the beginning of his sobriety. Is it possible that death for my friend Brent Michael was a young girl with a lily-white hand?

In the wood-of-no-names anything is possible.

Conclusion:

We will all die. Everyone. But death may be something other than the onerous ending of our lives.

Buddhists do no believe in a permanent self. They see the apparition we call self as the mere resemblance of outward form recognized by memory.

Those grasping around us – thieves, robbers, politicians, generals, presidents, everyone who is out just for themselves – they are dead while still living. They gather around themselves wealth, power and imagine that, that will keep death at arm’s length and ease the pain of their eventual disappearance.

How much better would it be to see through the fiction of self and simply disappear in each moment – disappear into breath, disappear into watchfulness, disappear into the non-anxious presence, disappear and be reborn as passers-by, reborn with the heart that never dies.

How can death be the enemy when we have walked with it, our arm lovingly thrown around its neck through the wood-of-no-names?

The next time you have the feeling of your impending doom; I want you to do yourself a favor. Instead of turning away, or turning on the television, or picking up the telephone to call a friend, I want you to sit down and have a heart to heart talk with that unnamed entity that has been with you since your birth. And perhaps, just perhaps, within the wood-of-no-names, you will share your finitude with that which will bring it about. Don’t be surprised at what you find out. In the wood-of-no-names all are kindred spirits.

Demons of the Heart, part 2- Eric Hepburn

And as we realize this about ourselves, let us learn to see it behind the faces of everyone we meet:

– that behind their mask of flesh and blood, is an I that is so much like our own

– that they are also luminous beings, wondrous to behold

– that they too are endowed with a will that struggles to free itself

And may these realizations help us find a way:

– to live together as brothers and sisters, sons and daughters of life’s longing for itself

– to grow together as kindred spirits on a shared quest for truth

– to decide together to make this world the utopia that it can be

SERMON: Demons of the Heart, Part 2

The sermon that I’ve come to share with you today is based heavily upon the works of three people who I consider modern-day prophets: Martin Luther King Jr., Tenzin Gyatso the 14th Dalai Lama, and Mohandas K. Gandhi. When we think about religion there is a tendency to focus our attention upon the great religious prophets of the distant past, prophets whose context was so radically different from our own that it seems difficult, sometimes even ludicrous, to apply their teachings to our modern lives. So I want to focus on these modern day prophets, who applied the highest teachings to the problems and the situations that they faced right here in the modern world. Hopefully, their example will serve to remind us that the highest ideals of life are not made for pedestals but to govern the hearts and deeds of each one of us?

First I would like to share with you some passages from a Martin Luther King Jr. sermon entitled “loving your enemies”.

The agape form of love is understanding, creative, redemptive goodwill for all men. It is a love that seeks nothing in return. It is an overflowing love; it’s what theologians would call the love of God working in the lives of men. And when you rise to love on this level, you begin to love men, not because they are likeable, but because God loves them..

When you rise to the level of love, of its great beauty and power, you seek only to defeat evil systems. Individuals who happen to be caught up in that system, you love, but you seek to defeat the system.

And this is what Jesus means? when he says, “Love your enemy.” And it’s significant that he does not say, “Like your enemy.” Like is a sentimental something, an affectionate something. There are a lot of people that I find it difficult to like. I don’t like what they do to me. I don’t like what they say about me and other people. I don’t like their attitudes. I don’t like some of the things they’re doing. I don’t like them. But Jesus says love them. And love is greater than like. Love is understanding, redemptive goodwill for all men, so that you love everybody, because God loves them. You refuse to do anything that will defeat an individual, because you have agape in your soul. And here you come to the point that you love the individual who does the evil deed, while hating the deed that the person does. This is what Jesus means when he says, “Love your enemy.” This is the way to do it. When the opportunity presents itself when you can defeat your enemy, you must not do it.

I think the first reason that we should love our enemies, and I think this was at the very center of Jesus? thinking, is this: that hate for hate only intensifies the existence of hate and evil in the universe. If I hit you and you hit me and I hit you back and you hit me back and go on, you see, that goes on ad infinitum. It just never ends. Somewhere somebody must have a little sense, and that’s the strong person. The strong person is the person who can cut off the chain of hate, the chain of evil… Somebody must have religion enough and morality enough to cut it off and inject within the very structure of the universe that strong and powerful element of love.

There’s another reason why you should love your enemies, and that is because hate distorts the personality of the hater. We usually think of what hate does for the individual hated or the individuals hated or the groups hated. But it is even more tragic, it is even more ruinous and injurious to the individual who hates. You just begin hating somebody, and you will begin to do irrational things. You can’t see straight when you hate. You can’t walk straight when you hate. You can’t stand upright. Your vision is distorted? For the person who hates, the beautiful becomes ugly and the ugly becomes beautiful. For the person who hates, the good becomes bad and the bad becomes good. For the person who hates, the true becomes false and the false becomes true. That’s what hate does.

Now there is a final reason I think that Jesus says, “Love your enemies.” It is this: that love has within it a redemptive power. And there is a power there that eventually transforms individuals. That’s why Jesus says, “Love your enemies.” Because if you hate your enemies, you have no way to redeem and to transform your enemies. But if you love your enemies, you will discover that at the very root of love is the power of redemption. You just keep loving people and keep loving them, even though they’re mistreating you.

Here’s the person who is a neighbor, and this person is doing something wrong to you and all of that. Just keep being friendly to that person. Keep loving them. Don’t do anything to embarrass them. Just keep loving them, and they can’t stand it too long. Oh, they react in many ways in the beginning. They react with bitterness because they’re mad because you love them like that. They react with guilt feelings, and sometimes they’ll hate you a little more at that transition period, but just keep loving them.

And by the power of your love they will break down under the load. That’s love, you see. It is redemptive, and this is why Jesus says love. There’s something about love that builds up and is creative. There is something about hate that tears down and is destructive. So love your enemies.”

I’d like to translate some of this traditional Christian language into some terms and ideas that are a little more accessible to those of us who, while having a great respect for the religion of Jesus, do not subscribe to the religion about Jesus.

First, Dr. King relies heavily upon the idea that we love our enemies because God or Jesus loves them. At the core of these assertions, I believe, is not any sort of construct about God being a personality or a father figure or Jesus his sole manifestation in the flesh, but the more fundamental truth of human unity. The more fundamental idea that we members of this human species are brothers and sisters, children of the same universe. The more fundamental idea that our similarities are greater than our differences and that we ultimately struggle for the same things: life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

Second, I think the idea of agape needs clarification, because every time that the word love is used in this sermon, he means agape. He’s not talking about eros, about erotic love, about the love of beauty, or about the love of attraction. He’s also not talking about philia, about the love of companionship, the love of friendship, or the love of kinship. He is talking about agape, about understanding, redemptive goodwill. He is talking about having a basic feeling, a basic attitude toward all people that acknowledges their basic worth as human beings, that understands that they struggle to be good, just as we do, and that hopes, one day, that they will overcome their inner demons and come to live out the better angels of their nature, just as we have those hopes for ourselves.

Next, I’d like to talk about the attitudes that we take when we are in opposition to others, because what we believe, what we intend in the world has a great impact on how we act, how we are perceived by others, and ultimately, in a karmic sense, on the real outcomes of our action. When we act in opposition to another person or group of people, we have the power to choose this attitude. We could choose to treat them as an enemy, to dehumanize them, to devalue them, to disrespect and marginalize them, then we are trying to defeat them, to destroy or maim or cripple them. This is what Dr. King is arguing against. On the other hand, if our opposition is accompanied by agape, then the intent, the attitude toward the opponent, does not seek defeat, it does not seek destruction, but it seeks redemption. Within the acts of this opposition are nested opportunities for the opponent’s redemption. Within the acts of this opposition are found indications of goodwill, of understanding, and of hope. Underlying these acts of opposition is an obvious foundation of clear morality which calls out to the opponent as a brother or sister. Seeking to defeat an opponent backs them into a corner, opposing them with agape leaves open a door for cooperation where we can join with them to defeat the common problem.

I’d like to turn now to another prophet, Tenzin Gyatso, the 14th Dalai Lama. Driven from his homeland and his people during the invasion of Tibet by the Chinese, the Dalai Lama has become an international spokesperson for compassion, peace, love, and nonviolence. Despite the tremendous oppression and violence done to the people of Tibet, the Dalai Lama has earnestly and consistently treated the members of the Chinese government with kindness and respect, while publicly condemning the actions of the government. I would like to share with you some of his thoughts on love and enemies.

Love is the desire to see happiness in those who have been deprived of it. We feel compassion toward those who suffer; this is the desire to see them released from their suffering. We habitually feel affection and love for those closest to us and for our friends, but we feel nothing for strangers and even less for those who seek to harm us. This shows that the love for those closest to us is heavily tinged with attachment and desire and that it is partial. Genuine love is not limited to those close to us but extends to all beings, for it is founded on the knowledge that everyone, like us, wishes to find happiness and avoid suffering. Moreover, this extends to all people the right to find happiness and be free of pain. As such, genuine love is impartial and includes everyone without distinction, including our enemies.

As for compassion, we must not confuse it with commiserating pity, for that is tainted with a certain scorn and gives the impression that we consider ourselves superior to those who suffer. True compassion implies the wish to put an end to others’ suffering and a sense of responsibility for those who suffer. This sense of responsibility means that we are committed to finding ways to comfort them in their trouble. True love for our neighbor will be translated into courage and strength. As courage grows, fear abates; this is why kindness and brotherly love are a source of inner strength. The more we develop love for others, the more confidence we will have in ourselves; the more courage we have, the more relaxed and serene we will be.

The opposite of love is malice, the root of all faults. On this basis, how can we define an enemy? Generally, we say an enemy is someone who seeks to harm our person or those who are dear to us, or our possessions; someone, therefore, who opposes or threatens the causes of our contentment and our happiness. When an enemy strikes against our belongings, our friends, or our loved ones, he is striking against our most likely sources of happiness. It would be difficult, however, to affirm that our friends and possessions are the true sources of happiness, because in the end the governing factor is inner peace; it is peace of mind that makes us relaxed and happy, and we become unhappy if we lose it.”

Too often we confuse love with affection and compassion with pity. For what is love, when we have removed all attachment, but the wish for the other’s happiness. And what is compassion, when we have removed all traces of condescension and judgment, but the wish for the other’s healthiness. Love and compassion in the language of the Dalai Lama are tantamount to the agape that MLK spoke of, a genuine expression of goodwill towards all, a hope for their freedom from suffering and for their experience of happiness.

The other aspect of the Dalai Lama’s thought that I think warrants emphasis, is the personal responsibility and ownership that we must take for our own happiness, our own healthiness, our own spiritual development. Because, the key to enlightenment, to love, to compassion is not out there? it is in here. Similarly, the stumbling blocks, the walls, the barriers to enlightenment, the true enemies, are also, in here. And the one power that you have as an individual, the one thing in the whole universe that can never be taken from you, is the power to choose; the power to choose how you view your life, what your priorities are, what you believe in, and how you will live your life within the context that is given to you.

Finally, I would like to share with you some of the words of Mohandas K. Gandhi. For although his prose is not as elegant nor his theology as well articulated as that of Dr. King or the Dalai Lama, Gandhi was a prophet who through his own life made the real possibilities of nonviolent action manifest. His biography stands as a testament to the potential power of each one of us to produce change in the world by living up to the ideals that we hold highest.

Having flung aside the sword, there is nothing except the cup of love which I can offer to those who oppose me. It is by offering that cup that I expect to draw them close to me. I cannot think of permanent enmity between man and man, and believing as I do in the theory of rebirth, I live in the hope that, if not in this birth, in some other birth, I shall be able to hug all humanity in friendly embrace.”

Whenever I see an erring man, I say to myself I have also erred; when I see a lustful man, I say to myself so was I once; and in this way, I feel kinship with every one in the world and feel that I cannot be happy without the humblest of us being happy.

I am too conscious of the imperfections of the species to which I belong to be irritated against any single member thereof. My remedy is to deal with the wrong wherever I see it, not to hurt the wrong-doer, even as I would not like to be hurt for the wrongs I continually do.”

Doesn’t the New Testament say, “If your enemy strikes you on the right cheek, offer him the left?” I have thought about it a great deal. I suspect he meant you must show courage – be willing to take a blow – several blows – to show you will not strike back – nor will you be turned aside . . . And when you do that it calls upon something in human nature – something that makes his hate for you diminish and his respect increase. I think Christ grasped that and I have seen it work.”

Non-cooperation with evil is as much a duty as is cooperation with good.”

Each of these prophets, each of these men, comes from a different religious tradition. Each of them has been tested severely by the tides of history, by the oppression of their people, by violence in their homeland, and by the constant threat of death against their own lives. And each of them, through their own search for truth, has come up with essentially the same answer:

Begin by looking inside, by taking responsibility for yourself, for your own feelings, your own actions.

Let go of anger and fear before they fester into hatred.

Act against injustice wherever you find it.

Tolerate other people, remember that they are just as flawed as we are.

Treat those who oppose you with the respect and human dignity with which you expect to be treated.

This is their advice, and it’s a tall order. Some might even argue that it is naive, that it isn’t the way the world works. My answer is this: the philosopher applies the power of intellect to describe how the world works, the prophet applies the power of love to describe how the world could work. That is why I call these three men prophets, and that is why I believe that their wisdom is not for pedestals but was meant to govern the hearts and deeds of each one of us?

BENEDICTION

I would like to close today with the quote from Gandhi that called me to do this sermon. I offer it to you as a blessing and as a meditation, in hopes that it may bring you closer to God, however you define it.

“the only devils in the world are those running “round in our own hearts, and that is where all our battles ought to be fought.”


Sermon delivered at the First Unitartian Universalist Church of Austin on July 16, 2006 by Eric Hepburn.

Eric Hepburn 2006

The Miracle of Jefferson's Bible

© Scottie McIntyre Johnson

July 9, 2006

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

INTRODUCTION

Back in the days not long ago when the craze was for young born-again Christians to wear those “What Would Jesus Do?” bracelets, some Unitarian Universalist teens started wearing them, too, saying that the initials on their bracelets stood for “What would Jefferson do?”

I submit for your consideration the idea that Jefferson himself would have hoped that response to “What would Jefferson do?” would be very nearly identical to response to “What would Jesus do?”

We Unitarian Universalists sometimes like to claim Thomas Jefferson as one of us. And, I think we can say he was a Unitarian. He was never an official member of a Unitarian church in Charlottesville, his home, because it was a very small town, and there weren’t enough people there who shared his liberal religious views to organize a church. (That sounds familiar to me?) But we do know that while he was vice-president of the United States, he attended Unitarian and Universalist church services in Philadelphia, and he called himself a Unitarian in letters he wrote to various friends, including John Adams (another of our Unitarian U.S. presidents.)

So -I proudly call Thomas Jefferson a Unitarian, too, but just as Jefferson called himself a Unitarian, he also called himself a Christian. He wrote to the famous Universalist minister, Dr. Benjamin Rush, who was also signer of the Declaration of Independence, saying: “I am a Christian, in the only sense [Jesus] wished any one to be; sincerely attached to his doctrines, in preference to all others?.”

Thomas Jefferson wrote in an angry letter to another of his friends: “I am a real Christian.” [Some] “call me infidel and themselves Christians and preachers of the gospel, while they draw all their characteristic dogmas from what its author never said or saw.”

I think Thomas Jefferson’s religious views might be quite consistent with those of many members of the UU Christian Fellowship, which you probably know is a modern-day organization affiliated with the UUA, the Unitarian Universalist Association.

We know that Jefferson wasn’t perfect. His inconsistencies pertaining to matters of race and, in particular the issue of slavery, have somewhat tarnished his image, of late. Perhaps Jesus was perfect. Thomas Jefferson thought he was, that Jesus was. Unfortunately for Jefferson, the historical record and DNA evidence on him is available, and so we know he was just an imperfect human being.

But, perhaps we could all do worse than to ask ourselves – as we make our decisions at the supermarket, at the mall, at the auto dealership, in the voting booth – we could all do a lot worse than to ask ourselves “What would Jefferson do?”

SERMON

A few months ago, there was a short article in the “Religion” section of The Dallas Morning News, “one in an occasional series on the spiritual lives of historical figures?, the column said. This one was about Thomas Jefferson and specifically, the little book he complied that has come to be called The Jefferson Bible.

I was delighted to see the article because a copy of The Jefferson Bible was the first purchases I ever made from Beacon Press, the publishing house of our Unitarian Universalist Association. I’ve always liked American history, especially the early periods up through the Civil War, and I now love the fact that both the Unitarian and the Universalist streams of our modern UU faith flowed so abundantly throughout the early American landscape, helping to water the fields from which sprang the fragrant blossoms of liberty and justice.

And I happen to pretty much agree with Thomas Jefferson’s take on Jesus of Nazareth, so, of course, I’m going to like Jefferson’s Bible – and many UUs seem to like it.

As I said in my Offertory words, Jefferson was raised an Anglican, but as a student at William and Mary College, he was introduced to philosophy and church history, and was influenced by the English deists who put forth the notion of a Creator God who set the world in motion, and then stepped back, to interfere no more in its workings. But Jefferson did not remain a deist throughout his life.

During his tenure as John Adams’ vice-president, (1797-1801) he became quite friendly with Dr. Benjamin Rush, a medical doctor and out-spoken Universalist. He and Jefferson had what Jefferson described as many “delightful conversations?, about the Christian religion.

Around this same time, (1796) Joseph Priestly, the English clergyman and scientist who you may remember as having discovered oxygen, came to Philadelphia and established the first church in America to be founded as a Unitarian church from its beginning.

Priestly had been a Unitarian clergyman back in England, and when his home and laboratory were burned to the ground, at least partly because of his unorthodox religious views, Priestly was invited by Benjamin Franklin to come find safe haven in the United States, in Philadelphia, and he did.

Thomas Jefferson visited Joseph Priestley’s Unitarian church and heard him preach. It’s possible that Jefferson may have had a similar reaction to what I’ve heard described many times by many of us when we talk about our first visit to a UU church. That he couldn’t quite believe someone was actually up in a pulpit preaching the unconventional notions, considered blasphemous by most, that he had come to believe on his own! Jefferson developed quite a friendship with Joseph Priestly, and their conversations and correspondence solidified Jefferson’s Unitarian views, and in fact, caused him to re-examine the value of Christianity, from which he had by then become alienated and removed.

Always a free-thinker and one who came to his conclusions based on evidence and the careful reasoning of his own mind, under the influence of Priestly and Rush, the Unitarian and the Universalist, Jefferson turned his attentions again to the New Testament Gospels he had, of course, studied as a youth. “To the corruptions of Christianity I am indeed opposed; (Jefferson wrote to Rush), but not to the genuine precepts of Jesus himself.”

Jefferson had come to believe that Jesus exhibited (quote) “the most benevolent, and the most eloquent and sublime character that has ever been exhibited to man” whose “system of morality was the most benevolent and sublime probably that has ever been taught”, (unquote) but Jefferson rejected as contrary to evidence and reason, and to the very intentions of Jesus himself, any belief in Jesus’ divinity.

Like Priestly and other Unitarians before him, Jefferson thought that the Gospel texts had been corrupted in transmission, both naturally by time and human error and intentionally by those in the early Christian church who had sought to increase their power and status by making the new religion more popular to non-Jewish converts by grafting onto it elements of Greek sophistry and Roman mysticism. Jefferson proposed to purify the Gospels of Jesus by ridding them of those things he saw as corruptions, although he did not actually complete this task until well into his life in the year 1820, at the age of 77, some 6 years before his death.

And, how did he finally do that? There is a Garrison Keillor joke you may have heard about the notice posted for am adult r.e. class in a Unitarian Church that said, “Bible Study Begins Next Week. Bring your Bibles – and your scissors.” Well, that’s literally what Thomas Jefferson did!

Using two copies each of Greek, Latin, French and English translations of the four Gospels, Jefferson took a razor and physically cut from the pages any references to supernatural occurrences – no virgin birth, no angels in the sky, at the beginning. No walking on water or feeding the multitudes in the middle. And, certainly most disturbing of all for orthodox Christians, no resurrection at the end.

And then, Jefferson pasted into a blank book those parts of the story he thought could be true. He left in what seemed to him to be the plausible facts about Jesus’ life. He also combined the 4 narratives into a single chronological story. He, of course, left in all the sayings and moral teachings he believed Jesus had said. Jefferson described this work (and these are his words, not mine) as separating “diamonds from the dunghill?.

And what did Jefferson leave himself and us with after all his snipping and pasting? I return to the Dallas Morning News article I mentioned at the beginning which quotes Catholic author and historian Garry Wills (with whom I frequently agree) as saying that although Jefferson’s Gospel tells the tale of “a good man, a very good man, perhaps the best of good men,” this Jesus is “boring, utterly without mystery”, “shorn of his paradoxes and left with platitudes.”

I beg to differ with Garry Wills and to agree with Thomas Jefferson. If, in his religious searching, Gary Wills has come to believe in Jesus the Christ, born of the virgin Mary, risen from the dead and ascended into heaven, neither Jefferson nor I would try to change his mind – or yours, should those be your beliefs. Jefferson said, “It does me no injury for my neighbor to say there are twenty gods or no God. It neither picks my pocket nor breaks my leg.”

I believe that this pulpit is different from others in that my job up here is not to try to convince you of anything. You are the authority when it comes to your own religious beliefs. Religion is different from science in that we cannot know, we will not know, in this life at least, what is “true” and what is not. “For now we see through a glass darkly?.

So I am here only to share with you my perspective, and you may use it to inform your own, in some way, if you wish, so, this is what I think: I do not find Jefferson’s human Jesus “boring, without mystery?, “shorn of his paradoxes and left with platitudes.”

I personally have no need of supernatural beings when miracles are all around me. To me, nothing could be more miraculous than the natural world. No revelation from God could be more astonishing than the reasonable and demonstrative fact that an ordinary human mind, or minds, somehow devised the radical and elegant prescriptions for living that have been passed down to us as the teachings of Jesus of Nazareth.

Seek always justice. Do unto others, as you would have them do unto you. Love your enemies. Turn the other cheek. The truly valuable things in life are not material things. Judge not, lest ye be judged. Treat the least among you as if he or she were the messiah. Look around you, for the Kingdom of God is at hand if only you have eyes to see it. Platitudes? No, I don’t think so.

Thomas Jefferson also knew how much easier it is to espouse a religion about Jesus than it is to live out the religion of Jesus. And the miracle, my friends, what I see as the miracle, anyway, is the religion of Jesus. A description of a way of living that puts others ahead of self, peacemaking ahead of violence, compassion and forgiveness ahead of self-righteousness and revenge.

Now, I don’t always live my life that way. Neither did Thomas Jefferson. But, I find that by looking at Jesus as Thomas Jefferson did in his Bible, as a human being, but an extraordinary human being with a visionary message delivered with powerful eloquence, I, just like Jefferson before me, can now reclaim a part of my religious past – no longer to be throwing out a beautiful baby with the implausible bathwater I still can’t swallow – to mix a metaphor or two.

And, just like Jefferson, late in my life, I am coming to appreciate anew those figurative diamonds he literally cut and pasted into this little document to serve as a description of the beautiful way of living in harmony with all of creation that Jesus spoke about.

And, so this morning I am moved to say: Thank you, Jesus! And thank you, Thomas Jefferson. And Benjamin Rush and Joseph Priestly and all the rest of you brave and noble and reasonable Unitarians and Universalists down through the centuries. Your clear and compassionate thinking is the miracle. You are the miracles. We are all the miracles.

Amen.

Scottie McIntyre Johnson 2006

Interdependence Day

© Jack Harris-Bonham

July 2, 2006

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PRAYER

Mystery of many names and mystery beyond all naming, today we meet very close to this nation’s birthday, the day in which this country declared itself independent of the British Empire. We would hope that, that independence has done more than simply cut us off from the rest of the world. We would pray that in our good fortune and experience of the democratic process that we would not forget that those things we fled from in the old world, may, in fact, come back to haunt us.

As a republic we need to remember that although our sovereign power resides in those whom we elect, those so elected need to be responsible ultimately to we, the people. In these trying times when it seems that our nation is making more enemies than friends, in these times when elected representation ignores the best interests of those who elected them, give us the patience to withstand the affront and the willingness to get back the power that exists in the people themselves.

Democracy is a prime example of relationship in action. Let us never forget that how we treat one another in this country is as equally important as how our country treats other countries. Fairness and peace are things that we must practice in our grass roots relationships.

If peace is to be practiced in and by this country it must first be practiced here in and by this covenant community. If love, empathy and compassion are to be taught by freedom loving people, then that love, empathy and compassion must be a part of the cloth that makes up this covenanting community.

May we recognize the fact that the entire world is an interdependent whole.

Help us, Great Spirit, to humbly remember our births, to graciously remember that we all shall die, and to treat our mother, the earth, as the living being she is.

We ask this in the name of everything that is holy, and that is, precisely everything.

Amen.

SERMON: Interdependence Day

Introduction:

The sun is a nuclear engine. It started up a long, long time ago – 4.5 billion years ago to be exact – and it has been revving up its engine ever since. Scientists estimate that in 500 million years from now – that’s in a half a billion years our Sun – we call it ours you know – our sense of property has no bounds – our Sun will heat up to the point that the surface of OUR beloved planet Earth will be about the same temperature as Venus – around 750 degrees Fahrenheit with a variance of ten degrees all over the planet.

In other words there won’t be a planet Earth, as we know it. There is speculation that the future of the human race – Homo sapiens – rests on the technology that can take us to Mars – the next planet that will be ready for life as we know it.

There have been a lot of science fiction movies made where Earth is threatened from forces outside our galaxy. It looks like we’ve been looking too far away, it seems something closer to home will eventually be our undoing.

Speaking of galaxies, do you remember the little ditty, “Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord he is rolling down the alley in a blue and yellow Ford?” My guess is – it was a Ford Galaxy.

George Bernard Shaw once said that the English and the Americans were two great peoples separated by a common language. It is my contention today that the Republican and Democratic Parties are two great parties separated by a common misunderstanding. The nature of that misunderstanding is cosmic in scope and proportion.

It turns out that life on this planet is like a bad “B? movie where the main character turns to the other characters and says, “Nobody is going to get out of this alive.” And although the actor well enough known to be a lead in a “B? science fiction movie may have been referring to their reputations and resumes as actors, as well as their pretend life in that movie, it turns out that prophesies sometimes come from the weirdest places.

When I was married to my second wife we were separated for a while. I moved into my mother’s summerhouse in Key Largo, Florida. I was having a good time fishing for rainbow sea trout in Florida Bay – as the western side of the waters along the Keys are known. I was also doing my damnedest to play out the role of the Hemingway-like character who drank too much, caroused with strange women, and wrote brilliant prose. Well, at least I was being successful at the drinking part.

One night in the Keys, I dreamed I gave my five-year old daughter, Isabelle, a piggyback ride on my shoulders. When I awoke I could still feel her little legs on my shoulders.

I got up, poured out the booze, threw the live shrimp into the bay – I was fishing from a rowboat and in the early afternoons when the sun was headed toward the Gulf, I’d get a strike on nearly every cast – anyway, I freed the live shrimp, counted my money and called a cab.

When I got to the Greyhound Bus Station it turned out that I only had enough money to get to Orlando, in central Florida, which if you know Florida at all, is not walking distance to the Capital, Tallahassee, in the panhandle.

On the bus ride from Key Largo to Miami I had to do some fast thinking. Where could I get an extra $40 to push my bus ticket all the way to Tallahassee?

Bus stations are always in dubious parts of cities, and Miami is no exception. I could see the Cuban pawn and jewelry shops lined up and down one street as we made our way toward the station. That’s where I’d get the extra $40.

The only thing I had of value that would be of interest to either of those shops was a little bit of gold. The first few jewelry shops told me the same thing. It was a poor grade of gold and too little to even think about getting $40. Then, I happened upon a jewelry store with a manager who was a beautiful Cuban woman.

I had something else that was nearly always saleable – a modicum of charm. I turned the volume on that charm up to ten and entered the shop. She wasn’t interested. That’s when I told her why I wanted to sell my wedding ring. I had to get back to Tallahassee to reunite with my beloved wife and child. I think I was on the verge of tears. I may even have told her about the dream with my daughter Isabelle. I can’t remember. The next step was to get down on my knees. The gold wedding ring went to the beautiful Cuban woman, but the forty bucks wasn’t for the gold in the ring. It was in exchange for a story of romance gone awry.

I rolled into Tallahassee around 4:30 AM. The bus station is about two miles from Lake Ella Drive where my wife, Debra, and daughter, Isabelle, were staying with her parents, Lino and Teresa Hernandez.

I got to the lake when there was just beginning to show a sliver of light in the east. I walked around the lake and waited for the sun to come up.

As I was standing there with the lake between me and the rising Sun, all of a sudden I knew – no, no, I felt that the Sun was stationary and that it was our mother, the Earth, that was moving beneath my feet. My problems on this spinning orb were laughable compared to the enormity of space, and the light that was streaming at me from the Sun – its mean distance from the earth defined as one astronomical unit – boy, you can say that again! I understood finally that the burdens I carried were fictitious and I could, if I chose, discard them. At that moment I walked to the house and rang the doorbell. My father-in-law, Lino, came to the door all bleary-eyed and half asleep, and I asked him, “Can Debra and Isabelle come out and play?”

Some one once asked Buckminster Fuller if he could imagine what it must feel like to be an astronaut. He laughed and said, “We’re all astronauts – we are all riding our mother, spaceship Earth.” There is a sense in which this earth is our spaceship. We have a controlled atmosphere, food supplies, and amusements on board.

The leaders of this world, and certainly the leaders of this country have decided to ignore the fact that we’re all on the same spaceship – the same vehicle!

Why would anyone tease onboard a closed atmospheric vehicle with others onboard that same vehicle that they might use nuclear weapons in order to get their way? Think about it. It would be like riding in a car with someone and when they decide not to stop at the I-35 Czech Stop Bakery and Shell station you announce that if they don’t stop you’ll pull the pin on a concussion grenade that you happen to have in your pocket. There’s a disconnect somewhere in that kind of thinking.

Is anybody paying attention to the fact that the billions that were spending and making on this war could have fed the entire planet a few times over?

There have been a lot of science fiction movies made where Earth is threatened from forces outside our galaxy. It looks like we’ve been looking too far away, it seems something closer to home will eventually be our undoing.

So how can we diffuse this bomb of a world? Can we diffuse it? Is it hopeless? Are we doomed? Will nobody and nothing get out of this alive? Will we destroy our world?

Jayan Nayar, a lecturer in the School of Law, at the University of Warwick in the United Kingdom has this to say; “It is often that we think that to change the world it is necessary to change the way power is exercised in the world; so we go about the business of exposing and denouncing the many power configurations that dominate.”

Yet, “To say the word power is to describe relationship; to acknowledge power is to acknowledge our subservience to that relationship. There can exist no power if the subservient relationship is refused – then power can only achieve its ambitions through its naked form, violence.”

Mr. Nayar continues; “Changing the world therefore is a misnomer for in truth it is relationships that are to be changed. And the only relationships we can change for us are our own. And the constant in all our relationships is ourselves – the “I? of all of us.

And so, to change our relationships, we must change the “I? that is each of us. Transformations of “structures” will soon follow. This is, perhaps, the beginning of emancipations. This is, perhaps, the essential message of all the Mahatmas.”

So – what do we need to change in order to change the world? Is it even possible to talk like this? Is there one thing that if we did away with it, then everyone would be changed?

My problems on this spinning orb were laughable compared to the enormity of space, and the light that was streaming at me from the Sun – its mean distance from the earth defined as one astronomical unit – boy, you can say that again! I understood finally that the burdens I carried were fictitious and I could, if I chose, discard them.

Rachel Naomi Remen tells the story of a woman who was a cancer survivor. She lived in San Rafael. Helene was a truly gorgeous woman who took hours on her appearance. She told Dr. Remen that she was living with a man that was perfect with one exception – he lacked passion. He asked her permission every time he kissed her. She wasn’t sure this is what she wanted in a man.

“All this changed on October the 17th, 1989 at 5:04PM. On that afternoon, Helene was in one of downtown San Francisco’s finest department stores seeking the perfect outfit for a business dinner honoring her fiance. In the company of a personal shopper, she was in a dressing room wearing a fuchsia silk dress that she had decided was just right. Both women were admiring the dress, when the shopper suggested she wear it up to the seventh floor and match it to a pair of shoes. Leaving all her belongings in the locked dressing room, she went to the shoe department. She had just put on a pair of heels in the perfect shade when the earthquake struck.

All the lights went out. The building shook violently and she was thrown to the floor. In the darkness she could hear things falling all around her. When the shaking stopped, she, a few saleswomen, and several other customers somehow made their way down the stairs in the dark to the front door. There was broken glass everywhere.

Helene found herself standing in the street in a very expensive dress and perfectly matching four-inch heels. Frightened and dazed people rushed by her. All of her own clothes and her purse were somewhere in the dark chaos of a building which quite possibly was no longer safe to reenter. Her money was in her purse. So were her car keys. Walking to the corner, she picked up a public phone. It was dead.

Helene was a person who had never been able to ask for help, and she couldn’t ask for help now. She turned north and started walking toward her home, many miles away in San Rafael.

It took her almost eight hours to reach there. After a short time her feet began to hurt, so she took off the heels and threw them away. As she walked on, her nylons tore and her feet began to bleed. She passed buildings that had collapsed, stumbled over rubble, waded through streets filled with filthy water from the fire-fighting efforts. Dirty, sweaty, and disheveled, she walked down the Marina to the Golden Gate Bridge and crossed into the next county. She reached home sometime after midnight and knocked on her own front door. It was opened by her fiance, who had never before seen her with her hair uncombed. Without a word he took her into his arms, kicked the door closed, covered her dirty, tear-stained face with kisses, and made love to her right there on the floor.

Helene is a very intelligent person but she could not understand why she had never met this ardent lover before. When she asked him, he said simply, “I was always afraid of smearing your lipstick.”

She tells me that now when she begins to relapse into her former perfectionism, she remembers the look of love in her fiance’s eyes when he opened the door. She had been looked at by men all of her life but she had never seen that expression in a man’s eyes before.”

In our efforts to remain aloof and perfect, in our desires to appear in control and in the know, perhaps we have given those around us, those that we are supposedly involved with in relationships the wrong message.

There have been a lot of science fiction movies made where Earth is threatened from forces outside our galaxy. It looks like we’ve been looking too far away, it seems something closer to home will eventually be our undoing.

So this is what it boils down to – we can’t change things by complaining about them. Power structures are based on relationship and the only way those in power stay in power is for us to maintain a subservient relationship to their power structure. If we decide to build grass roots relationships closer to our homes and churches and ignore the call of big government we can go so far as to refuse to pay taxes to support an unjust and profit driven war. However if we refuse this subservient relationship, we run the risk of being the object of ambitious power through its naked form – that is – through violence.

And yet, we must envision a new story for our species. We can no longer be satisfied with their country versus our country, nor especially, my country, right or wrong. These attitudes are juvenile and lead from all out competition to war-like stances and war-like actions now participated in by our government.

We cannot rely on the fact that we are the only superpower to get us through. Can’t anyone remember what happens to the bully when all the kids on the block get tired of getting beat-up?

A new story has to be written. Chief Seattle spoke these words long ago and they still ring true today;

“I have seen a thousand rotting buffaloes on the prairie, left by the white man who shot them from a passing train. I am a savage and do not understand how the smoking iron horse can be made more important than the buffalo that we kill only to stay alive. What is man without the beasts? If all the beasts were gone, man would die from a great loneliness of spirit. For whatever happens to the beasts, soon happens to man. All things are connected. This we know; the earth does not belong to man; man belongs to the earth. This we know. All things are connected like the blood which unites one family.”

I’m sure that most of you have heard these words before, but who among you knows the secret behind these words?

(Pick up the handheld mike and go into the congregation.)

No, this isn’t a rhetorical question. I’m really asking, Who among you knows the secret behind these beautiful words?

(Either you get an answer or you don’t.)

Truth is these words were not written nor spoken by Chief Seattle. They were instead written by a screenwriter, Ted Perry, for a late 1970’s movie entitled, “Home,” which was produced in the United States by – are you ready? – the Southern Baptist Convention.

Is this an outrage? I think not. Do you remember in my story about getting back to Tallahassee from Key Largo these words?

The gold wedding ring went to the beautiful Cuban woman, but the forty bucks wasn’t for the gold ring it was in exchange for my story of romance gone awry.

The truth is Chief Seattle did make a speech; it simply wasn’t as good as the one rewritten by the screenwriter. The gold – the truth – in my wedding band wasn’t worth forty bucks, but the sad story of romance gone awry – now, there was a universal truth that any woman could identify with.

Jerry Mander in his book, In Absence of the Sacred, says this about the works of Carlos Castaneda; “He led millions through experiences designed to reveal unknown dimensions of our nature. And he did all this by imitating Native American storytelling style. Like the stories, myths and histories Castaneda emulated, it scarcely mattered to what extent the characters were real or not. They were teaching systems.”

Our old stories of manifest destiny and dominion over this earth granted us by a single God in charge of everything, those stories were teaching systems too. They taught us that we lived in a mechanistic world, and that cultures that believed that the earth was a mother, and the sky a father, those cultures were less advanced than ours. We practiced what is nominally called Cultural Darwinism and in the process we murdered millions of indigents, raped the land, made and broke treaties – those treaties were teaching systems, too – they taught the Native Americans that in the end the white man could not be trusted.

Conclusion:

So – the stories we hold onto, that we are better, that they are less developed, that we will win because we have the technology, all these stories are no more or less true than say – the narrative of Jesus the Christ. We have suffered long enough from the stories that teach us not to respect the earth, the sky, and the beasts of the field. We must rewrite our cultural narratives, we must. Yes, it seems that everyone is onboard with this technological BS, and how can the most powerful nation in the world be wrong, but this is probably the same thoughts that go lightly through the minds of lemmings as they follow the running procession off the cliffs and into the sea.

There have been a lot of science fiction movies made where Earth is threatened from forces outside our galaxy. It looks like we’ve been looking too far away, it seems something closer to home will eventually be our undoing.

I’m declaring today, the 2 day of July 2006, Interdependence Day. And you’re in just the right spot to celebrate. Today we celebrate that we have found a place where we can gather as a free community. We have found friends with whom we can share our hopes, our lives, and our dreams. We have covenanted with others to be there for one another, to love as unconditionally as we possibly can, to listen to one another, to grow in the fact that we can all believe whatever it is that we believe, simply because we believe it.

No one here has been asked to leave their brain, their heart or their social conscience at the door. We gather here as human beings possessed not only of the powers of ratiocination, but the willingness to imagine that there are other ways in which the world can be seen. We gather here for no other reason than to bask in the warmth of friendship, the beauty of fellowship, and the light of open-mindedness.

The secret to the mundane drama of life is to hold your position while allowing others to hold theirs.

The hope of the planet is in covenant communities like us. Our duty is to keep relationship alive at the grass roots level. If peace is to be practiced it will be practiced here first. We teach love, grace, empathy, compassion, willingness to fail, the ability to be playful. We are free men, women and children who have agreed – we shall be as one from time to time. We shall recognize our interdependence, we shall humbly remember our births, we shall give credit where credit is due, and live as lightly on the land as possible.

I repeat – we are the hope of humankind.

Changing the world therefore is a misnomer, for, in truth, it is relationships that are to be changed.

So don’t tell me you don’t know about changing the story, rewriting the plot – I don’t believe that. There is hardly a one of you sitting here that was handed this particular covenant. Many UU’s are here – not by default – no! We are here because we didn’t like the stories we were born with. We weren’t going to live our lives in guilt. We refused to accept the notion that a God would condemn some to hell and elect others to heaven. We weren’t satisfied with the scripts that we had been given. So what did we do? We rewrote the scenario to fit what we felt matched both our hearts and our minds.

Our problems on this spinning orb are laughable compared to the enormity of space, and the light that is streaming at us from the Sun – its mean distance from the earth defined as one astronomical unit – boy, you can say that again! We must understand finally that the burdens we carry are fictitious and we could, if we chose, discard them.

Selves & Souls

© Davidson Loehr

June 25, 2006

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 pray for inspiration of the higher sort. Too often, we act inspired by motives too low to be proud of: selfishness, greed, using other people as things to serve our own ends, rather than ends in themselves.

We move so easily into attitudes of taking or entitlement, looking out for #1, as though the other people around us should be assigned numbers rather than respect.

Yet we do this against a background of high ideals, high teachings, high expectations that are continually trying to get our attention, trying to help us become the solution to the human predicament rather than one of its symptoms.

Perhaps Abraham Lincoln said it best when he prayed that we listen to the “higher angels of our nature” rather than the lower kind.

It is about who we shall become, and in the service of what ideals. Let us pray for inspiration from the higher sort, and develop the ear that listens only for the better angels of our nature.

Amen.

SERMON: Selves & Souls

The general theme for this sermon came from Stephan Windsor, the man who bought the right to negotiate the sermon theme at last fall’s services auction. He offered several ideas on which he had done a lot of work, and I chose to address the notion of the Self. I wasn’t sure how I would keep it from being just an academic lecture.

What it means, or what I think it means, is that each of us has this distinctive style of being, a distinctive character that our parents saw the seeds of when we were still babies, and that people who’ve known us all our life say has always been who we are. It seems to come, somehow, as part of our genetic package. Some are shy, some are outgoing; some are aggressive, some avoid confrontation; some analyze, others feel, and so on. That core style helps us choose the teachings, philosophies, theologies and values we find most natural.

This core personality, this fundamental style of being who we are, with all our gifts and strengths and weaknesses: I think of this as our Self.

I don’t need to belabor this; you all have a feel for what I mean. The question is whether that’s enough. Can’t we just follow our intuition through life, follow our own gifts and style? After all, it’s what we largely do. Isn’t it enough? What would or could you add to it? Specifically, what on earth do religion or philosophy or ethics really think they have to add to us that we would care or need to care about? Every person seems to have this core, this Self, that’s apparent not long after birth, still identifiable when they become very old. If we need more than that, why do we need it, and what is it?

You can see how easily this could become so abstract you’d need to doze off.

As I thought about this, I wondered what it might look like if serving that core character got seriously out of bounds. For nobody really wants to defend our total freedom to act however we want. As someone has said, my freedom to swing my fists has to stop at your nose, and eventually my self-serving wishes will run up against your self-serving wishes. And then what? Then does the strongest, the greediest, or the one with the most guns win? Or should there be something else to us?

As I free-associated on this, my mind wandered far from the human species, as I remembered some drama that took place a year and a half ago in the attic above my bedroom, involving raccoons. These are some of the cleverest animals around, and it took many months and finally calling out a roofer to discover that they had torn the heavy screen off from around my hot air escape vent on the roof, crawled in and dropped down to the attic. We never figured out how they got out, though they got in by climbing trees and dropping onto my roof.

But during what passes for “winter” here, one raccoon entered my attic, and the noise she made sounded like she was making a nest. Before long, the noises made me believe she had given birth to a couple little raccoons. So instead of thinking they were invading my space, I started thinking of my attic as a kind of homeless shelter for single raccoon mothers. When her babies were old enough and it got a little warmer at nights, I figured she would take them out into the real world, and I could close my raccoon homeless shelter.

But a few months later on a cold night, I heard a heavier thump on my roof, then in my attic. Soon there was much noise and scrambling, and I heard the two young raccoons squeal and scream, as the intruder killed them.

I knew what had happened, as you can probably guess too. A male raccoon had entered to claim the space and – like males of many species do – had killed the young ones because they weren’t his, weren’t extensions of his own genetic line, had no connection to his raccoon Self.

Now when people do such things – and sometimes they do – we call it murder, and we prosecute them. We don’t hold other animals to those higher standards – I doubt that you thought the raccoon had “murdered” the two young raccoons – because we don’t think they recognize those standards. But we do.

Those raccoons may seem an odd introduction to a sermon about Selves & Souls. But in humans, it can point us to the difference between those acting out of self-interest and those acting out of an allegiance to much higher standards. See if you find it useful as I try and flesh it out.

These nasty raccoon behaviors are things we see in so-called “higher” animal behavior, especially in politics, in our treatment of others around us.

A few months ago, I read an interesting book in the field of ethology, or comparative animal behavior, a field I’ve liked reading in for thirty years. The book was called Our Inner Ape, written by one of the world’s foremost primatologists, a man named Frans de Waal. Among other things, he studied human political behavior by studying chimpanzee political behavior, finding them nearly identical. Both species seek power and privileges over the others through combinations of strength, shrewdness, and carefully chosen political alliances.

He talked especially about a very shrewd old male chimp. In his early years, he had been the strongest and fiercest, so he was the alpha male, with all its privileges of power and access to females. As he got older and weaker, he got more clever, and began forming alliances with a strong younger male who lacked his political savvy. He would help the young male become the alpha male, in return for keeping his privileges and power.

Like human politics, chimpanzee politics can be vicious, bloody business. De Waal described a time when the old chimp got even with a male who had twice defeated him many months earlier, by waiting until night when the human guards went home, then setting up an ambush, in which he and the young alpha male attacked his old rival and killed him. Like the raccoons, these male chimps were only interested in what was theirs, what they could gain for themselves, and no amount of violence seemed too much.

It’s easy for us to see patterns in chimp behavior, to reflect on them and judge them in ways chimps cannot do. That ability to see actions against a background of higher expectations is one of the key abilities that distinguishes us from what we like to call “lower animals.”

That’s a funny, and telling, thing to call them: “lower” animals. It sure isn’t a comment on our relative strength! There’s probably nobody in this room that could win a one-on-one unarmed fight with an adult male chimpanzee, or baboon, leopard, elephant, or a few hundred other so-called “lower” animal species.

We mean something else when we boast that we are “higher” animals. And it has everything to do with this difference between Selves and Souls.

So let’s move from chimpanzees to humans.

First, a few words about souls. Scholars have shown that very ancient Egyptian religions, from which our biblical religions got their message and many of their stories, celebrated a divine presence within us thousands of years ago. The Greeks brought it down to earth about 2500 years ago, when they evolved the concept of Psyche, which is the source of our word “soul.” It was tied to character, to what is most essential about a human, though for the Greeks there was no afterlife; it was all about what happened here and now, and our Psyche referred to what was highest or noblest about us.

They had a visual image of the person rising to their full humanity. It was a set of nested concentric circles. The smallest circle in the center represented what you could call our undeveloped Self: just us. The next larger circle was of our relationships with lovers, friends and family – the relationships that make us bigger people, that begin to call us to higher values than the raccoons and chimps showed.

What the Greeks were doing with those concentric circles – and what Christian theologians followed them in doing – was saying that, since we have the ability to see our actions against a background of the highest ideals and expectations, we have a duty to do this. Living in accordance with the highest ideals, rather than just those that serve our private selves, is what we must do to realize our true nature. That’s what can raise us above the so-called lower animals: our greater capacity for understanding and compassion. In humans, we expect these higher ideals to trump the “Selfishness’ that’s also a part of us.

Ethologists like Frans de Waal argue that much or most of this also comes with our animal heritage: that altruism, a caring for others like us, is as much a part of us. You’ve probably read about the mother gorilla who saved a young boy who fell into the gorilla enclosure at a zoo a few years back, and returned him to his mother. Or stories of how dolphins have saved drowning humans, carrying them into shallow water. And Jack Harris-Bonham has a great personal story about being saved from circling sharks by a school of dolphins that he can tell you. Altruism, even across species lines, is demonstrably a part of our evolutionary heritage.

And every religion, philosophy, culture and system of law expects this of us. Though, like the raccoons and chimpanzees, we have those lower and more self-centered tendencies in us too, of course. We can see the contrast between serving our selves and a need for higher aspirations by looking at our own behavior, even better than by looking at raccoons and chimps.

So let’s move from chimps to people.

I recently had dinner with the District Executive of another Unitarian district out in the East. We were talking about churches with living spirits versus churches with dead spirits, and he said some of the churches in his district seemed to have dead or moribund spirits.

He told me about an old church with only fifteen members. The church itself was old, 250-300 years, begun as a Congregational church in the 18th century, before the members rejected two-thirds of the Trinity and became Unitarians in the mid-19th century. All the members are over seventy now. But once it had many members, and enough money to buy the land and build the church that was now much larger than they needed. And many members over the centuries donated a lot of money to build quite a healthy endowment.

But that was long ago. Now there are just the fifteen members, with no interest in attracting any more, especially young ones. They are content with just themselves, and will use the remainder of the endowment to cover operating expenses, and the cost of burying the remaining members. When they are all dead, the endowment will be gone if they plan it right, the church can slip into past history, and they are all quite comfortable with this.

They’re taking care of themselves, and it looks like it’s hard to criticize them. After all, they’re the only members, they”ve probably all been there for a long time, they can even vote unanimously to spend the endowment on their funerals at a duly called congregational meeting, so it’s perfectly democratic.

They act like there are only the few of them to consider, taking care of themselves with free money for which they owe no one an explanation.

But is it really just them?

For over 250 years, a few thousand people have belonged to that church. They gave their money, their time, energy and spirit to that church, and established the endowment, in the hopes that Something would continue to live into the future.

What is that “Something”? It was certainly not the hope that all this money, all these hopes and dreams, would be buried in the ground, never to be used for serving life again. When we serve only ourselves, we lose access to that higher level of visions and inspirations. We lose the inspiration of that whole Grand Reservoir of our human and animal heritage, and I think we need that Grand heritage to help us rise to our full human (and animal) height.

Well, you see the patterns I’m trying to sketch here, I’m sure. And now that you can see these patterns, and know what I’m trying to get at, let’s move from churches to some of the political behaviors we all see around us, and which are defining us as “Americans” to much of the rest of the world.

As many critics have written, our present administration and lawmakers have effected a huge transfer of wealth, greater than at any time in at least the last eighty years, if not in our nation’s history, and a host of other money-transferring schemes that look for all the world like a vicious kind of greed that the chimpanzees would recognize immediately: looting our society the way Alpha males and females feel entitled to do.

And where to start in our illegal invasion of Iraq? I’m sure most of you have read, as I also have, that the desire to invade Iraq was discussed in January 2001, the week President Bush’s administration moved into power. Greg Palast – who spoke to an audience of over 350 in this room last Sunday – has written that as early as March of 2001 – six months before 9-11 – Dick Cheney met with oil company executives to review oil maps of Iraq. And by October of that year, Paul Wolfowitz had drafted an elaborate plan detailing the “sale of all state enterprises’ in Iraq – that is, most of the nation’s assets, “especially in the oil and supporting industries.”

(See http://www.gregpalast.com/iraqmeetingstimeline.html, or Google terms like “Iraq Timeline,” “9-11 Timeline,” etc.)

We were led into the illegal invasion through outright deceptions about weapons of mass destruction to serve motives that look completely selfish, and far more vicious than chimps could ever imagine – estimates of how many innocent Iraqi people we have killed since invading their country run to 250,000 or more, in addition to the more than 2,500 of our own soldiers whose lives were lost not defending “freedom and democracy,” but defending what looks to many people like little more than the looting of Iraq by some of our greediest and most well-connected corporations.

We could go on to a dozen other activities and events of the past five years that all paint the same pattern of chimpanzee-style US geopolitical behaviors. In this country, when you kill people in order to steal from them, it’s called “homicide in the commission of a felony.” And in Texas, that’s a capital offense. If chimpanzees were observing us, they might say that we kill those people in Iraq because they’re not ours, not like us, because they’re in the way of our greedy ambitions, since we declared ourselves the Alpha Nation. Both the raccoons and the chimps would recognize the behavior, though I think they”d be shocked at the scale of our greed and our wantonness.

You can say we’re acting in our best interests, but without noble ideals it’s just the lowest kind of selfish behavior, serving Selves too low and mean to defend.

Yet there is something in our government’s deceptions about Iraq that is, in an ironic way, encouraging. Something deep in our leaders knew they needed to wrap their actions in noble talk about freedom and democracy because their real motives were so low that all decent people would have been ashamed and would have stopped them.

It’s that same noble part of us that I’m appealing to.

Some of our major cultural institutions today are being used to drag us down to the lowest and most self-serving of ideals. Just listen to Jerry Falwell praying that we blow away people in the name of the Lord, or that awful Baptist church that has taken to protesting the funerals of our soldiers, pretending that God is really killing them because he hates homosexuality – and not realizing that any god worthy of the name would hate their own bigoted and hateful actions far more. Or listen to almost anything from Ann Coulter. These people speak as Christians, so very well: they’re Christians. It is not the religion of Jesus – I think he would have detested what they are doing. But today these people are the best-known spokespeople for Christianity. This means that Christianity and its God have, through people like them, become so vile that they can no longer hope to offer adequate moral guidance for our nation. These people who loudly proclaim that they are Christians have become agents of a terrible selfishness that really is lower than the behavior of my attic raccoon or the wiley old male chimpanzee.

We come back where we begin, creatures with high and low possibilities, always needing to be called to the higher ones.

Yet, at home and abroad, in small or large actions of self-aggrandizement, there is an important way in which we are like those fifteen members of that dying little church: we are not on this stage alone. For millennia behind us, humans have worked, sacrificed, loved and cared about those higher allegiances and more tender mercies that help us become the best that we can be.

They have left these high commands to us, buried within every human institution. The warrior code of our soldiers is marked by some of the highest of human ideals, expressed in speeches like General Douglas MacArthur’s farewill address to West Point in 1962, in which he reminded them that those three words “Duty, Honor, Country” called them to their highest humanity, their most selfless devotion, their most courageous actions, made them heroes not just of war, but of our battle for higher humanity.

Religions at their best – no matter how seldom they seem to be at their best today – also call us toward our tender mercies, reminding us that whatever we do to the least among us we do to our own souls. And secular civic laws say we may not kill people in order to steal from them, and that lying is usually a bad thing.

So here we are. We have the better angels of our nature on one shoulder, and the lower and more selfish angels of our nature on the other. The lower angels say to take what we can, get away with what we can, and to the victor goes the spoils and to hell with the rest. The higher angel says we were meant to be formed in the image of God, not something less – but it’s up to us. The higher angel says when we act selfishly, to take what suits us no matter the harm it does to other humans, animals, and our environment, then we have disgraced ourselves, our race, and our calling – but it’s up to us.

We have selves, and can all act quite selfishly, and at times we all do. We also have souls. Souls are those repositories of all the highest hopes those before us had for what we might yet become, still beckoning to us, calling to us today with voices from ancient ages long past. But it’s up to us.

We have selves and we have souls, and if human history has shown us anything, it is that we can serve either level of ideals we choose, becoming either a low or a high model of what it can mean to come to our full humanity in this time and place.

Now it’s up to us. And the Good News is that we know, we really do know, exactly what we should do, don’t we?