A Cross of Iron Revisited

© Martin Bryant

15 Aug 2004

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

In the reading we were reminded of the numerous injunctions in the Judeo-Christian tradition which encourage us to peace.

The religious tradition which has served me personally with the greatest inspiration is the Tao-Te-Ching – the two thousand year old Chinese text:

I read from a recent translation by Stephen Mitchell

There is no greater illusion than fear, no greater wrong than preparing to defend yourself, no greater misfortune than having an enemy. Whoever can see through all fear will always be safe. (from #46)

For every force there is a counterforce. Violence, even well intentioned, always rebounds upon itself. (#30)

Weapons are the tools of violence, the tools of fear and a decent person will avoid them except in the direst necessity and use them only with the utmost restraint. One’s enemies are not demons – but human beings, like oneself. Do not rejoice in victory – for every victory is a funeral for kin. (#31)

Give evil nothing to oppose and it will disappear itself. (#60)

There can be no wholeness in war – only in Peace is there wholeness

These are only a few of the countless passages we could find in all of the world’s spiritual texts that warn against building a culture, a civilization, driven by militarism. Only some of the many that would encourage us to peace and patience, compassion and understanding.

A year and a half ago, the world’s clergy stood almost completely united in their opposition to a unilateral action against Iraq. In Austin all three UU ministers, Rev. Loehr, Chuck Freeman, and Kathleen Ellis, all delivered very strong statements from the pulpit. They were joined not only by individuals, but by organizations of Catholics, Presbyterians, even George Bush’s Methodists.

However, many UUs are somewhat suspicious of religious texts and religious leaders. So I offer you an alternative authority.

Fifty years ago, in a world recovering from the greatest war it had ever known, a struggle against a fascist militaristic nation bent on world domination, and reeling from our use of the most horrible weaponry ever conceived, many of the world’s leaders spoke out about what they saw as an emerging problem, the increasing power and influence of the sponsors of the American military.

In his last writings, incomplete and found on his desk, Albert Einstein, thought by many to be among the most brilliant minds in a century – in fact Time Magazine’s “Man of the Century”, wrote the following words:

The conflict that exists today is no more than an old-style struggle for power, once again presented to mankind in semi-religious trappings. The difference is that, this time, the development of atomic power has imbued the struggle with a ghostly character; for both parties know and admit that, should the quarrel deteriorate into actual war, mankind is doomed. Despite this knowledge, statesmen in responsible positions on both sides continue to employ the well-known technique of seeking to intimidate and demoralize the opponent by marshaling superior military strength. They do so even though such a policy entails the risk of war and doom. Not one statesman in a position of responsibility has dared to pursue the only course that holds out any promise of peace, the course of supranational security, since for a statesman to follow such a course would be tantamount to political suicide. Political passions, once they have been fanned into flame, exact their victims. 

Albert Schweitzer gave up his career as a theologian to go back to school, learn medicine and practice healing among the poorest people in the world in Africa. With his lucent words and his life of service Schweitzer is known as perhaps the greatest philanthropist of the last fifty years.

In becoming supermen we have become monsters. We have permitted masses of people in wartime to be destroyed, whole cities with their inhabitants to be wiped out.., and human beings to be turned into blazing torches by flame throwers. We learn of these happenings through the radio and newspaper and judge them according to whether they bring success to the group of nations to which we belong or to our enemies. When we admit such things are an act of inhumanity we do so with the reservation that we are forced by the facts of war to let them happen.

When without further effort we resign ourselves to this fate we become ourselves guilty of barbarity. Today it is essential that we should all of us admit this inhumanity. The frightful experience that we have shared should arouse us to do everything possible in the hope that we can bring to pass an age when war shall be no more. This determination and this hope can lead only in one direction that we should attain by a new spirit that higher reasonableness that would prevent the unholy use of the might that is now in our command. (endquote)

Martin Luther King Jr was as much a power for peace as he was for Justice. Even as the Civil Rights movement he led began to transform our nation, King was turning his ministry to face what he saw as a growing emphasis on another kind of state sponsored violence:

A nation that continues year after year to spend more money on military defense than on programs of social uplift is approaching spiritual death. Our scientific power has outrun our spiritual power. We have guided missiles and misguided men. (endquote)

But perhaps a more surprising voice spoke out as well – in 1953 Dwight David Eisenhower was President of the United States and perhaps the most famous soldier of his century. The most powerful man in the world, respected in every corner of the globe, and yet still worried about a growing power he could not counter: Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed. This world in arms is not spending money alone. It is spending the sweat of its laborers, the genius of its scientists, the hopes of its children. The cost of one modern heavy bomber is this: a modern brick school in more than thirty cities. It is two electric power plants, each serving a town of 60,000. It is two fine, fully equipped hospitals. It is some fifty miles of concrete highway. We pay for a single destroyer with new homes that could have housed more than 8000 people. This, I repeat, is the best way life to be found on the road the world has been taking. This is not a way of life at all in any true sense. Under the cloud of threatening war, it is humanity hanging on a cross of iron (endquote).

Where are our leaders today on this issue? Why is this voice stilled? The only voices who even approach this issue now are from the entertainment world. Our leaders have been silent since the days of Mohandas Gandhi, Martin Luther King, John Lennon, Bobby Kennedy, and Anwar Sadat. But perhaps I answer my own question’

In considering current affairs, perhaps it would be constructive to take an historical view of fairly recent US military engagements.

Let’s begin with the World War II. In the “Good War”, the United States was the “Sleeping Giant”. Like the Gary Cooper and Jimmy Stewart screen heroes of the day, the country was very slow to anger, but terrible in its wrath when it could take no more. The U.S. stood by while Germany and Japan attacked ally after ally, in “strong and silent” restraint, until it could be restrained no longer.

When America did enter the war, the country was unified in its resolve and unqualified in its success. With a good bit of help from some friends, America vanquished Hitler and took over 100,000 Japanese lives in two days to defeat Hirohito.

The result was that our country, while taking fewer casualties in Europe than Canada in World War II, was given the respect and appreciation of the world for the victories. And the resulting National self-satisfaction and “glory” was just enough to serve as salve for the deep wounds that war, even popular and successful war, always causes.

Since World War II, the US has been intoxicated with its success and power. With much more ready fists and trigger fingers, like the screen heroes portrayed by Charles Bronson, Clint Eastwood, and Chuck Norris, we’ve been ready to enter fights around the globe.

With George Bush the elder’s coalition forces, America endured 125 casualties in Desert Storm (many from friendly fire) while destroying over 3800 tanks, 1400 armored personnel carriers, and 141 planes and taking 60,000 prisoners and an unknown number of thousands of Iraqui lives in only a few days.

Do not though, in this election year, imagine I am making a partisan speech on a partisan issue. In 1997, dozens of countries from around the world signed a land mine ban treaty. The treaty, proposed by an American homemaker, and endorsed by the U.N., Princess Diana, and the Pope, outlaws the use of anti-personnel mines due to the horrible effects they have for generations on postwar civilian populations. The United States, led by then President Clinton would not sign this treaty because we are using land mines extensively in our ongoing border cold war in Korea.

In 1998, another international effort, endorsed by former President Carter, circulated another treaty outlawing the use of minors in combat. The signing countries agreed to end practices which currently have seen ten and twelve year olds toting automatic weapons and young girls of eight being used to detect land mines. The United States, because it actively recruits seventeen year olds for our military, would not sign this treaty either.

President Clinton’s refusal of both treaties describes our arrogance. We will simply not make any concession for peace.

And now our history arrives at September 11th, 2001. I do not wish to diminish those heinous acts, but before that awful day, terrorism in the United States was largely about white supremacists and animal rights groups. And since September 11th – we’ve hardly seen a rash of ongoing attacks. Al-Quaeda was a known threat by our intelligence organizations before September 11th and is a more prominent threat now.

But instead of declaring Al-Quaeda public enemy number one and employing the world’s cooperation and sympathy exclusively to track down these criminals and prevent them from doing further harm, President Bush declared war on “terror”.

If abstract “terror” or even generalized terrorism is our opponent – this is a war which we can engage in as long as we want to, because the enemy is of our own making and cannot be defeated. Truly, in the words of John Lennon – “war is over if you want it”.

And America entered into a war in Iraq. We have lost over six hundred American lives and perhaps fifteen times that number of Iraqui lives in this conflict and it does not seem near to any kind of end.

– We were told we entered this war because of the threat of weapons of mass destruction. We’ve not only not found evidence of these weapons, we remain the only world organization which has used weapons of mass destruction and we have discarded our efforts to control our exercise of them and set about building more.

– We were told we entered this war because of Hussein’s atrocities – However Hussein operated one of the more liberal totalitarian Arab countries (more liberal than our friends the Saudis for example or the Kuwaitis whose sovereignty we fought to protect) and we have turned our head from genocide in Africa and Southeast Asia.

– We were told we entered this war to liberate Iraquis and give them freedom. We were told this as our marines went into Haiti to deny those people their vote and depose their elected leader.

– It is apparent we entered this war for reasons that our leadership does not want made clear. And these reasons are mostly about money and power.

Ironically, the United States’ leading religion is Christianity and it is our deepest cultural heritage. Even employing the most pedestrian of translations, in the gospels, Jesus speaks three times more often of peace than he does of salvation. And yet this message from the “Prince of Peace” is lost across the millennia on our country and its leaders. President Bush, not Mother Teresa, or the Pope, has arguably become the most visible figure in Christendom. He often speaks of his devotion and practice of prayer. But it may be difficult to find a recent American leader who has so consistently made decisions which resulted in the deaths of others. It is easy to see how those of other cultures see this is a holy war on both sides when someone who seems to want to be seen as a religious leader is also such a military leader.

However, one finds little of a devout mentality in our use of “shock and awe” tactics against civilian populations and the bounties placed on Iraqui leaders. The President’s labeling the leaders of other nations “an axis of evil” – his military incursions in multiple spheres, his fear-mongering in the United States have generally served to increase the level of violence in the world. Will President Bush actually buy any measure of peace in the middle east with any of these deaths as President Carter did with peaceful diplomacy at Camp David? Is the world more peaceful or safe?

Christians and other Americans who have recently seen Mel Gibson’s film

“The Passion of the Christ” should ask themselves, does their nation more closely resemble a “Kingdom of God” with justice, forgiveness, and compassion as described by Jesus? One who would turn the other cheek and forgive those “who know not what they do”. Or does it more resemble the

Roman Empire – projecting itself through puppet governments, torture, occupying armies, and economic power all around the known world?

Five days a week we work, tithing almost ten percent of wages to our martial cause. On Sunday we come here, drop a few coins in the plate and occasionally talk and sing about peace.

As a frequent business traveler overseas – the reason why Arabs – and others including Jamaicans and Canadians resent us – is because of our “interventions”. With our World Bank, CIA, and active military – our meddling sows the fear and hatred that we reap – and our gluttonous consumption of resources and opulent wealth is the fertilizer.

In the last several years I’ve had the privilege to travel around the world in my work. In my travels, particularly in Saudi Arabia, I’ve found people open to discussing their image of our country and the relationship we have with them. I believe you would find the foreign press will reinforce my anecdotal reports that around the world the United States is perceived as a militaristic people who can be counted on to flex its muscle, often for peace, sometimes just to flex it.

But how can this be? Americans are the most diverse, generous, and freedom loving people on the planet. For every country we number among our enemies, we have substantial numbers of their descendents productively working among us. If we can be so closely allied with an absolute monarchy which permits no rights for women and no freedom of religion, there is no reason why we should not be able to find common ground with any nation on earth. Instead, our leadership seems to find new threats and new enemies for us daily.

This year we will spend almost a half trillion on our military. Around 100 billion of this is on the War in Iraq. Over ten billion is on strategic ballistic missiles. We will spend hundreds of billions more on the interest on prior military spending in the deficit. This amounts to half of the federal budget (omitting both veterans retirement and social security). By contrast we will spend almost $40 billion – less than 10% of the warfare budget – on foodstamps and welfare assistance programs. We will spend a recently cut $15 billion on NASA and about 135 million on renewable energy research.

Our military budget is not just more than the combined military budgets of pre-war Iraq, Afghanistan, North Korea, and Cuba – it is more than the combined gross national product of these countries. Even more amazing – our military budget is 40% of all military spending worldwide – significantly larger than the next ten largest military budgets in the world combined. Do any of these next ten military budgets represent our enemies? Even China in this number has “most favored nation” status.

Our “pseudo-governmental” economic powers also spend tens of billions on world bank loans that manipulate foreign governments by gaining economic control over them. And our CIA is involved in not just research, but active manipulation of governments in many regions. Manipulations which may have included assassination and coup. Manipulations which on several occasions have trained and armed those who would later threaten us – and who cause instability and fear in their regions.

Frankly – we are bullies – who force others to accept our version of what is “right for them” or “right for us” and enforce this with our might and money.

In the half century since World War II, we have built the Greatest Warrior Nation the world has ever known. We here in this room are responsible for the greatest warrior nation the world has ever known. We are responsible to the extent we have a democracy, and if we deny responsibility we are responsible for the decline in our democracy, and the pain that decline has inflicted on our world.

Who are our enemies? What do we fear? After the cold war, the greatest threat to America perhaps is terrorism, and our stealth bombers and aircraft carriers don’t protect us from this. In fact our image as the great bully makes us more vulnerable to terrorism.

In a sense, with our inappropriate level of military power and aggressive foreign policy, for small countries and political entities we are terrorists, and terrorism is an appropriate response.

Al Quaeda is not recent and not a Bin-Laden personality cult – this is a long standing organization which desires new government in Saudi Arabia. It is not a regime change our government sees in our best interest, and so we continue to support the Saudi monarchy. These revolutionaries, who have committed loathsome acts of international terrorism – have no self determination at the ballot box. And they have no recourse in part because of our support of their non-democratic process. Revolutions are always bloody and we share in responsibility for their actions because we have abandoned our ideals in their region.

Now more than ever, the only thing we have to fear, is fear itself. Fear wich has become our national policy. A national policy of internal and external fear-mongering that is holding back and holding down our own economy.

Instead of reassurance to other countries, we exhibit arrogance and hypocrisy. Our elections are far from perfect – moneyed interests have too much influence. Our current President did not get a majority of the popular vote. We have serious social problems which indicate that in our quest for freedom we may have lost some of our spiritual and moral center. Our economic system has served to widen the gap between rich and poor. Even so, we are often gluttons – consuming too much food – too much energy – too much of our planet – often just for pleasure – and seeming to flaunt our blessings in the face of those with less – much less.

What about patriotism? Has my apparent cynicism about our world role destroyed my loyalty to America? No.

I hold in high regard the ideals of our nation – ideals of a people

– who were established holding that all are created equal

– who had the courage to cross oceans and climb mountains to settle uncharted territories

– who believed in self-determination and representative government and economic freedom

– who believed in community and were ruled by town meetings and helped their neighbors

– the nation that gave birth to Henry Thoreau, Jack Kerouac jazz and rock and roll.

– who had the ingenuity and dedication to walk on the moon

A people who have fought and died and sacrificed money and advantage for freedom – freedom which has brought us cultural wealth and yes, economic wealth beyond our wildest dreams. A people who have become the most diverse and free culture in the history of the planet – a celebration of human life.

But we have become a people that do not dream big and go boldly where no one has gone before. Rather we are becoming a people who fear the “unraveling” that we see tearing at other parts of the world. We worry that frequent terrorism, more rampant disease, more harsh poverty, and shortages will come here and threaten our families, our way of life, our “stuff”. We are called by our government, not to bravely endeavor together to solve our problems and the problems of the world, but to fear.

Have we become a people that rather than strive to rise ourselves and lead, have set ourselves to holding others down so that we may remain ontop? Can we do this and remain the land of the free and the home of the brave?

Rather than fear the unraveling by batting at everything that might be pulling on a thread – we Americans should start knitting.

Across a small bit of the Hudson Bay from the gaping hole in New York City which is reminder of a horrifying day stands the Statue of Liberty. In the nineteenth century, the statue was gift to the United States from France – recognizing our world leadership not military leadership in time of war – but a leadership of ideas authored, in part by our Unitarian predecessors Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, and Ralph Waldo Emerson among many others. Leadership which inspired others to struggle for their own freedom.

Today our world leadership includes violent movies and violent music, economic manipulation and intrigue, unethical corporations, weapons systems, standing armies and fear. What kind of monument will other countries build for us today?

Former President, and recent Nobel Peace Prize winner Jimmy Carter reminds us: It is important for us to remember that the United States did not invent human rights – rather human rights invented the United States.

Perhaps it is time for us to return to and struggle to deserve this heritage.

President George H. Bush, the elder, has called the challenge presented by the “conspiracy” of globally organized terror “the greatest challenge any American President has faced since Lincoln”. That other Republican President, almost a century and a half ago, wrote something that haunts me: I see in the near future a crisis approaching that unnerves me and causes me to tremble for the safety of my country. As a result of the war, financial interests have been enthroned and an era of corruption in high places will follow and the money power of the country will endeavor to prolong its reign by working upon the prejudices of the people until all wealth is aggregated in a few hands and the Republic is destroyed. (endquote)

If you, like me, are willing to call corporate control of the American government and military a conspiracy of globally organized terror – then I think we can agree with both Presidents Bush and Lincoln.

I propose to face such a challenge, we will need true patriotism, the kind of patriotism that springs from a people whose government truly represents the diverse and moral people that they are. The patriotism of a people proud of our communal life and our relations with others. It is important that we reclaim a foreign policy not driven by self interest or even national interest – but a foreign policy that represents the highest values and cultural diversity of our great people.

After World War II, around the time of my birth, our society undertook the great struggle of the modern civil rights movement. Though incomplete, great progress has been made over the last half century. This effort has been fifty years in developing, it make take another fifty, but it is a struggle for the nation’s soul, and we are winning it. And this great struggle began right here – in the pulpits of Unitarian Univeralist and other churches. It began right here – in the hearts and consciences of our people.

I call us to a new struggle. One that is no less for our collective salvation and no lesser a task. This will not be easy. We will first have to reclaim our democracy from those with both the power of money and the power of lethal force and the proven willingness to use them.

Like the struggle for Civil rights – neither party in our political system will face this issue, unless forced. Those who run our country have proven that their loyalties are to these financial interests first and the rest of us somewhat later. John Kerry and the Democrats in convention were intentionally jingoistic, marching to a martial tune.

To do this, we must be patriotic in the traditional sense – we must be willing to assert our democratic right, nay our responsibility, of dissent. Because this will require no less than our “taking back” our foreign policy and demanding that it reflect our values.

It will require us to re-evaluate the costs to our society and psyche of our role as a great warrior nation and global bully.

It will require us to realize that freedom and self-determination mean that we have the patience to refrain from manipulating other countries to our ends with our money and intrigues so that they can govern themselves and participate as working peers, friends in our global community.

It will require us to insist on restraint that when it comes to defining our “national interests” and it will require us to insist on ethical behavior from our leaders.

It will require us as a community to take control of our military – and even more difficult – our CIA and World Bank

It will require us to speak our minds at the dinner table, water cooler, and here in the pulpit.

It will require us to march in the streets and vote at the ballot box.

It will require us to try and understand why people, not so very different from us, would die to attack us.

It will require us to, as we did in the middle part of the last century in the face of economic crises and World War to eschew fear and make examples of ourselves in the world – translating our character as a people into true world leadership

It will require us to reach out to other nations with trust, trade, and peace and not manipulation and fear.

It will require us to become true patriots that build an inspiring nation all can be proud of.

It will require us – as it did for Gandhi and King to go to jail in civil disobedience. and it will require us to find brave leaders who will risk all, even life itself, to realize change.

It will require us to see our enemies, not as such – but rather as human beings.

It will require us to live the Peace we sing about.

Why 'Unitarian Universalism' is Dying

© Davidson Loehr

Theme Talk at SUUSI

21 July 2004

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

A century ago, the Viennese writer Karl Kraus saw, felt and heard the Hapsburg empire ending while most around him thought it was flourishing. He wrote about it in a few lines that could describe every prophet and would-be prophet in history:

I hear noises which others do not hear.

And those noises disturb for me the music of the spheres

Which others don’t hear either.

It’s always risky and arrogant to think of ourselves as prophets. Our vision may turn out to be both puny and wrong rather than prophetic. So some humility and caution are wise.

But I think I hear noises of the death of Unitarian Universalism which others don’t seem to hear. And those noises disturb for me a music of the spheres that I don’t think others hear either. So I will proceed with what you may decide was, after all, too little humility, in trying to describe to you both the noises I hear, and also the music.

The movement which many call “Unitarian Universalism” has been dying for 43 years, continues to die, and the fact of its slow but steady death is the elephant in the room that few in the UUA want to face, let alone talk about.

Between 1970 and 2000, the UUA lost over 12,000 adult members in real numbers. But during those thirty years, while the UUA’s adult membership declined by more than 7%, the population of the U.S. increased by over 37%. In other words, when compared with the population of the U.S., the adult membership of the UUA has declined by more than 44% since 1970. Our numbers are now about what they were at merger in 1961, while the rest of the country has grown by nearly half. If we had simply kept up with the population growth, we would have more than 225,000 adult members now. There is no way to pretend that these facts paint a picture of growth.

I want to try and sketch a history of how and why this “movement” died, and what hope there may be for liberal religion, if not for UUism.

I’ll start in the 19th century. The most important fact to understand about American Unitarianism is that it began as a style rather than a theological position. The supernatural world had ended, for the better-educated people, with the late 18th century Enlightenment.

The 19th century saw the birth of a whole host of natural sciences, which changed our picture of ourselves and our world. The earth was clearly far more than 6,000 years old, and The Flood had just as clearly not been the only ” catastrophe’ in the earth’s history. In 1800, most educated people thought the world was 6,000 years old. Even Thomas Jefferson believed, in 1785, that no species could ever become extinct. This was the worldview that changed almost completely during the 19th century. American and British theologians had to decide whether to hold the received faith sacred, or accept the emerging picture from the sciences that was demolishing their faith.

The voices that wanted to keep the same safe feel on Sunday mornings urged denial, and there were many of them in Unitarian churches. But they lost. The voices that won were voices that trusted the future more than the past, and expected religion to reframe its message to offer profound insights into life as we were actually living it. This was just a hair’s-breadth away from leaving religion for politics and social movements, and the transition from religion to political action happened immediately and seamlessly.

One clue to what ” UUism” is and why it is dying is in the fact that the parts we remember about 19th century Unitarians are their social actions on behalf of the political ideal of individual liberties – Theodore Parker’s amazing energies devoted to the abolition of slavery, prison reform and women’s rights, for instance. It is significant that we look primarily to the individual rights stances, the social actions that have echoes in current political liberalism.

Theologically, however, the 19th century Unitarians were followers, not leaders. Had they never lived, no important religious ideas would have been lost. Everything they said worth keeping had been said earlier and better by more powerful religious thinkers.

The nominal theism of the Unitarians did not have, even in the 19th century, the warmth of more deeply held faiths – as evidenced by Emerson’s famous labeling of Unitarianism as ” corpse-cold.’ It was corpse-cold because it was losing connection with its religious center and becoming a political and social phenomenon of over-educated people who were becoming marginal in terms of political and financial power – as we are today.

(Ann Douglas’ book The Feminization of American Culture brings this 19th century marginalization into helpful focus. She describes how, during the Industrial Revolution, America’s cultural liberals lost political, economic, and social power in the changing society. In reaction, they retreated to the schools, the arts, and the ” cultural’ publications – the intellectual fringe – which areas were controlled primarily by women (in roles as teachers, writers, mothers). The woman who wrote under the name of George Eliot, for example, translated two revolutionary and incendiary religious works: Strauss’ The Life of Jesus (1835) and Ludwig Feuerbach’s The Essence of Christianity (1841), books still assigned in good divinity schools (and still in her translations).

From the mid-19th to the mid-20th century, Unitarians moved steadily away from a religious center and into a political center grounded in the basic assumptions of secular cultural liberalism. Unitarian thinkers had moved out of theology into psychology, sociology, anthropology and politics. (There was nothing innovative here; Feuerbach had called for theology to be replaced by anthropology in 1841.)

Universalism died as its pleasant answer – “All dead people go to heaven” – no longer fit the questions people were asking. By the end of the 19th century, liberals tended not to worry about where dead people went, and generally avoided that whole grammatical structure (the use of any transitive verb with dead people).

It’s true that a brand new meaning for the word “universalism” emerged after about 1893 (the year of the Columbian Exposition in Chicago, when Western thinkers got to hear first-rate Eastern thinkers like Swami Vivekananda, Dharmapala and others. This new notion – which we still use – was a form of “all spiritual paths address similar needs.”

But this universalism had no connection with American Christian Universalism. So while there is a concept of ” universalism’ that is both alive and useful today, it has nothing to do with the 18th and 19th century American Christian religion which taught that all dead people go to heaven – whatever that could mean in a modern worldview. Neither heaven nor a concern for the whereabouts of dead people had any necessary role to play in the new and unrelated kind of universalism. The confusion comes because there are those two words, spelled and pronounced exactly alike, whose meanings have no relation. (A similar thing happened to the word “God” between the 18th and 21st centuries.)

By mid-20th century, both Unitarian Christianity and Christian Universalism had mostly exhausted their spirits. In 1961, America’s scattered little groups of Unitarians and Universalists didn’t want to (and didn’t) worship together. Where they did come together, and saw one another often, was in the important secular activity of political action during the middle part of the 20th century.

When the two moribund denominations merged in 1961 some of the most important aspects of that merger were either not seen, or were ignored:

1. Neither Unitarianism nor Universalism was by then a vibrant or even viable religion.

2. What was significant about them was not theological, but political. Both had merged, to differing degrees, with the general assumptions of America’s cultural liberals: the well-educated people who voted for liberal social policies and could be counted on to support most individual-rights causes.

3. But neither group had any common set of religious beliefs, either as Unitarians or as Universalists, beyond a general lack of interest in supernaturalism. There was no ontology, no distinctive understanding of the human condition, its problems, or the solution; in a phrase, there was no religious ” salvation story.’

By “salvation story,” I don’t mean anything supernatural. I mean a tradition’s understanding of the human condition, its malaise, and its prescription for satisfying the deep yearning that has always marked serious religions, and its sense of how and why living out of this story makes our lives more fulfilling and useful to the larger world.

There were good reasons why no one noticed that religious beliefs were no longer the center of this new merger. One of those reasons was that by 1961, American religious liberals in general were losing their voice and their attachment to the traditional theological assumptions of Christianity. The word ” liberal’ meant cultural rather than religious liberals, and cultural liberals were bored with the supernatural baggage of Christianity, as they had been for over 200 years. (I’m thinking specifically of the year 1799 when Friedrich Schleiermacher wrote his still-classic book On Religion: Speeches to Its Cultured Despisers. Those “despisers” were the educated people of his day who had no use for supernaturalism. Both Parker and Emerson read this book, but neither of them took their religious thinking anywhere near as far or as deep.)

But another reason religion wasn’t missed was that, in the 1950s and 1960s, the spirit of liberal religion couldn’t compare in relevance, excitement or moral clarity with the spirit of liberal politics. For good reasons, the ” salvation story’ of America’s religious liberals became the salvation story of political liberalism. It was a very distinctive story, with a dark side still seldom acknowledged.

The best example of this story was probably the civil rights movement of the 1950s. After Rosa Parks wouldn’t give up her seat on the bus, many white liberals followed outraged black leaders into the civil rights movement. While the movement was mostly organized and led by black people, it’s fair to say that it would not have succeeded without the support of liberal whites. They rightfully felt virtuous for their good efforts, and a new salvation story took shape. The role of liberals would be to speak up for victim groups, to accept the gratitude of their chosen victim groups, and to feel virtuous for their efforts.

So what liberals did have – and in the 60s and 70s it seemed exciting and sufficient – was a political ideology. The 60s and 70s were heady times for political liberalism in America. Individual rights movements were in full bloom, and liberal Methodists, Unitarians, Presbyterians, Baptists, Catholics, Episcopalians, atheists, feminists, gay rights activists and civil rights activists thrilled to the feeling that we were remaking America in the image of our shared liberal ideology.

Both the language and the spirit of Unitarianism were political, not theological. Or, to put it the other way round, we had turned our political ideology into a religion. ” God’ became ” Our Political Liberal, Who Art Us, Writ Large.’

So it’s not a coincidence that in the late 1970s, Unitarians were heard to complain that ” Our kids don’t know what to tell their classmates they believe.’ Looking back, this was a disingenuous statement. The problem was not that kids didn’t know what they believed. The problem was that Unitarian ministers and adults didn’t know what they believed that mattered at all in the larger scheme of things, because their beliefs had become indistinguishable from generic cultural liberalism.

It was time to ask hard religious questions, like ” What’s worth believing?’ ” Are there profound truths about life that make demands on people of character whether we like it or not?’ ” What beliefs can be used to fashion admirable people?” and so on. In a sentence, the question was “Are there deep and abiding truths capable of sustaining honest spiritual quests without supernatural underpinnings?”

Such questions would not have had easy answers. You can’t vote on them. You have to discover them within the fabric of the human condition and the demands of contemporary living. To be fair, nobody else was asking these questions either, at least not in the churches. (Paul Tillich had translated the liberal and existential tradition of Western religion, especially Schleiermacher, Schelling and Kierkegaard, into the fairly ordinary language of depth psychology in the 1950s to his death in 1965, and some of our ministers learned, understood, and preached this message – I heard it from John Wolf in 1963.)

The lack of anything worth believing was a religious crisis, which should have called for religious solutions. The mid-20th century was a time for religious liberals to claim the tradition of liberal religion – a tradition that can be traced in broad strokes back 2500 years – and educate themselves to be its new voice. It was a time to seek the legitimate heir to the form of liberal religion their parents and grandparents had inherited.

But none of this happened. Maybe the general narcissism of the times can be blamed in part, or maybe the fact that our beliefs were political rather than religious, and political beliefs are routinely taken with polls.

So instead of asking religious questions about what was worth believing, what was necessary to believe, what beliefs might best be used to fashion people of good character, and so on – instead of this, the Unitarians simply took an extended poll. They asked a handful of churches – including the first church I served – to hold discussion groups, to discover what the people who attended there (and liked discussion groups) happened to believe. What such a poll had to, and did, reveal were the generic cultural beliefs these people brought into church with them: the profile of social and political liberals.

This process produced the “seven principles” – known in some circles as the Seven Banalities or the Seven Dwarfs – which soon became the de facto creed of a brand-new religion called ” Unitarian Universalism,’ a religion that had never before existed anywhere, and to which no one of any note in history had ever belonged.

William Ellery Channing, Ralph Waldo Emerson and Theodore Parker were Unitarian Christians: a very different religion (though Emerson, like Thoreau, got most rhapsodic over the Bhagavad Gita of Hinduism). John Murray and Thomas Starr King were Christian Universalists, another very different religion.

All seven principles come from the secular culture and secular values of America’s cultural liberals, whether they had a religion or not. That’s why so many visitors can recognize the principles as the sort of things they believed anyway. I suspect it’s also why they often leave when they realize many of the UU churches offer little beyond the ability to socialize with people who share those cultural values and vote for liberal social and political policies.

This exalted self-description of “our kind of people” first snuck into religious education curricula for our children. Then it spread to the larger movement in an adult education curriculum endorsed by John Wolf and Forrester Church, entitled ” What Unitarian Universalists Believe: an Introduction to the Seven Principles.’ These were good ministers, but they did a very bad thing. In the midst of a religious vacuum, they exalted the social and political profile of the seekers rather than the depth or ontological power of the religious center that was being sought – which means that center was no longer being sought, and the seekers were now learning to be pleased with themselves. I wrote them in the late 1980s when this ill-conceived catechism came out, asking how and why they would endorse such a betrayal of the very spirit of liberal religion. Forrester wrote back that the Principles didn’t do much for him either, but “people need a simple place to start.” I disagree completely. (I also disagree completely with Bill Sinkford’s statement last year that the vitality of a religious movement can be measured by the number of people who attend General Assembly.)

Later, Forrester and John Buehrens published their large-scale catechism, the book A Chosen Faith, identifying the primarily political proclivities of “our people” as a religion. I think it’s a shame they haven’t been properly recognized for this new religion they coined. Martin Luther and John Calvin both had religions named after them. I’ve long thought this new religion should have been named “Forrester-Church-and-John-Buehrens-ism.” It’s a lot more honest, and it’s even one syllable shorter than “Unitarian Universalism.”

The act of creating “a simple place to start” was the act of creating a religion for our masses, and I have been vehemently against it from the start. I’ll admit I think Dostoyevsky’s Grand Inquisitor (in the novel The Brothers Karamazov) makes a powerful defense of religions for the masses, religions that give people a simple place to start rather than a profound or challenging one. But I don’t believe it can be defended against the background of the long and honorable history of the world’s liberal religions.

And it is quite different from the real religions of history.

Christianity, Buddhism, Taoism, Hinduism, Judaism, Islam and others point to the insights of their tradition as carrying ontological truths or fertile mythic structures for imagining an expanded life, or at least a deep and seasoned wisdom that might appeal to many of all times and places.

And world religions all think it’s hard – that there are hard demands, and that few make it:

– Islam teaches the path as the razor edge of a sword stretched across an abyss.

– Jesus talked about the narrow way that few entered.

– Hinduism also speaks of the path as razor-edged, and has so many stories about how many lives you’d have to live, in order to get it right.

– Buddhists teach how hard it is just to wake up, to outgrow the comforting illusions of “our kind of people.”

– And for Jews, the notion of being God’s “chosen people” meant God demanded more of them than others, not that they were special.

All the enduring religions of the world have been clear that the treasures of honest religion must be earned, and make the highest demands on us. That’s how those traditions raise our sights to see and hear what Lincoln called ” the better angels of our nature.’

The new religion of “Unitarian Universalism,” however, did not have a tradition or a distinctive understanding of the human condition. Instead, it exalted a self-portrait of its people as what was to pass for its sacred center – a fact revealed in that slogan, “Unitarian Universalism: the religion that puts its faith in you.” It looked like narcissism, or a conclave of mutual narcissisms, each writing the others blank moral checks.

But more deeply, politics replaced religion as the shared center of Unitarians and Universalists in the mid-20th century, and remains their shared center today. If this is seldom mentioned, it may be because it’s just too obvious. I don’t know what percentage of adult members of UU churches are registered Democrats or Green Party, but nationally it must be ten to thirty times the number of registered Republicans.

I mentioned the salvation story of liberal politics earlier, but I want to spend more time with it.

When we adopt myths to live by, their center is some sort of salvation story, which is the point of living in the myth’s terms. I want to describe the salvation story of American political liberalism and official “UUism” as I have observed it for the past twenty-five or thirty years. See if it doesn’t sound familiar.

The salvation story of leftist American politics has five parts:

1. Liberals select a few token groups among the many possible: blacks, women, gays and lesbians, etc. (In Marxist terms, these are our token proletariat groups.)

2. They define these groups as “victims” (rather than, say, survivors or warriors).

3. In return, they give special attention to these token “victims” within their small circles of influence.

4. The “victims” are presumed to feel grateful for this …

5. … and the liberals feel virtuous.

This remains the salvation story of political liberalism – and ideologically-driven “anti-oppression” schemes, which remain willfully unaware of the self-serving oppression of their own schemes.

This salvation story worked pretty well in the 1950s. But the individual rights movements of the 60s and 70s began to seek identities as survivors and warriors rather than victims, and they neither wanted nor allowed white liberals to define them as victims or speak for them.

This began with the emergence of powerful and articulate spokesmen in the civil rights and Black power movements. It continued with the women’s movement, which began and remained in the voices of a handful of charismatic and articulate women. Religious liberals were welcome to follow, but they could no longer lead, and could get slapped upside the head for defining these warriors as victims. (For those familiar with Greek mythology, the patron goddess of the American women’s movement was Artemis. I can’t imagine anyone defining Artemis as a victim and living to tell the tale!)

Without a group of people to define as victims and speak for, the salvation story of political liberalism is bankrupt. This wasn’t just a problem of ” UUs,’ but of the whole gaggle of cultural liberals. This is also a problem with the Democratic party, and one of the reasons Bush will probably get a second term.

Perhaps a word about what’s wrong with defining human beings as “victims” in order to feel it necessary to speak for them, and to feel virtuous for having done so. Defining someone as a “victim” demeans them by taking away their dignity, their resolve and their power.

Someone who has survived an ordeal is a survivor. And describing them as a survivor leaves their integrity intact, and leaves power with them. Someone who has survived with verve and determination is more than a survivor; they’re a kind of warrior. And that word even feels strong, passionate, and capable. How we define someone shows where we want to locate the power and dignity: with them, or with us.

Rachel Naomi Remen tells a powerful story on this point, taken from her own life. In her 60s now, she has suffered from Crohn’s Disease since her teen years, and has been through over a dozen surgeries for it. As you’d expect, it can be a severely depressing disease. She tells of the time when, in her 50s, she was feeling beaten down by the disease – like a victim – and sought advice from one of the world’s leading experts in Crohn’s Disease.

It took her an hour to tell her story. He listened closely and with great sympathy for her. After she finished he was filled with pity for her, and asked if she was still able to practice at least a little (Remen is also a physician). Shocked, she reminded him that her schedule was as busy as his. Then she reflected:

But his remark had reawakened a deep sense of doubt. Many years ago, other doctors had told me that I would be dead long before now. On the strength of their authority I had decided not to marry or become a parent. The power of the expert is very great and the way in which an expert sees you may easily become the way in which you see yourself. (Kitchen Table Wisdom, p. 235)

In the weeks that followed, she worried more about her physical problems. Finally, one of her physician friends asked her why she seemed to be having such a hard time. Remen writes:

Almost in tears, I told him what had happened. “May I hear the story too?” he asked, and so I told it again. Like Dr. Z., my friend listened thoughtfully, without interrupting, but he heard something very different. When I had finished he looked at me for a long time. “God, Rachel, I had no idea. You are a warrior!” he said, and healed me. (p. 236)

The “healing” came through leaving her dignity, integrity and power intact, rather than transforming them into pity (which takes your power and gives it to the person who has presumed to pity you). Defining someone as a victim is one of the most brutal and demeaning things we can do to them. This was, remember, the reason liberals lost permission to speak for the Black Power and Women’s movements: they wisely chose to define themselves as survivors and warriors. That left liberals without a necessary role to play. It also shows, perhaps painfully, that the reason we define our token groups as victims is so that we can give ourselves a necessary role to play. The salvation story of political liberals requires victims. That’s why it’s such a dehumanizing myth.

Good social critics – both conservative and liberal ones – have written about the narcissism of the biases reflected in the Seven Principles/Banalities/Dwarfs. But you will seldom hear them from UU pulpits, and never read them in the movement’s guardian of orthodoxy, the UU World. Shelby Steele, Thomas Sowell, Jonathan Rauch, Jim Sleeper, Christina Hoff Sommers, Camille Paglia and Todd Gitlin come quickly to mind as among the many authors who wrote widely-read critiques of the racism, sexism and narcissism of the liberal culture. That’s too many books to discuss here, but consider just these lines from Barbara Ehrenreich’s 1990 book Fear of Falling:

A problem with today’s middle class is that it can’t identify with the poor or the rich, it’s not taken seriously, its words and actions seem self-serving, the movement became only ” a weird pile of liberal shit.’ (p. 251) This is a serious loss of identity and purpose for the middle class, which has already lost pretenses to being rich (the Yuppie craze) or identified with the poor (too white, more power, education, and possibilities). They don’t have real power in capitalism, and don’t have influence or moral worth, either.

She was describing the American middle class, but specifically the parts of it that constitute cultural liberalism. And Ehrenreich isn’t a right-wing nut; she’s one of the articulate voices of American cultural liberalism, and we ignore voices like hers at our peril. Denial isn’t a river in Egypt; the river runs through us.

A Digression: Dissecting the first ” principle’:

Using logic to show the incoherence of the Seven Banalities feels kind of rude, like throwing melons at a little dancing bear. But it’s worth a few paragraphs to take just the first one apart. It’s important to understand how and why the Banalities are not only simplistic but also incoherent. So let’s take a critical look at this idea that we value ” the inherent worth and dignity’ of everybody.

“Inherent” would mean it’s there from the moment of conception rather than being added later – after sixth grade, or when the college loans are repaid. But if we actually believed that all zygotes had inherent worth and dignity, wouldn’t this principle mean we must oppose abortion, as it destroys individuals of inherent worth and dignity? Yet we’re clear that abortion isn’t murder because a fetus isn’t a child and doesn’t yet have inherent worth and dignity that merit saving.

But think about this. That means this alleged worth and dignity are not inherent, but – perhaps to coin a word – adherent: not there from conception but somehow added later. Well, when? And how? This principle dissolves as soon as it is examined, which may be why there has been no serious effort to do this kind of critical examination. It’s just chanted like the mark of membership in a kind of club.

But leaving the logical problems of inherent or adherent worth aside, let’s consider that notion that our definition of the human condition seems content with asserting an inherent worth and dignity. Only that? Only goodness? Just a big happy face? What about inherent evil? What about our inherent gullibility, foolishness, or selfishness? What about our tendency toward self-absorption and the rest of the shadow sides that complete the make-up of the human condition: what of them? If all these potentialities are present, then we need the ability to make necessary distinctions between the inherent (or adherent) parts of us that are silly, self-absorbed, etc. And you don’t do that by uncritically affirming the inherent worth and dignity of people, as though that’s all that’s in there.

If strict Calvinists err by overemphasizing original sin, it is surely more dangerous to ignore it, and to cover the human condition with a childish happy face.

How does this differ, if at all, from “the vision of the anointed” that black columnist Thomas Sowell lambasted for being self-absorbed, indifferent to facts, and a brutal travesty of both reason and justice (in his book The Vision of the Anointed)? And while we’re at it, why aren’t we discussing thinkers like Thomas Sowell and Shelby Steele when we talk about who black people are and how they should be treated? Are Sowell and Steele the wrong kind of black people? If so, why so?

The wagons of the UUA and most UU churches have been circled around the unquestioned assertions of loud political leftists for so long we’ve not noticed that we are no longer really critical, we no longer really question, and no longer have a center that is much bigger than the vision of the anointed.

So. Why is Unitarian Universalism dying? There have been several fairly clear steps:

1. In the 19th century, Unitarian leaders left the tradition of Christianity. These few Unitarians showed the courage of a pioneer spirit in leaving behind the tradition of Western Christianity. But in leaving it, they also left behind a tradition, an ontology and a rich understanding of the human condition, its malaise and its cure. We have not found its legitimate heir; I don’t think we ever looked for it.

2. In place of a religious center, Unitarians moved to a political center based in an unbalanced concern for individual rights (unbalanced, because there was not the equal concern for individual responsibilities owed to society, nation and history). The sacred scripture, or at least the reference document, became not the Bible, but the Bill of Rights. This isn’t bad, but it is a political center, not a religious one.

At no place in this process did anything more profound or transcendent than a political or social vision ever enter. The Seven Banal Principles – in order to be accurate – would all need to end with the phrase “within the currently accepted boundaries of liberal political ideology.”

3. Without a religious center, and with a political and social center that had simply merged with generic liberal social and political ideologies, the movement had become redundant by thirty or forty years ago. That’s why the cry went up in the late 70s saying, “Our children don’t know what to tell their friends they believe.” Our beliefs had become indistinguishable from the general liberal ideology one could absorb through popular culture. We didn’t know how to tell ourselves or anyone else who we were in any profound way, or why we mattered any longer. We had lost moral authority, lost meaning and purpose within American society. We were and are best known to most people only as the butt of Garrison Keillor’s jokes – my favorite is the one about the Unitarian missionaries who once tried to convert Minnesota’s Ojibway Indians through interpretive dance.

4. But identifying with leftist social ideologies couldn’t fill the identity vacuum we felt in the late 70s, because we needed something distinctive and there wasn’t anything distinctive. And that, I believe, is behind the move that exalted not God, not a religious tradition or a commanding transcendence, but simply us. It’s also why we spend so much time talking about a few dead people from 150 years ago who – we think – belonged to our club.

Looking Around, Looking Ahead

There are many religions present and practiced within the churches that pay dues to the UUA. There are people for whom God-talk is still alive, for whom that idiom of expression still calls forth images of and commandments toward a full, noble, and morally demanding life. There are people who narrow their God-talk down to just the Christian dialects, for whom the idea, the example, and the teachings of Jesus mark their sacred center.

There are Buddhists, for whom God-talk isn’t an evocative idiom, and who connect with hints of a centered life through the example and teachings of the Buddha, with the many layers of commentary that have been added.

In the church I serve, we have a few Hindus. Austin has the largest Hindu temple in the United States, and many Indians have been drawn to our city by the once-plentiful high-tech jobs. Our Hindus tell me their religion isn’t about belief at all, but is instead about living within the rich web of stories from the Ramayana and the Mahabharata.

We also have some Taoists, including our current Board president, who reads passages from his Tao te Ching every morning to help center his day.

And we have people who, like me, describe ourselves as religious liberals but not UUs.

Each of these religions is ancient, deep and profound, and has helped countless millions of people develop into adults of responsible character living full and useful lives. And one of the great freedoms of our churches is still the ability to choose or help make your own religion.

No one would want to set Unitarian Universalism alongside such a list of real and noble religions. As a religion, it is trivial. But it was never meant to be a religion. It was the self-referential name we used to speak of the cultural liberals who wound up in our churches, to try and give them a special name, an identity their children could tell their friends about. For the record, I don’t know of any of our children who tell their friends about the Seven Banalities; they think they’re silly.

So I think it is not premature to draft an autopsy for ” UUism.’ When you’ve been dying for 43 years, you’re in your last laps, and it’s long past the time when Denial can fool anyone for long.

Some Rays of Hope

Still, even if UUism is dying, there are some rays of hope.

After hearing UUs harp on the 19th century trinity of Channing, Emerson and Parker for years, I began thinking about it from the other end recently. Think about this with me. We look back 150 years and still find only about three dead men we think are worth recalling today.

But that’s another way of saying that, when we look back even to the 19th century heyday of Unitarianism, over 99% of the ministers aren’t worth remembering.

In other words, in spite of all our happy-face talk, we know that the Way really is very narrow, and those who have had the courage and persistence to walk it are very, very few.

Furthermore, the act of making a point of remembering those three men means that at some level we also know there was something about them that was significantly different from the vast majority of Unitarians of their day, who we don’t care to remember. And if that is so, then it would serve us to learn what their noble and courageous traits were, that we might imitate those traits in our own lives.

For one thing, they were all on the fringe of Unitarianism. Emerson was pretty much thrown out after delivering the Harvard Divinity School address for which we remember him. Parker was not invited to speak from the pulpits of Boston-area Unitarian churches because his stances against slavery and other controversial issues were an embarrassment to them. A group of Boston Unitarian ministers even told him he should resign from the ministry because he wasn’t suited to it as they were.

And while we justly celebrate Channing’s withdrawal from Congregationalism by deflating two-thirds of the Trinity, we don’t as often tell the story of how he resigned from his own church when its members – in a preview of today’s Seven Dwarf Principles – created statements of belief to speak for their members.

Against the background of these three courageous men, it’s easy to see that the UUA and the vast majority of those who have led it are not in the tradition of Channing, Emerson and Parker at all. They are, instead, in the tradition of the vast majority of Unitarians of all times, whose names and deeds nobody wants to remember once they’re no longer around calling attention to themselves. This weird little religion coined in the 1980s and called Unitarian Universalism is – ironically! – the worst religion in the UUA. It is neither useful to us nor worthy of God – or the legitimate heir to what was once called God.

To plant seeds for a noble religious future, our people need a profound place to start, not a simple one. We need to be reminded that, as all the great world religions have said, the way is indeed narrow and few indeed are those who find the path and have the courage to take it.

I do not believe Unitarian Universalism can be saved. It’s too political, too self-absorbed, and too paltry. But I do know that many people are hungry for truths that can set them free, rather than political posturings that merely draw attention to them. I have always had more faith in people than in their leaders, even as I have become one of those leaders.

That’s why I came into this profession: because I do hear some of the music of the spheres, and I know that most people who come to our churches come hoping to hear it, too.

Within this dying movement, there is still the freedom to choose honest and profound religious paths that are, as an ancient theologian once put it, ” useful to us, and worthy of God’ (Origen, c. 185-254). There is the freedom to adopt a moral code so demanding that – like the West Point Honor Code – it insists that we always choose the harder right. There is the possibility of realizing, as the ancient Greeks and Romans did, that our best shot at creating noble humans comes through molding them in the image of our very highest ideals.

And as these few examples suggest, the quality of wisdom that can lead us to the peace that passes understanding can be found in many places. But we must be willing to look for it, and to work with it. That is the shape of the doorway that leads to the Narrow Path, and to the possibility of a reunion – not, God forbid, with a few thousand UU party animals at GA, but with the noblest, most religiously musical and spiritually mature people who have ever lived.

It would be a reunion with a life lived, as the Romans put it, “under the gaze of eternity”: a life lived as though all of history’s noblest souls – as well as the better angels of our nature – were watching us.

It is a reunion worth working toward with our hearts, our minds and our souls. It is a reunion worth working toward, my fellow travelers, with everything we have left.

——————

Davidson Loehr is minister of the First UU Church of Austin, Texas. He earned his Ph.D. in theology, the philosophy of religion and the philosophy of science from the University of Chicago, and is the only minister serving a UU church who is a Fellow in the Jesus Seminar. He describes himself as a religious liberal, but not a Unitarian Universalist.

On Being a Morning Person

Don Smith

July 18, 2004

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 our prayer be a prayer for remembrance.

Let us remember that today, like every day, is a holy day. It is a gift of time, freely given to all that lives. May we honor this day by using it well.

Let us remember that today, like every day, is a judgment day. It is a day with infinite opportunities to do either good or evil. May we choose to do the good and to fight the evil, so that, at the end the day, we may judge ourselves gently.

Let us remember that there are those among us today who hurt and whose pain takes away the gifts that others enjoy. May we do what we can to ease their pain.

Let us remember that there are those among us today who struggle with problems that may seem too big to manage. May we do what we can to lighten their load and help them on their way.

Let us remember that there are those among us who are lonely, even in the midst of the crowd. May we offer a kind word, a friendly smile, and the hope of new friendship.

Let us remember, again, that each day brings with it new opportunities. May we strive not so much to do more, but to do better.

SERMON

What does it mean to be a morning person? What I want to do this morning is try to describe a way of viewing the world that, to my mind, constitutes being a morning person. Bear with me if I seem to wander about; I think the picture will come into focus before I’m done, and I trust you to tell me if it doesn’t.

In his book with the audacious title How the Mind Works, Stephen Pinker posits that it is primarily through metaphors that we understand our world and I agree with him. I think this is especially true in areas outside the hard sciences, when it comes to contemplating our lives, what we’re doing with them, and the meaning we assign to things, independent of their concrete facts. Most all religious texts, poetry, great literature, and songs are filled with metaphors.

Since being a morning person is a metaphor of my own creation (although I’m sure I’m not the first to use it) we’ll consider some other, perhaps more familiar metaphors–along with some lesser-known personal favorites–to try to narrow in on my conception of what it means to be a morning person.

Let’s start with a metaphor from the New Testament; a metaphor used in two ways. The first is found in the Gospels. We’re told by these writers that Jesus once said to his disciples “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: For of such is the kingdom of God. Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein.”

The second comes from St. Paul, in his first letter to the Corinthians. He wrote “When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.”

The same metaphor “that of being childlike” is used to express seemingly opposite ideas, as something to embrace and something to shun. But is that really the case?

Our responsive reading this morning was, to my mind, at least, an explication of Jesus’ words. If all people had the spirit of a child–if all people trusted, imagined, sang, received the beauty of the world without reservation, were filled with wonder and delight and a faith that could cure them of their cynicism and make them unafraid to need and to love’then I believe we truly would be living in the kingdom of God.

Looking at the larger context of the letter to the Corinthians, it becomes apparent that when Paul told the Corinthians that they must put away childish things he was speaking of childish, that is to say, overly simplistic views of the meaning of spiritual teachings. Spiritual teachings taken as literal truths lose their power to inspire us and lift us up. Instead, they become dead and suffocating things. They block our ability to see the world as Jesus would have us see it, with the wonder, honesty, and simplicity of a child. It’s like reading those words by Jesus and taking them to mean that heaven is a physical place peopled only by children. That really doesn’t provide a lot of hope or inspiration for those of us who have made it into adulthood, does it?

Having been raised in a fundamentalist Christian church–where the Bible is taken as literal truth, even in matters historical and scientific– I was taught, for example, that creation was a one-time event. God created the universe and everything in it over a period of six days. It’s been running its course according to God’s plan ever since, and it will be destroyed at some unknown point in the future. Our main concern in life should be making sure that when the world ends we’re part of the “elect”, meaning those who are destined for heaven. Heaven, in this worldview, is some distant place where all is perfect. And we can get there, but not in this life.

Now, contrast that view of things with the view expressed by Thoreau when he wrote in Walden that “The morning wind forever blows. The poem of creation is uninterrupted, but few are the ears that hear it. Olympus is but the outside of the world everywhere.” This is a radically different view than the one I was taught, is it not? Creation, rather than being an historical fact, is an ongoing process. Olympus’ home of the gods, or heaven is all around us. We need only wake up to that realization and live our lives accordingly in order to experience it. Heaven is, or can be, here, now.

The first attribute of a morning person is this: A morning person sees creation as an ongoing process in which he or she has a part to play. And the second attribute of a morning person is this: A morning person believes that his or her part is important and can have an impact on the world. These two attributes go hand in hand.

In her song “The Dream Before”, Laurie Anderson writes these words (and for what it’s worth, the scene is a conversation between Hansel and Gretel, who, we are told, are alive and well and living in Berlin):

She said, “What is history?”

And he said, “History is an angel being blown backwards into the future.”

He said, “History is a pile of debris, and the angel wants to go back and fix things, to repair the things that have been broken. But there is a storm blowing from Paradise. And the storm keeps blowing the angel backwards, into the future. And this storm, this storm, is called Progress.”

I think about those words quite a bit. It’s a wonderful image. It’s the way I see much of our human endeavors. While I agree that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it, I sometimes think that we spend too much time analyzing and agonizing over the mistakes of the past, and not enough time dreaming about the future. I’m reminded of Bobby Kennedy when he said “There are those who look at things the way they are and ask why. I dream of things that never were and ask ‘Why not?'” Those are the words of a morning person.

Many among us believe that all we need to do in order to make the world better is to go back to some earlier time, before we made some huge mistake or went off in some wrong direction. I suppose we all wish from time to time that we could go back and get a second chance at things.

And I think we’re all angels trying to fix things, but I believe we need to turn around and face the future. Rather than fighting progress, let progress be the wind at our back–the morning wind that forever blows, carrying us in the direction that we need to go. To quote Thoreau again, “Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you’ve imagined.”

The third attribute of a morning person, then, is that he or she embraces the idea of progress. Even though we may question what true progress is–and that’s too broad a question to address in the time we have this morning–we must believe in our ability to move beyond where we are today, both individually and as a species. We must believe that a better future is possible, and that our dreams can be realized.

In every age there have been prophets of doom, people who see no hope for the future. Looking only at what’s wrong with the world, they give in to a cynicism that eats at the core of their faith, regardless of what it is that they have faith in. They overlook all the good that is done, daily, by the majority of people. They forget how many trials and tribulations humanity has endured, and how great some of those have been. It’s easy to do; too easy, I’m afraid.

Emerson, in an address to the Phi Beta Kappa society at Harvard and published under the title The American Scholar, said that we must have “the courage to call a popgun a popgun, though the ancient and honorable of the earth affirm it to be the crack of doom.” How many events have been declared the beginning of the end, if not the end itself, only to pass into history as nothing but another obstacle over which humanity has stepped in our long and steady progression through time. Marcus Aurelius, using another wonderful metaphor, said “History is a sort of river of passing events, and strong is it’s current; no sooner has a thing been brought into sight than it is swept by and another takes its place, and this too will be swept away.”

A morning person embraces a spirit of optimism and fights against the cynicism that comes to us all too frequently, and all too easily.

This may sound like an overly simplistic, even naive view of things; a view that could only be embraced by Professor Pangloss. You remember Professor Pangloss? In Voltaire’s story Candide, Professor Pangloss is the teacher who asserts that “all is for the best in the best of all possible worlds.” But as Candide learns, through many trials and tribulations, his beloved Professor Pangloss is not correct. Everything is not for the best. In the final lines of the work, using yet another wonderful metaphor, Candide sums up what he has learned by saying that “we must cultivate our gardens.” And that brings us to a discussion of how a morning person conducts his or her life.

I’m a gardener, and I can tell you that any gardener knows, as they pull the weeds from their garden, that the weeds will return. It’s the way of the world, and not to be changed. But we pull the weeds anyway. Because to not pull the weeds is to abandon the garden, and this we cannot do.

A morning person continues to work for the good, not with the naive hope of eradicating evil, not because they believe they can solve all the problems of the world, but because it’s the thing to do. Bodil Jonsson, the Swedish physicist, writes in her book Unwinding the Clock “it doesn’t befit a human being to give up. The future is not some mountainside we’re all going to smash into. Nor is it some kind of precipice and we’re all going to fall off the edge. We’ll do what people have always done. We’ll try.” A morning person tries.

Winston Churchill was a morning person when he said to a group of elementary school students “Never, never, never give up.” Martin Luther King, Jr. was a morning person when he delivered his “I Have a Dream” speech.

A morning person holds fast to his or her belief that a better world is not only possible, but assured. The future is not something to fear, but to work for.

What kind of future do I want for myself and my children? What kind of world do I want to live in? What can I do to move in that direction? These are the questions that a morning person asks.

I have to confess that, although I am by nature a morning person in the literal sense, I sometimes have to work at being a morning person in the figurative sense. It’s not always easy, when I look around me and see some of the things going on in the world, to be a morning person. But that’s what I want to be, and it’s why I come here. I rely on you’on this community’to help me continue in the way of a morning person. And for that reason I also ask “What kind of future do I want for this church?” “What kind of church do I want to be a part of?” “What can I do to move us in that direction?”

What about you? What do you need in your life? In times of despair, where or from whom have you found strength?

I want to close with some words from the theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer:

Optimism is by its nature not a goal for the present situation but a life-force,

A force for hope when others give up,

A force for withstanding setbacks, a force that never surrenders the future to pessimism but rather requisitions it for hope.

He wrote those words while he sat in a German concentration camp, awaiting execution. He’d been sentenced to be hanged for his part in a plot to remove Hitler from power. Listen again to the words of a morning person.

Optimism is by its nature not a goal for the present situation but a life-force,

A force for hope when others give up,

A force for withstanding setbacks, a force that never surrenders the future to pessimism but rather requisitions it for hope.

I don’t know what else I could say.

When Winning Is The Only Thing

© Jim Checkley

July 11, 2004

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

CENTERING

How do we define winning? It makes a difference.

Used to be that winning was not just about the scoreboard. Used to be that the scoreboard wasn’t the only thing. Can we still say that’s true?

From Little League to pro sports we hear again and again that losing hurts worse than winning feels good. Why is that? Why does losing hurt worse than winning feels good? Could it be that winning is expected, is the only thing, and winning is therefore more a relief than a joy, while losing is a dreaded, hated thing, just like the losers themselves?

When coaches say that their job is to bring out the champion in every player, are they speaking metaphorically or literally? Do you have to be a literal champion, win a championship, a gold medal, or is it OK to simply do your best, to become the best you can be?

If winning is about working to achieve success, and if success is, as the great UCLA coach John Wooden says, the piece of mind which is a direct result of self-satisfaction in knowing you did your best to become the best that you can be, then why are coaches and players fired, vilified in the press, booed, given death threats, and disrespected if they achieve success but still lose? Why is it that the great unifying principle for all these totured souls is losing?

Maybe it’s because Vince Lombardi was right: maybe its because when it comes time to walk the walk instead of talk the talk, when it gets down to brass knuckles and gut feelings, winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing.

SERMON

I have been thinking about doing a sermon on sports and its impact on society for many years. But not as many years as I’ve known our own John Sanders. I’ve known John for almost the entire time I’ve been in Texas’going on 27 years. Last year John sent me some clippings from the newspaper about sportsmanship in Little League and sports generally and included a short note suggesting it was time to do a sermon on the obsession with winning that seems to be the hallmark of our culture. So here I am..

The article that John sent to me concerned a Little League baseball player who had broken some rules at home and whose parents had grounded him. Pretty typical. But then a strange thing had happened. Once the child explained to his friends that he was grounded and was going to miss a game or two as a result, the parents of the other children on the Little League team began calling and complaining to the grounded boy’s parents that his punishment wasn’t fair. The calls were many, frequent, and some were quite angry.

Why all the fuss? Well, the grounded child was the best player on the Little League team. Without him, it was much more likely the team would lose the games he was going to miss. This was so upsetting to the other players and their parents that they called to complain. So the parents of this child, in the aftermath, had written to one of those columnists who write about ethics to ask if they had done the right thing. Or was grounding their child wrong because the other children might, as a result, end up losing a Little League baseball game?

The columnist reassured the parents that they had done the right thing and spent most of his column complaining that the preoccupation with winning that seemed to grip the country had gotten out of hand. He lamented that the need to win, the desire to win, almost at any cost, and at any level, had become increasingly rampant and was becoming a real problem in our society.

The first thing I thought of reading that article was Green Bay Packer’s coach Vince Lombardi and his famous quote that “winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing,” the quote from which I took the title of the sermon. If any single expression captures America’s obsession with winning, this is it. There are several sources on the Internet that claim that Coach Lombardi did not actually utter these words. But it doesn’t matter. Did Humphry Bogart say “Play it again Sam?” Did Carl Sagan say: “Billions and billions and billions?” Did Marshall McLuhan say: “The media is the message?” No, none of them did. But all these expressions are now American icons.

And while many individuals would dispute Coach Lombardi, and there are hundreds of articles claiming that winning is not the only thing, I think that the expression winning isn’t everything, it’s the only thing has taken on a life of its own over the last 40 years. And while I do not blame Coach Lombardi directly for the escalation in the competitive environment in America and the obsession with winning that has accompanied it, the notion that winning is the only thing is, I believe, at the heart of many of the dilemmas we find in sports, business, culture, and society generally. Because I believe that we, as a society, have bought into that expression, and that it lies behind much of who we are and what we do as a culture.

I thought I would be doing a little sermon on the dangers of emphasizing winning to the exclusion of other important aspects of life, but I quickly realized that this is a huge topic, one that crosses many disciplines and aspects of culture. Indeed, it was a struggle to try to synthesize just a few aspects of this issue into a twenty-minute talk. For instance, I have neither the time nor the inclination to explore how American culture got to the point where winning a Little League game is so important it is worth challenging your neighbors’ choice of discipline or allowing a boy who is 2 years overage to play in order to win the Little League World Series, something that happened just a couple of years ago. Instead, I’d simply like to make a few observations on the effects of elevating winning to the status of the only thing and look at how this phenomenon is not limited to sports, but affects all we do.

I grew up in the 1960s and early 70s, a time when sports, while still a significant part of American culture, were not nearly as important or as available as they are today. Most people were content to deal with sports on the weekend on TV and check on the progress of the season in the paper or listen to the home team on the radio. Those of you under 30 might not believe it, but 40 years ago, one couldn’t just pop the TV on any given night and have a smorgasbord of sports waiting for the watching. There was no Monday Night Football, no superstation cable outlets, no magazines devoted to recruiting high school kids to college, no broadcasts of pro sports drafts, and, best of all from my point of view, sports had not yet degenerated into 24/7 sports talk radio and TV. Look, I love sports, played organized baseball, football, and basketball and ran track and cross country, but all this gossip about sports has really pushed me over the edge.

Can I just say the obvious: sports are a huge part of American culture. Major sporting events like the Superbowl, the World Series, the NBA Finals, the Stanley Cup Finals, Grand Slam tennis and Major golf events, the Triple Crown of horse racing, the Olympics, the World Cup, all these events and many more produce an almost continuous current of competition, triumph, and defeat that is at once iconic and in a sense, religious. If religion is that which binds us together, well, little binds the country together more than sports.

Since the creation of ESPN in 1979, sports have developed into one of the most powerful and dominant aspects of our culture. ESPN stands for the Entertainment and Sports Programming Network’although I often call it the ETERNAL Sports Programming Network’and is the single most important thing that happened to sports since the invention of the television. ESPN, Disney, and the American Broadcasting Company have common ownership: sports, fantasy, and television’what a combination.

Today players are paid not just in the millions, but in the hundreds of millions of dollars to play kids’ games for a living. Millions of fans metaphorically live and die by the success of their teams’and by success I mean winning and losing. And because of the proliferation and growth of sports, seasons have become extended, overlap, and never seem to end. Even when the teams aren’t actually playing, they are being talked about on thousands of outlets across the country. Sports in America have grown to the point where the personalities are almost as important as the games, where the culture is almost as important as the scores, and where, at every level, winning seems to be the paramount concern.

Jacques Barzun, the great Columbia University historian, commented years ago that to understand the American character one should understand baseball because that sport encompassed so much of what made America unique. I submit to you today that to understand the American character one should understand sports generally because our attitude towards sports reflects our attitude towards the rest of our culture. The way we play the games of our sports culture is, I think, reflective of how we will play the game of life.

We as a culture, as a society, have bought into the Vince Lombardi attitude about winning. American society, already competitive, already individualistic, has become obsessed with winning. In fact, Jerome Holtzman claims that “Losing is the great American sin.” There are many who would agree with him.

And while it may have started in the sports world, this attitude has spread to every aspect of culture, including business, law, and every corner of society. It is very different from the days when I used to go to the Boys’ Club of Clifton and there was a huge sign on the wall in the gym that said: “It’s not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game.” While everybody, including me, tried our best to win, and winning was important to us, make no mistake, my coaches for the most part displayed the attitude that if you gave your best, then the final score was not what was most important. I visited my old Boy’s Club’now the Boys’ and Girls’ Club’about 10 years ago and that sign was gone. And I frankly don’t expect them to put up another one any time soon.

The promotion of sports in our culture to the highest levels of importance and the growth of sports into a multi-billion dollar business has elevated winning to the point where it does seem to have become the only thing. This is a dangerous situation. I think we get in trouble when we are only focused on winning because eventually, everything else about the game becomes secondary or expendable. If winning is the only thing, how can there be room for anything else?

Sportsmanship is eventually sacrificed to winning; civility is sacrificed to winning; respect is sacrificed to winning; character is sacrificed to winning; playing by the rules is sacrificed to winning. All the reasons we are told sports are good for us fade away. Being honorable becomes a liability that many people question if not outright think is foolish. Like the heel of a shoe that wears down only gradually, so gradually that we don’t even realize it until we try on a new pair, all other aspects of competition slowly erode when winning is the only thing. And I’m not just talking about this happening in sports. This sort of phenomenon happens in business, in culture, in religion, in society, in any group where the emphasis on winning pushes other considerations aside. American culture has become, to an extent that I frankly have difficulty putting up with, a culture absolutely dominated by competition for everything and the attitude that winning is the only thing.

Having said that, I want to say that I don’t think that either competition or winning is necessarily a bad thing. My complaint goes more to a loss of perspective, to a loss of balance, and the ripple effect that occurs when society decides that winning is the only thing.

Let me give you an analogy to what I mean. Ralph Waldo Emerson said: “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.” That saying is often misquoted and people often forget the foolish part. But that is the key to the saying. What Emerson was telling us is that consistency for its own sake’a foolish consistency’is the hobgoblin. What I am saying is that when winning becomes the only thing, pushes everything else to the side, that is the hobgoblin.

Speaking of hobgoblin’s, one of my least favorite side-effects of winning at all costs is that it has turned us into a much less civilized society. When winning is the only thing there is a tendency to break the rules, to cheat, to develop an us/them attitude that leads to disrespect, meanness, unsportsmanlike conduct, and tends to dehumanize, if not demonize, the other side. In short, when winning is the only thing it is simply much less pleasant to play the game.

Let me share with you my least favorite, but most apropos, example of what I mean. It happened at a Westlake High School football game a few years ago. I forget who Westlake was playing that day, but I will never forget how a vocal group of parents and fans behaved. There was a player on the other team who was quite good and doing quite well. These Westlake fans, who were used to steam rolling opponents, were literally yelling for the Westlake players to hurt this kid so he could no longer participate in the game. I, like most of you, I’m sure, have heard foul mouthed fans at a game before. But for some reason, this particular behavior touched me more deeply than some other similar behavior I have seen. I was instantly both angry and depressed and I just sat there thinking: this is one of your neighbor’s kids. He’s one of us, a part of our community. And you want him hurt because he’s a good player and Westlake might possibly, God forbid, lose a game?

There are hundreds of stories like this from Little League parents who scream at the umpires, the coaches, and the players, to my own experience in the practice of law, which I (and my partners) have found has become much nastier over the 22 years I have practiced, to the escalation of road rage that we have all heard about if not experienced. It is this lack of civility on the road that most amazes me. Tens of thousands of people die on the roads each year and you’d think we could be civil to each other when our very lives are at stake. But that doesn’t happen nearly as much as it should. I mean, wouldn’t you think you were dreaming if some day you were driving to work during rush hour and all the people driving SUVs, Hummers, oversized pick-up trucks, and other urban assault vehicles yielded when the lanes were merging or didn’t speed up when you needed to change lanes, or just gave a wave of the hand in thanks when you yielded? Winning is the only thing tends to escalate competition to the point where it leads to tremendous stress and strain, whether we are talking about a softball game, a lawsuit, turning a corporate profit, or getting to work on time.

Because of our cultural focus on winning, of making winning the only thing, and the escalation of competition that accompanies it, I am coming to the conclusion that we do not actually live in a civilization anymore. Some years ago I coined a word for what I think our society is becoming: I call it a “competitivization” – a society where competition is the single most important and paramount feature of the culture, one where, increasingly, we act as if only winners matter and losers are soon forgotten. Competition in my view has simply swamped cooperation, and with it our sense of community, with one exception: people on the same team (‘us’) will cooperate against another team (‘them’). People complain that there is no sense of community anymore. Well, how in the world can there be when we emphasize so strongly the success of the individual, individual competition, winning, and have established such a strong win/lose and us/them society that we often don’t even act civilly to one another?

I’d like to shift gears here and look at another aspect of sports that I think has made its way into our culture, and not for the better. This is in the area of personal responsibility. What I suggest may not be as obvious as winning is the only thing, but see if it doesn’t ring true to you.

All sports have a referee or an umpire. In a sporting event, the players are used to allowing somebody else to take responsibility for what is right and wrong in the game. In this sense, in sports, the responsibility for playing by the rules has been externalized. While the player remains responsible for playing by the rules, he is not responsible for enforcing them. That role is delegated to the official. Players are not only encouraged to accept the judgment of an outside official on issues of fouls, in or out of bounds, and the like, the game requires that they do so. I think this externalization of responsibility has evolved to the point where players, ever eager and needing to win, have a mind set that allows them to feel comfortable if the official misses a call or botches a call that is in their favor because that is simply part of the game and the player need not take responsibility for it. And fans accept it too So while players, coaches, and fans will rant against calls that hurt their chances of wining, nobody complains when a blown call is in their favor. In fact, how weird would it have been if John McEnroe, infamous for his obnoxious arguments with officials who made calls he disagreed with, had argued just a vociferously if the umpire made a call that worked in his favor, even if he and everybody on his “side” knew it? That’s not his responsibility. If a call is missed, that responsibility lies with the official, not the player.

Now, you can talk about sportsmanship, and in the movie Bagger Vance, the golf pro calls a foul on himself, and thus costs himself the match, but when winning is the only thing, how can an ordinary person afford to call a foul on him or her self? Especially in the modern era when millions upon millions of dollars are at stake, if a receiver catches a game winning touchdown in the Superbowl, and he knows he was out of bounds, but the referee didn’t see it and the instant replays don’t show it, how can we ever expect him to fess up? Lots of people would think he was an idiot to fess up. Moreover, even more insidiously, it is simply not his job, don’t you see, to make that call. It’s the referee’s job and the player not only can, but must, abdicate personal responsibility to that referee. It’s not the player’s fault; it’s the referee’s.

I believe we have expanded this externalization of responsibility for our actions that is required on the playing field to culture in general to the point where we no longer see ourselves as the primary enforcer of the rules of the game, and moreover, if we break the rules and are not caught, then it’s not our fault. The fault lies with the referees, as it were, for failing to catch us.

I’d go so far as to say that in many ways, we have, as a culture, externalized responsibility for our actions to the point where many people act as if unless one is caught, then there is no harm. I mean, if the umpire blows a call, or misses a call, we accept it and move on with the game and it’s not the player’s responsibility to call a foul or an out of bounds on him or her self and fix it. So why not in life? After all, it’s the job of the police, or the SEC, or the FBI, or our boss, or our spouse, or somebody else, to discover our flaw, mistake, error, or violation. If they don’t, well, then let the game go on.

I have an expression for this phenomenon as well: I call it “no foul, no harm.” Anybody who has played pick-up sports knows the expression, “no harm, no foul.” It means that even if you technically broke the rules, we won’t stop play because what you did, did not affect the play. There was no harm. But now, many people seem to act like the rule should be “no foul, no harm.” The notion is that unless we are caught, then there is no harm’it’s just part of the game. The breaking of the rules becomes not so much an issue of character or ethics, but one of simple practicality. What matters is not how you played the game, but whether you were caught. And if you can break the rules in ways that allow you to have less chance of getting caught, so much the better. Let me sum this up with a question: If NFL linemen are taught how to hold without getting caught, something that many sports commentators not only claim, but seem to admire, then is it any wonder if our kids think it’s OK to cheat so long as you don’t get caught?

The attitude of winning at all costs, and with it, kicking up competition several notches, along with the externalization of responsibility for one’s actions, combine to create real problems for anybody who dislikes the culture of winning and wants to behave civilly, ethically, and do the right thing. The problem is that when everybody is playing by a set of rules that implicitly condones the notion that winning is the only thing, what do you do if winning means having to cheat, or behave belligerently, or hurt some kid from up the street, or ignore the rules? As was noted in the reading today from the New York Times, the problem of rampant breaking of the rules in order to win in a highly competitive market is being perceived in the business world as a real problem. When winning is the only thing, when competition gets out of hand, then whatever gives you a competitive advantage is OK. And if everybody else is doing it, then what choice do you have?

Look, what the writer of the Times’ business editorial I read earlier today is saying is no different in theory from one of us telling a policeman who has pulled us over for speeding that we were just going with the flow of traffic. Were you doing 80 in a 65 zone? Sure you were, but you have just externalized responsibility for breaking the speed limit. The traffic made me do it, you say. And you have a point’especially if all that traffic swooping past you makes you feel unsafe limping along at the posted speed limit. That’s why this is such a tough issue.

But let me raise the stakes. If the CEO of a major corporation says yes, I was breaking a few rules, but the market made me do it, are you going to be sympathetic to him or her? Are you going to cut him or her the same slack you cut yourself on the highway when you consciously decided to speed to keep up with the traffic? Probably not. But all that CEO was doing was conducting business with the flow of ethics and doing what was necessary to win.

Or, then again, you might say, with some cynicism, that his big mistake was getting caught. You might see this like the NFL linemen who are taught how to hold and decide that the CEO simply was not good enough and got caught’lost’which is the ultimate sin. I’ve heard many people in business, politics, and other non-sports environments say: “his big mistake was getting caught.” And I ask you: what’s up with that expression? It implies that it’s OK to cheat, to do whatever it takes to win, so long as we don’t get caught. It’s a perfect example of my expression,”no foul, no harm.” Everything is OK because we have externalized our responsibility for our choices. Everything is OK because winning is the only thing and this will help us win. I think that this, right here, is one of the real challenges of American culture.

Given these challenges, if we care about winning but don’t have any desire to compromise our principles and integrity in the process, what do we do? I’ll be blunt with you and say that in the absence of a cosmic umpire, it is sometimes very difficult to justify playing by the rules when nobody else does. It just depends on what ends up being important to you’which is, of course, very Unitarian. But I reiterate that if you decide to take a stand, if you believe that winning is not the only thing, that there are other things that matter just as much if not more, then you need to understand that doing the right thing can cost you’sometimes a lot’especially when everybody else, or nearly everybody else, is cheating and not just getting away with it, but is somehow, in a perverse way, encouraged to cheat by the very competitive environment we ourselves have created.

Those of you who know me, know I can’t do a sermon without a pop culture reference. So if you want to know what price sometimes has to be paid for doing the right thing, then I’d suggest you go see Spider-Man 2. The first hour of that film is about the following question: when you have great power and you take great responsibility as a result, what are the consequences? We see in the movie that being Spider-Man, of doing what’s right, takes a great toll on Peter Parker, who is failing school, being fired from his jobs, has let down his Aunt May, and has pushed the love of his life to the breaking point. Peter has a miserable life being Spider-Man, but he does the right thing, even at the risk of his life and happiness.

I don’t have any magic cure for this mess we’ve gotten ourselves into. In fact, on some level, while I don’t necessarily recommend it, I think a reasonable person could sometimes decide that driving with the flow of traffic, as it were, is the best thing to do. After all, one of the single most potent images of fairness in our culture is the notion of the level playing field. And if enough people are cheating, and most everybody knows it, then cheating somehow becomes fair because it levels the playing field. But it also perpetuates and tends to escalate the cycle. Ultimately, while there may be short term gains, the long term outlook is bleak.

But because I simply cannot let myself end a sermon on a down note, let me conclude by suggesting some hope by way of an analogy. I think of being ethical and of doing the right thing in the same way that I think of recycling. No one person can make recycling work. But if everybody recycles even as little as one can a day, then suddenly, we have mountains of cans. Only almost nobody ever sees the mountains of cans; we simply have to have faith that they exist and thus resolve to do our part. I think the same thing applies here: we each have to make our small contributions to doing what’s right, being ethical, whatever that might be in any situation, and have faith that it matters in the larger scheme, even though none of us may ever see the mountain of cans.

But more than this, even if there is no mountain of cans, even if nobody else follows, we might just free ourselves a little bit from the belief that winning is the only thing. It isn’t you know and the belief that it is tends to have a corrupting and harmful influence on both individuals and society. But it sometimes takes real courage to find that out. It takes being willing to “lose once in a while for a deeper cause” including the cause of finding and honoring that champion all those coaches tell us lies inside each of us and winning beyond the scoreboard in a way that matters to us all.

Presented July 11, 2004

First Unitarian Universalist Church of Austin

Austin, Texas

Version 2: Expanded for Print

Copyright 2004 by Jim Checkley

All Rights Reserved

Daily Practice Makes Perfect

© Jonobie Ford

27 June 2004

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PRAYER

Heaven is not reached in a single bound,

But we build the ladder by which we rise

From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,

And we mount to its summit round by round.

I count this thing to be grandly true:

That a noble deed is a step toward God –

Lifting the soul from the common clod

To a purer air and a broader view.

SERMON: Daily Practice Makes Perfect

Jack Kornfield’s book, After the Ecstasy, the Laundry, tells of a young man returning to the West. For the past twelve years, the man has been living a devoted religious life in India and Tibet. He’s in for a bit of culture shock in this re-integration; instead of strict schedules of meditation, intense daily focus on religion, and a community of similar believers, he finds himself lost and adrift in his old, chaotic world. Old patterns of living come back suprisingly quickly. He becomes irritable, confused, and angry. He starts worrying about money. And he begins to wonder whether he’s lost all that he’s learned in these past twelve years. And suddenly, in a flash of inspiration, he realizes:

“I can’t live in some enlightened memory. Spiritual practice is only what I’m doing, right now. Anything else is a fantasy.”

“Anything else is fantasy” — what a strong statement! But I think he’s got it right: Our religion is what we do, each and every day. And one way to focus on what we want to do, to make our daily decisions while keeping in mind these ultimate concerns in life, is to spend time with our religion each day.

I say “daily”, although perhaps “frequent” is a better term. Not all of us can or want to make time for daily practice. But daily practice need not be something that’s eternal. Like many things, some seasons of our lives may call for more focus on religion than others. Daily practice has many benefits, and trying it for a couple of weeks, or months, or even years, can produce some suprising results.

I had a somewhat impromptu daily practice a couple of months ago while writing my affirmations of faith. Each evening for several weeks prior to the service, I sat down at my computer, lit a small candle that I frequently use for rituals, and tried to compose understandable descriptions of what I believed.

The act of dedicating time to religion each evening made me go through the next day thinking about ways I could implement my religious beliefs. It sounds so simple, but I really think that doing a daily practice helps me be a nicer person. I start thinking about how others fit into the breath of life, and how we’re all in this together, and I’m more likely to see people as, well, people, and not just roles.

While I was writing my first affirmation of faith, I was also at a very busy point in my project at work. There was a coworker who had been frustrating me for the past couple of months. One day, after he had just complained to my boss’ boss about a decision I’d made, I was venting about this to my office mate. I actually stopped mid-word in my rant as my brain bubbled “Wow, you’re a hypocrite!” to the surface of my thoughts. Here I was, each evening, writing up lofty ideas about people being part of the breath of life, and how we’re all in this together, and yet, during the day, I hadn’t noticed that this guy was just like me. I’d just been seeing him as this thing that was in my way — not as a person who was just trying to do his job the best he could, just as I was. I might have thought of that without my daily practice, but I’m not so sure. I certainly hadn’t thought of it up until that point — this was not my first rant. And after this mid-rant revelation, I began to interact with him differently, and to actually listen to him, rather than to have my first reaction be annoyance. We ended up being allies, if not exactly friends, by the end of the project.

Daily practice looks different for different people. One couple I know prays a rosary together daily. Another person, a chronic insomniac, meditates each night when she wakes up and can no longer sleep. Yet another person speaks of studying Hebrew and religious scripture each day. My husband and I take turns saying grace at dinner. We all do our practice differently, but the sentiment is the same: Alone, or with others, we spend some time each day reminding ourselves about the ideas we hold most dear.

Regardless of exactly what the practice looks like, it’s clear a lot of people use a daily religious practice, or at least think it’s a good idea. I did a Google search on the phrase “daily spiritual practice” and came up with over 800,000 hits. That’s a lot of talk about daily practice!

Here, in a UU organization, we don’t seem to talk about daily religious practice much. I’m not sure why that is; it may be because we shy away from the notion of doing things that are overtly religious, or it may be because many of us don’t see any value in it. After all, much of the world talks about daily religious practice in terms that don’t work for some of us, by talking of making offerings to Gods, praying, and so forth. It may also just be because we’re busy people and don’t feel we have the time.

But daily religious practice holds a lot of value, even for followers of a liberal religion. There are a whole host of benefits that come from spending part of each day focusing on whatever it is that brings you here, to this church. Is there something you used to do that you don’t anymore, such as journaling, writing, poetry, praying, or taking a morning walk? Maybe it’s time to think about picking it back up again. Summer, with its more relaxed pace, is a great time to return to a daily practice.

While I was preparing for this service, Davidson shared with me an old preacher’s story. In it, two people are talking after church.

One says: “That sermon didn’t have much in it. In fact, most sermons don’t have much in them. I don’t know why I keep coming.”

And the other person replies, “Yes, I’ve found that meals are that way, too. Each one, taken by itself, doesn’t have too much. But if I skipped them all, I don’t think I’d do well. So I’ve decided that the effect of worship services, like the effect of meals, isn’t to seek feasts, but to get in the habit of nourishing myself regularly.”

There’s actually some good, solid evidence that frequent spiritual nourishment is good for us. Although the highly hyped studies describing the value of remote prayer (where other people pray for you) are scientifically suspect, there is evidence that frequent personal practice is healthy. For instance, one study of 1,000 seriously ill men in Veterans Administration hospitals found that “religious coping” — a method that includes frequent personal prayer — decreased depression. In another study, overseen by Duke University researchers, subjects who both attended worship services and prayed had lower blood pressure than a control group. Participants who prayed or studied the Bible daily were 40% less likely to have high blood pressure. Some people might claim that this study somehow proves Christianity’s correctness; given that I found similar studies for meditation and chanting, I’m inclined to say it’s the practice of focusing on religion each day, regardless of exactly what that practice is. Well, almost. An interesting tidbit from that same study: “Those who frequently watched religious TV or [listened] to religious radio actually had higher blood pressures.” I’m not surprised; Jerry Falwell makes my blood pressure rise, too.

At-home religious practice is also helpful for those of us still deciding what religious ideas to make our own. It gives us a safe place to try out and test different ideas. For me, my daily practice has helped refine my theology. For example, I’d always been dubious about praying for other people. After all, I believe that my Gods rarely, if ever, interact with the world in material ways.

When I first began following a daily practice, I found it easiest to use a book of daily devotions.[1] All the devotions in the book include a section for prayers for other people — for example, one directs the reader to pray for people who pollute the earth, while another one suggests praying for those who are refugees or without a home. When I began, I almost skipped doing them. I decided to temporarily leave the prayers in, figuring I shouldn’t remove them on the basis of previous prejudices.

I later realized I didn’t want to remove them. I still didn’t really think praying caused any sort of supernatural action in the lives of the people I was praying for, but prayer had become a way of focusing my attention. In fact, after praying for people, I felt more compassion for those I had prayed for. I wanted to interact with, support, honor, or help them in real ways, not just by thinking about them in the solace of my home. I tried to reduce my pollution by cultivating a worm bin in my apartment, and it now turns most of my previously-discarded kitchen scraps into compost. I also became more involved here at the church, both personally and financially. And I realized that any practice that takes my faith from inside my head into action in the world is a practice that’s powerful and worth retaining, regardless of my discomfort with the word “prayer”.

Daily practice is also just practice at being religious. Just as practicing a piano piece can ingrain the memory of it into your fingers, practicing being religious helps set it into you more firmly. When I first began a daily practice, I was at a really tumultuous time in my life. I was beginning my first job, and I had no idea if I was doing what I wanted to do. I don’t know if it’s this way for everyone, but my first job was when it really hit me — I suddenly knew what “the daily grind” meant. Dilbert, once somewhat incomprehensible, suddenly became hilarious. It sounds hopelessly naive now, but I really think I had the idea that a person went comfortably from out of school into a dream job, and would automatically become a highly respected member of the workforce. Instead, I was hurtling into a whole new world, I was off the tidy little life-plan I had devised for myself, and I was terrified.

Looking back, I can see that if religion is “what I’m doing now”, in the words of the Buddhist Lama, I didn’t have much of a religion at all those days. And even then, I realized that I needed a way to center myself, and to focus on who I was and what was important to me, every day. It felt like I was in danger of losing that, otherwise. My daily practice became part of the “ladder that took me to a broader view”, that reminded me that there was more to life than driving to work, working a long day, and driving back home, exhausted.

In the beginning, daily practice was relatively easy, particularly because it started shortly after I began seriously exploring religion. There was so much new information to read, absorb, and try, that my practice naturally was frequent and enthusiastic. But once my religion and my job become more comfortable, it was harder. While there was still much to learn and absorb, the freshness and enthusiasm began to fade. But I also realized that, in the words of the Lama returning to the west, religion isn’t some memory of past enlightenment — or memory of freshness and enthusiasm, it’s what I’m doing now, each and every day.

I’m told that our hunter-gatherer ancestors would often go without food for days, and then gorge themselves when they had a successful hunt. Like the people in Davidson’s story, it’s easy to slip into thinking about religion in this way, as though we’re waiting for one really good sermon to feed us for a month. But our ancestors realized that it was better to get in the habit of eating small daily meals, just as we still do, and it keeps us nourished all the time. Maybe part of being always nourished is to bring our religion out of the realm of what Kornfield’s Lama calls “fantasy” and down to the earth in our daily lives.

I haven’t tried to feed you a huge feast today, and I’m not sure I’d know how. Nor have I wanted to offer you “fast food”. I wanted to bring you some spiritual appetizers — a little nourishment for your souls on this hot summer day. Maybe it’s a little like Chinese food, and you’ll be hungry again in a few hours. I hope so. Because if we all keep coming back for Sunday snacks, we might grow into the habit of eating spiritual food between meals. And in the long run, you know, that’s a lot like living at a feast.


 [1] Celtic Devotional: Daily Prayers & Blessings, by Caitlin Matthews

Tolerance – Annual Youth Service

© Davidson Loehr

Ian Reed

Will Boney

13 June 2004

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

CENTERING

Ian Reed

In the presence of the power of this congregation,

 In the presence of the warming chalice,

 We gather here to search and to reflect,

 On the beauty and power in this room.

HOMILY: Tolerance

Ian Reed

We gather here today, in this room, in front of this chalice, as a congregation of Religious liberals looking for a greater truth. And right here in front of us is one of the most powerful symbolic lesson to be found on that search, our chalice. While it’s origins as pertaining to our faith are rather spiritually empty, being more or less the winner of a glorified design contest, it still remains that the chalice is one of the most potent religious symbols for any faith. As the oldest recorded symbol for the feminine, the chalice is here to remind us of one of the most important lessons our faith yearns to teach us. That of respecting all of humanity as you respect yourself. One of our strongest principals is to respect the inerrant worth and dignity of every person. Regardless of race, sexual orientation, economic status, or religious affiliation, we have a sacred duty to respect all life, regardless of our disagreements.

The power of this symbol, the power of creation, acceptance, and nurturing, serves as a reminder to us all. This symbol is here to remind us that when we grasp those ideals of tolerance, we have the age old power of the chalice within us.. We must not think of someone’s origins, someone’s family past or religious orientation, we must only think of them as people, for they were all created just like that flame. Gently cradled, and given the spark of life to dance with. This symbol of creation is a reminder to us all that true life comes from this cradling, from this nurturing of the flame. Whether in turn the flame is oil or candle, the person Christian or Jewish, the chalice, the mother gives life to all unconditionally. This is our gift, this is our calling.

My favorite example of that is the biblical story of the good Samaritan. The story goes that there was a man on his way from Jerusalem to Jericho and on his way he unfortunately encountered a band of robbers. These robbers stole all the man’s possessions and beat him to within an inch of his life. So there the poor man lay on the road, while a day’s worth of commuters pass by his way. Much time had passed after the beating when all of a sudden, a kind stranger, identified by Jesus as a friendly Samaritan took it upon himself to help the near dying man. The Samaritan took up the man, bandaged him, bathed him, took him on his back, brought him to the nearest inn, and looked after him for the rest of the day. When the kind Samaritan had to leave the next day, he left two silver pieces with the inn master for the care of the injured man, promising also to repay the innkeeper if the man’s care cost any more. The moral of this story seems to be a simple one of helping your fellow man, but it goes much deeper than that. You see, that Samaritan was not just anybody, for at the time, the Samaritan’s were waging a violent war against the Jews. Thus the lesson herein is much more profound.

Regardless of opinion, regardless of past experience, we must treat all who we encounter with the same tender care. Blood, birth, belief, neither of these truly define a person, or give any justification for harm. The beauty of this story is that it admits this folly, admits the folly of war, the stereotype that all enemies are enemies, that all soldiers are soldiers, even off the battlefield. Respecting the inerrant worth and dignity of every person is just that. We must truly be unconditional with our kindness, for not every Muslim is a terrorist, not every Baptist preaches hellfire and brimstone, not every Catholic is anachronistic, not every Christian wishes to convert us, and not every American is a violent sadist. We must see beyond the labels we create, and respect the person behind them.

The Samaritan was at war with the Jews, and yet he was able to put aside any anger, any prejudice, and simply helped a man in need. The Samaritan did not see the man as a so, as an enemy, as a threat, he just saw a man in need. This is our power as religious liberals. We have the power to see the wonderful myriad of spiritual pathways out there with an unfettered spirit, an unbound mind, and an unobstructed vision. We have no creedal right and wrong, we draw members from all spiritual pathways, from all callings, and we have a gift to see the entire world in that light. We are the Samaritan, we are not bound by thoughts of religious predestiny, of a hell or heaven, we can just see all the world, and all its myriad paths as just that. We can rightly give life to anyone, for that is our strongest calling.

Watching the world like this, without pre-existing fear, hatred, misunderstanding, is our highest good. This is the Samaritan’s true lesson. That when it comes down to every day, to our daily lives, the only thing that matters is seeing past what we are trained to see, and see the man behind the prejudice. We cannot label people by our preconceived notions. Then we become every other passerby we become the ones who let the beaten man lie in the road and die. Our thoughts do have that power. Every time you avoid a Christian because of fear of conversion, you are abandoning them, and denying them crucial companionship. Every time a stranded truck intimidates you a little too much just because of a visible confederate flag, you are denying a man the help he needs. Every time you don’t attend a dinner party with a Hasidic friend for fear of ‘unhealthy’ dinner conversation, you are leaving a good friend based on mere thoughts. We have the power to do many great things with our love, if we can only lean to give it without fear, prejudice, without hesitation. Our greatest gift as a congregation is our love, is our commitment to respecting and understanding the views of all people. If we are willing to accept the lesson of this age old story, and embrace the power of tolerance, of acceptance and understanding, we have the power to be a congregation of good Samaritans, the warmth of the life giving chalice, and when we live up to that potential, let the light of our acceptance shine, we relive that greatness, that warmth, that life saved.

HOMILY: Tolerance

Will Boney

A recent search for tolerance found an organization called Fight Hate and Promote Tolerance. This project has countless resources for someone trying to find out about tolerance. It contains countless examples of tolerance in the news: gay marriage in Massachusetts, the 50th anniversary of Brown v. Board of Education, etc. And our society has taken large steps towards being a tolerant society in recent years. I recall watching Philadelphia a couple of weeks ago with my parents. For those of you who don’t know it is the story of a young lawyer, Andrew Beckett, who is fired when it becomes apparent that he has become infected with HIV and is therefore, according to the stereotypes of the time, gay. The amazing thing about the movie was the huge amount of change that has occurred with the way normal people in society view HIV and homosexuals. Instead of, as in the movie, it being difficult to find a lawyer willing to represent Beckett due to his homosexuality, the opposite would now be true. My parents and I were amazed when we realized that this movie was made in 1993, a scant 11 years ago. This increase in tolerance has shown up in a myriad of areas, too numerous mention here, from the societal classics of race, religion, etc… to the more mundane aspect of tolerating people who are different from us in our individual, everyday lives. This increase in tolerance has definitely been a good thing. Tolerance is important on two levels: first, the tolerated gain by being tolerated. By being tolerated, they can be accepted into a community and society. As social beings, this acceptance is key to many people’s happiness and self-actualization. The second benefit of tolerance is to the tolerating society on a whole. The tolerance increases the diversity of the society, which countless studies and authorities claim increases some overall quality.

But does this tolerance truly extend to everyone? The previously mentioned organization to Fight Hate and Promote Tolerance reported on many other news stories, including one regarding an ad campaign that was attacking a proposed reality show called “Amish in the City.” The news story sided with the ad campaign, but, to me, this seems the opposite of their declared position for tolerance. The attacking of the proposed show is very intolerant, and yet an organization to promote tolerance supports it. The explanation is easily understandable the show is accused of mocking the Amish, an intolerant act but this position exposes a contradiction, or at least an ambiguity in any doctrine of tolerance. There are likely to be people who do not accept tolerance in all things. How does a tolerant person deal with this? One cannot attempt to force tolerance on them because this goes against the very core idea of tolerance. There seems to be no action or inaction that can be taken by a tolerant person to end this intolerance. They must simply tolerate it. But a tolerant person cannot easily in good conscience ignore them because the intolerance is so offensive. That is one of the great challenges of tolerance: how to tolerate the intolerant.

Another huge challenge of the tolerant is to tolerate everyone. This, I believe, is the biggest obstacle to complete tolerance. Everyone has their morals and ethics; these are the rules people live by that give them guidelines for what they can do and what they can’t do. Tolerance is easy when it is an act that ones morals agree with, still easy when one finds it not too offensive. But how many of us can tolerate the things that we find the most offensive in the world? How many of us are tolerant towards murderers? Rapists? Child molesters? The list goes on. For that is the true test of tolerance: think of the most disgusting, offensive act you can and see if you can tolerate a person that commits that act with no remorse.

And is tolerance really enough? Because tolerance only means that, well, you tolerate it, that you allow it to happen around you and in your community without taking action against it. Tolerance in no way means that you like it, that you encourage it, or that you support those who you tolerate. Instead, you need only ‘grin and bear it’ for tolerance. But is this really what we want in society? A bunch of people who go around merely tolerating each other? Does that really constitute a community, or merely an assortment of people? Acceptance seems more desirable, but much more difficult to achieve. Acceptance would give us a real society, but less diversity. Although the amounts of both can increase some over time, there does seem to be a definite tradeoff between the amount of community and the amount of diversity. Which one is more important is a choice that people will have to make for themselves, but it seems as though we cannot have both.

Religion 101

© Davidson Loehr

6 June 2004

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PRAYER:

Sixty years ago today, U.S. forces landed on the beaches of Normandy for the D-Day invasion that began turning the direction of WWII toward victory. But the cost was very high, paid in the currency of young dead soldiers. While the sacrifice of soldiers is something we must not underestimate, it must be balanced by a sense of the terrible loss, the human tragedy, in a game played by sacrificing young soldiers as wars do. So for our prayer this morning, I have chosen Archibald Macleish’s poem to speak for these concerns. The poem is titled “The Young Dead Soldiers.”

The Young Dead Soldiers

by Archibald Macleish

The young dead soldiers do not speak. Nevertheless, they are heard in the still houses: who has not heard them? They have a silence that speaks for them at night and when the clock counts.

They say: we were young. We have died. Remember us.

They say: we have done what we could but until it is finished it is not done.

They say: we have given our lives but until it is finished no one can know what our lives gave.

They say: our deaths are not ours; they are yours; they will mean what you make them.

They say: whether our lives and our deaths were for peace and a new hope or for nothing we cannot say; it is you who must say this.

They say: we leave you our deaths. Give them their meaning.

We were young, they say. We have died. Remember us.

SERMON: Religion 101

I’m trying something old this morning, reworking a sermon I wrote in my first year of ministry, in the fall of 1986. I was surprised to find how long it was: 4500 words! I’ve cut out about 2,000 words here. So let’s talk about “Religion 101.”

At the end of his book The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran’s “prophet” is asked to speak of religion, and he gives a brief lesson in Religion 101 when he says:

Have I spoken this day of anything else?

Is not religion all deeds and all reflection, and that which is neither deed nor reflection, but a wonder and a surprise ever springing in the soul, even while the hands hew the stone or tend the loom?

Who can separate our faith from our actions, or our belief from our occupations?

… Your daily life is your temple and your religion. Whenever you enter into it take with you your all….

Here’s another short quote about religion 101, from the American psychologist William James, who was quoting one of his favorite professors:

“Not God, but life, more life, a larger, richer, more satisfying life is, in the last analysis, the end of religion. The love of life, at any and every level of development, is the religious impulse.” (William James, The Varieties of Religious Experience, p. 487)

The words are taken from James’ book The Varieties of Religious Experience, written in 1902 and still better than anything in its field. There are, as the title of his book says, many varieties of religious experience. Not just one kind, not just one path, not just one flavor or style or rhythm, but many varieties of religious experience, many roads to this nebulous thing that answers to the name of ” religion.”

” Not God, but life, more life, a larger, richer, more satisfying life is, in the last analysis, the end of religion. The love of life, at any and every level of development, is the religious impulse.”

For many people, there is nothing of value in religion. As a physicist I knew in graduate school said, ” religion is just a dangerous mental virus: it takes over your mind, and if you don’t get rid of it, it metastasizes, and before you know it you’re a slobbering mystic.”

A more famous, if less picturesque, definition of religion came from Karl Marx, who called it ” the opium of the masses.” But to lift only that last phrase out of what Marx said is to miss the poignancy of the two sentences which preceded it. What Marx really wrote was this:

“Religious distress is at the same time the expression of real distress and the protest against real distress. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, just as it is the spirit of an unspiritual situation. It is the opium of the masses.”

(from Toward the Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right, in Marx and Engels, edited by Lewis S. Feuer (New York: Anchor Books, 1959), p. 263)

It’s worth a paragraph to explain what it meant, calling religion the opiate of the masses. In Marx’s time, the wealthy routinely used heroin for a high-priced high that they accepted as solace and enlightenment. But heroin was strictly an upper-class drug then, and Marx was saying that the masses got their sense of solace and enlightenment at a much cheaper price from religion.

If we want to understand what religion is about, let’s start with the word itself. The key parts of the word are the “re-” and the ” -lig”. The prefix “re-” means the same that it means in other words, like re-make, re-turn, or re-do: it means to do something again. And the “-lig” means the same that it means in words like ” ligament’ or ” ligature:’ it refers to something that ties or binds together, that connects. So the word “religion” means a kind of re-connecting, re-binding things which have become separate. Specifically, religion means the reconnecting of life with meaning, of the human spirit with an enduring purpose, of people with themselves and their world.

It is a special kind of re-connecting, the connecting involved in religion. It is a connecting with orientations, values, and centers that can give to life a deep sense of balance, harmony, and peace, with a picture of the world that provides a caring place for us in it. There seems to be the feeling that, sometime, we must have been connected. That may not in fact be true, but it comes, in part, from the deep feeling in almost all people that they know what they are seeking. And how, then, could they know about the sense of peace, balance, and harmony which they are seeking unless there were something profoundly natural and innate about it.

It is as though we each had a kind of hole inside. A Southern Baptist minister friend of mine calls it, predictably, a “God-shaped hole”, but that is only partly right. For the kinds of insights and wonderings and gropings which have been put into God-language are only a few of the ways in which people have tried to put a name to that which could fill this hole, this need, this persistent sense that there could and should be more to life.

Basically, and to be a little too simple about it all, there are two directions that this search for connection takes. And, while they seem very different, together they show us much about what is really being sought in this religion business.

The first direction is to look for reconnection to a bigger sort of reality outside of us, to try and find patterns in the cosmos of which we are a part, and to feel ourselves anchored in this larger reality in a comforting yet challenging way. This is the route that could be called the path of all the sciences. The task of our grand speculative sciences is not only to describe some kind of outside reality, but to make the universe meaningful in human terms, to make it meaningful to us. Or, to take it a step farther, the task of the sciences is to present us with an understanding of the cosmos that can make it feel like a home to us, a grand reality of which we are a part, in which we have a place. If a science stops short of this, if it doesn’t present us as part of its grand picture, we have the feeling that it isn’t quite done yet, that further developments or discoveries are needed to make it all more relevant to us.

What has all this got to do with “religion”? It has to do with the deep and persistent yearning that we have for a sense of the whole of things that includes us in meaningful ways. If we look out to the world around us, that religious impulse is pursued mostly through our scientific endeavors. But the need to find a place for ourselves in the grand scheme of things, it’s worth mentioning, is not a scientific problem at all, but a religious one. It’s the yearning for a sense of re-connection to a larger reality, to the over-all scheme of things, for a persuasive feeling that we are somehow included in the grand scheme of things.

You can put some of the aims of religion in much simpler terms. In plain language, every religion worthy of the name is the attempt to become better people, better partners, better parents and better citizens. It is the attempt to make a positive difference in the lives of ourselves, our children, and our larger community and world. It’s concerned with trying to feel re-connected in meaningful ways with a larger and more enduring reality. The first route, the one I’ve been trying to sketch up until now, looks outward, to the world and universe around us, and tries to paint a picture that finally includes us in significant ways. The direction, to reduce the whole field of science to a grand gesture, is to look outward, to trace the outlines of a horizon of all that is, in a way that at last brings us into it.

But there is also a second direction where the religious impulse carries us. This is the journey within ourselves, that deep looking-within for value and purpose, for worth and direction. While the direction is different, however, the goal is the same. It is the goal of re-connecting us with a larger picture of ourselves and the world around us.

The first route is the route of science, and pseudo-science and even of superstition. The second route is the route of psychology, philosophy, and the more existentialist approaches to religion. One poetic way this second route has been characterized is as “the soul’s search for God.” Or, in the older terms of Greek mythology, Psyche’s search for Eros: the soul’s search for divine love. It is written about not in the language of science, but the language of poetry. This is the route you’ll find in so many of the wonderful psalms of the Hebrew Scriptures. It is also the route taken by the mystics of all times and places. In order to recognize the religious dimensions of writings along this second route, we have to read them not as science but as poetry. I’ll read you one, to make this both more clear and more beautiful. It is a paragraph from the great fifth century Christian thinker known to us as Saint Augustine.

Augustine’s influence in western religious thought cannot be overestimated. He was the most profound single person in the whole history of Christian thought, and easily the most influential. His theology became the orthodoxy of Roman Catholic thought for a thousand years or more, and he is often called the grandfather of the Protestant Reformation, as well. Martin Luther was an Augustinian monk, and both Luther and John Calvin, the other great Protestant reformer, quoted Augustine’s writings more than all other thinkers combined. But besides being a first-rate theologian, he was a first-rate religious poet. Listen to this single paragraph, taken from his autobiography, where he tries to talk about his God. Don’t think of the word “God” here as meaning some sort of a giant critter, some kind of a large old man with a beard, or fingers and kneecaps, or you’ll miss it completely. This is not science, but religious poetry, and religious poetry of the first order. Here are Augustine’s words, written nearly 1600 years ago:

What do I love when I love my God? Not material beauty or beauty of a temporal order; not the brilliance of earthly light, so welcome to our eyes; not the sweet melody of harmony and song; not the fragrance of flowers, perfumes, and spices; not manna or honey; not limbs such as the body delights to embrace. It is not these that I love when I love my God. And yet, when I love him, it is true that I love a light of a certain kind, a voice, a perfume, a food, an embrace; but they are of the kind that I love in my inner self, when my soul is bathed in light that is not bound by space; when it listens to sound that never dies away; when it breathes fragrance that is not blown away by the wind; when it tastes food that is never consumed by the eating; when it clings to an embrace from which it is not severed by fulfillment of desire. This is what I love when I love my God. (Confessions, p. 211)

When at last I cling to you with all my being, for me there will be no more sorrow, no more toil. Then at last I shall be alive with true life, for my life will be wholly filled by you. (p. 232)

Augustine, here, uses the masculine pronoun for this “god” of his, but it’s pretty clear that he’s not talking about a male, a man, or a superman. Nor would it be any more helpful to use feminine pronouns, for he’s not talking about a female, a woman, or a superwoman, either. It is clear – and this is true of most of the great theologians – that the anthropomorphic language is being used for poetic reasons, not scientific ones. Grand scientific theories, when they work, can make us feel included in the grand scheme of things. That’s the goal of the first road to religion, the road that leads outward. But the second route is quite different: Augustine didn’t feel merely included in reality, he felt cherished by it!

Every mystic, every poet, and the artists, musicians, dancers, and romantics of all times and places would recognize a kindred spirit in these words of Augustine’s.

Less poetic and more modern versions of this interior route to the quest for connectedness are the hundreds of psychotherapies to which people go in search of the elusive sense of reconnection. Nor should that seem odd: remember that the Greek word psyche, the root word in both “psychotherapy” and “psychology”, means soul. So the therapy of the soul consists, as it always has, in re-connecting it with a sense of wholeness.

By now you are perhaps picking up a pattern here, which is that I can find religion everywhere. And that is true. I find it, as so many others have, underlying most of our scientific wonderments; I find it in fairy tales, children’s tales, in mythology, literature, the arts, music, psychology, meditation, cultural anthropology, yoga, and a hundred other human endeavors. If our religion is our search for wholeness and connectedness, then it is like a sacred melody, singing through everything we do.

And it is. I began by speaking of religion, and then I went on, it may have seemed, to speak of many other things. But, to repeat the words of Kahlil Gibran with which I began,

Have I spoken this day of anything else?

Is not religion all deeds and all reflection, and that which is neither deed nor reflection, but a wonder and a surprise ever springing in the soul, even while the hands hew the stone or tend the loom?

Who can separate our faith from our actions, or our belief from our occupations?

… Your daily life is your temple and your religion. Whenever you enter into it take with you your all….

You bring your religion, as I do, into everything you do, and woven deep into the fabric of all our endeavors we’ll find that golden thread, that part of our very core that is seeking for a kind of connectedness and re-connectedness above, beneath, and through it all.

Think, this week, about what your own religion really is: the ways in which you look for connectedness within yourself and in the world around you. Think of the things that seem to work, and those that do not, and the blind alleys that may exist. Think of the difference between feeling merely included in your world, and feeling cherished by it. And wonder about some things, as well. Wonder what it is you are trying to be re-connected to, and whether it is worth it; wonder who has helped you to be more connected to meaning and purpose in your life, whether you have ever told them so; and wonder who you might help connect to those things worth connecting to.

My friend the physicist was partly right. Religion is sort of like a mental or spiritual virus, and – if we’re persistent – it can indeed begin to take over our life. At least that’s the hope. Religion is about trying to become better people, partners, parents and citizens. It is about trying to make a positive difference in ourselves, our children, and our society and world. It is about returning to the place where we began, recognizing that place, and our place within it, for the first time.

But this is all so much talk, so many words about what religion is! Really, it is much simpler. Really, when we think of religion, we shouldn’t think of it as a noun. We should think of it as a verb, as an action word urging us into motion. Then, when religion is understood, the whole subject of “Religion 101” can be summed up in just two words: your move.

Thank You For Your Service

© Hannah Wells

May 30, 2004

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PRAYER:

For the soldiers who are working so hard as we speak,

and for the soldiers who have already given their lives,

may our thoughts be with them, especially this Memorial Day.

May we wake up to the reality that we are not as separate from them as we think, just as we are not as separate from anyone else;

may we understand how deeply connected we all are.

May we remember how connected we are to generations past

and to the soldiers who gave their lives many decades ago;

they are standing close behind us and we give our deepest thanks.

May we come to understand that war is a part of who we are

regardless of how noble the cause. Our kind has been dying prematurely of wars and disease since the beginning of our time. May we always take time to remember those who left us too soon.

And may we extend our deepest warmth and support to those families who are left behind, whose long lives stand before them; young mothers and young children.

May we be aware of their sacrifice and pray for their strength.

May we pray for the leadership of our beloved country, and pray for an end to the chaos in Iraq so our troops can come home. May we be patient, may creative solutions be found to an unprecedented struggle, and may our support for our troops hold steadfast regardless.

May we let there be time for the most difficult emotions to unfold surrounding this war and more recent wars.

Dear spirit of life, please help us, as one nation, to take responsibility for our mistakes, to acknowledge the harm we inflict upon others and upon ourselves. Let us be that brave. Amen.

SERMON:

On “Washington Week In Review” on the TV PBS station early Friday evening, the anchor woman ended the program by saying, “and for those of you who are fighting in these wars that we only talk about, thank you for your service.” When she said that, on the one hand I was struck by the honesty of her statement, but on the other hand it seemed kind of cheap.

Every Memorial Day I’m aware of some kind of uneasiness that I can’t quite name, but this year I’ve gotten closer to putting a name on it, and I think it’s shame. Since Jr. High when I became a tune to the context of United States history, every Memorial Day I’ve had the vague awareness that there’s a debt I’ll never be able to repay. Around Memorial Day there’s a bit of a time warp, or perhaps several wrinkles in time that closely juxtapose every major war of this country – the Revolutionary War, the Civil War, WWI, WW2, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, and now the Iraq War. All these wars come to mind because we know in our hearts that several of these wars were worth fighting. And we wonder how the world would be different if the good wars hadn’t been won.

I know my life is what it is because the right side won those good wars. Reflecting on this is the stuff of a healthy kind of patriotism – this gratitude and humility – knowing I could never return the favor, so to speak. It’s this reverence for a kind of dedication and courage and violence that I’ll never have to experience. And maybe that’s where the vague feeling of shame comes from – that cheapness of “thank you for your service” seems to belie a sense of entitlement. A sense of entitlement to a service that not only equals the loss of human life, but some things that are worse than death.

Some of the men who came back from Vietnam would have preferred to come home in a box because their lives had been ruined. Losing your soul and your sanity can be worse than death. Discovering humanity’s capacity for evil with your own hands can be enough to ruin a life, even if the events took place in minutes. I bring this up because I think the country is still reverberating from the pictures of torture by our own soldiers’ hands. And yet it seems like a silent reverberation.

This country doesn’t do well with shame and remorse. Like a dysfunctional family, we pretend it isn’t there and so it festers harmfully in a state of non-recognition. If you consider the behavior of our foreign policy in the frame of a family system, the question comes up: are we repeating a mistake now because a generation ago we never acknowledged and mourned properly the mistake of Vietnam? We never, as a whole nation, took the time to ritualize an acknowledgement of the shame of that event, the remorse, the defeat, the waste.

In some ways, the Bush administration is a scapegoat. Sure, we’re in Iraq now because of Bush and Cheney and Rumsfeldt. But the fact is history is repeating itself in an effort to reach an opportunity of healing that never took place after Vietnam. That’s my theory. There are different actors now, there are different reasons, there are not as many casualties, thank God. But we’re about where we were 32 – 34 years ago. We’re scared, we’re worried, but most importantly, our country as a whole is in a state of denial of the shame and remorse we’re experiencing as a result of the atrocities taking place in Iraq. And not just to the Iraqis, but probably even more so the atrocities happening to us.

See, the thing is, we are so deeply connected to one another – that is a spiritual law I am certain of and I think we forget about 99% of the time – we are so deeply connected to each other that ALL of us are fighting the war in Iraq. And the reason I say this is because I believe that any of us, put in that situation as a soldier, would probably commit the same abuses, the same tortures. All of us possess the capacity to do evil, and under the precise conditions – when the enemy is invisible, when our friends are dying bloodily around us, when the level of frustration and anger are so high, and our supervision has effectively condoned it – all of us are prone to committing these kinds of acts as a group, or alone.

What I’m trying to get at here, is not only do we need to acknowledge that all of us as a nation have blood on our hands because it’s the truth. But we need to stand in solidarity and likeness with our soldiers ALSO for the sake of healing, for the sake of grieving as one nation, for the sake of saving the souls of these young soldiers who were put in that situation by their higher-ups; for the sake of acknowledging the shame as one nation.

How do we do this? I think by naming it, by talking about it, by acknowledging it. By honoring our soldiers who are suffering the worst of this useless sacrifice. For the sake of our soldiers we need to share the shame with them and not pin it on them. We need to experience a healthy kind of shame that recognizes there’s no way we can make up for this. We can’t make it up to the children who are losing their parents or the parents who are losing their children. The war will never be over for them – for the family members of fresh casualties, the war is just beginning.

Thank goodness for the arts – for books, for movies, for music, for sculpture – these seem to be the only mediums in which our culture has attempted to address the truth of Vietnam, to give ourselves opportunities to grieve. But these are only voluntary opportunities; eventually we’ll have the same kind of movies and books written about Iraq that we have about Vietnam. But those opportunities aren’t compelling enough to do the kind of grieving work this country desperately needs to cleanse itself as a whole. I know I’m fantasizing here, but wouldn’t it be great if our leadership – whether Republican or Democratic, it doesn’t matter – declared a holiday for the specific purpose of mourning the event of Vietnam? For the specific purpose of acknowledging we made a big mistake? The Wall of Names is great, but the Wall is very quiet.

The fact is Vietnam just wasn’t that long ago. Yesterday Davidson emailed me the interesting factoid that of the 16 million Americans who served in WWII, less than 1/4 are still alive, and about 1,100 are dying every day. So I’m surmising that means that of the Americans who survived serving in Vietnam, at least half are probably still alive. I doubt there’s many people in this room who would not say his or her life has somehow been affected by the Vietnam War. The point is that this recent history is still terribly relevant and for the health of the family history of this country, I think it still needs to be dealt with somehow.

I want to talk more about this war stuff in the context of a country family system history. I learned a lot about WWI and WW2 growing up, especially WW2. I remember that history was totally overwhelming. I don’t know a thing about the Korean War, except that it was Communist related (I think) and that *MASH* was based on it. And then there’s Vietnam which I learned the most about by watching the television series China Beach, which I think was around the late 80’s. I also read Johnny Get Your Gun. Saw Platoon. I loved that show China Beach and almost every week I cried when I watched it. It wasn’t a comedy like MASH; looking back, I’m surprised such honest television was aired for as long as it was.

When I began writing this sermon and the word shame popped up, at first I wondered if I should dismiss it as embarrassing “liberal guilt.” Liberal guilt because I know my Dad didn’t have to fight in Vietnam because at the time he was a member of the educated class – he was a Freshman in college at Duke University when he became subject to the draft. But the reason I know this is more than liberal guilt is because I have inherited from my father the shame he carries surrounding Vietnam. I know I have – otherwise watching those China Beach episodes never would have affected me the way that they did. I was born just around the time the war ended! I didn’t personally lose anyone in that war, as most of my peers didn’t. And yet I know that my generation has inherited the shame and the guilt of that war. What it amounts to is a lot of sadness and that nameless uneasiness around Memorial Day. I guess we’re still figuring out what to do with it. This is just another theory, but I wonder if the generations getting successively more self-destructive has something to do with this nameless shame we’ve inherited. I don’t know.

I’m a sensitive person, so maybe I’ve just paid more attention to it. But I’ll never forget the day when my father and I were canoeing in a pond up in Wisconsin, on a very quiet serene day with no one around. I think I was in High School. Somehow we got on the subject of Vietnam. My father’s shame around Vietnam was made concrete when his roommate in college flunked out of Duke, got drafted, and was killed in the war. So he knows that he escaped a similar fate by the savior of education and being able to succeed at it. Sure there’s some liberal guilt in there, but it’s so much more than that. It’s survivor guilt; this stuff goes way deep into the psyche. It’s the trauma of losing thousands of peers. It’s trauma that goes beyond my comprehension, and yet I’m getting a taste of it watching all these young people die in Iraq.

There’s this song that my father knew about Vietnam, an a capela folk song by the artist Steve Goodman. He started singing it to me that day in the canoe, but he couldn’t get through it all the way because he had to cry.

The song is sung in first person as a young widow of the war. And I want to share it with you because I think one of the best ways to honor our soldiers who have died is to also acknowledge the families that so many soldiers leave behind. Young, just getting started families, young mothers and children. Their sacrifice should also be honored.

This song is called “Penny Evans.”

Oh my name is Penny Evans and my age is 21.

 A young widow in the war that was fought in Vietnam.

 And I have two infant daughters, and I do the best I can –

 now they say the war is over, but I think it’s just begun.

I remember I was 17 when I met young Bill.

 On his father’s grand piano, we’d play good old Heart and Soul.

 And I only knew the left hand part, and he the right so well –

 he’s the only boy I slept with, and the only one I will.

And it’s first we had a baby girl, and we had two good years.

 And it’s next the one a notice came, and we parted without tears –

 it was 9 months from our last good night the second babe appeared.

 It was 10 months and this telegram, confirming all our fears.

Now every month I get a check, from an army bureaucrat.

 And it’s every month I tear it up, and I mail the damn thing back.

 Do you think that makes it alright? Do you think I’d fall for that?

 You can keep the bloody money and it won’t bring my Billy back.

I’ve never cared for politics, and speeches I don’t understand.

 And like wives took no charity from any living man

 But tonight there’s 50,000 gone in that unhappy land;

 50,000 heart and souls being played with just one hand.

And my name is Penny Evans, and my age is 21.

 A young widow in the war that was fought in Vietnam.

 And I have two infant daughters, and thank god I have no sons –

 now they say the war is over, but I think it’s just begun.

– Steve Goodman

I’ve been scouring the Internet the past couple days, looking for stories behind the faces of the American soldiers getting killed in Iraq. I didn’t find as many as I thought I would. And again, I think this is to keep us numb. If we knew too many of the stories of the fine young men and women this country is losing, we’d have to feel that shame head-on.

I think I’ve driven my point home about the suppressed shame that the country is suffering, and the need for it to be expressed on a larger scale so we can be free of its clutches, so we don’t keep passing it on to our children. But I realize that it’s also just plain and simple sorrow that I share with my parents’ generation. The kind of sorrow that will always be with us.

I want to try to end on a positive note; I know this sermon is not uplifting. There’s just no way to sugar-coat what’s going on. But I hope being honest with ourselves can be uplifting, and offer hope for healing, for a healthier future. It’s not “this too shall pass.” What we want to have and work towards are sharing scars from these wars – wounds that have healed but still hurt when we touch them. We can’t pretend they’re not there. These wars, whether we’ve participated in them or not, are a part of who we are, they are a part of our American psyche, they’re a big part of our story. We need to try to integrate this truth into our national identity as well as we can – grow with it – and not ignore it at our peril.

Our soldiers are not victims. If they’re victims, then we’re all victims, and we’re not all victims. They are literally our warriors, they are survivors, they are doing the hardest job in the world. I am very proud of them and I support them as we all must. We’re here because of them.

Those wrinkles in time I mentioned, juxtaposing all our major wars – they’re not so much wrinkles – all those wars stand very close behind us, without the help of a wrinkle in time. The past isn’t nearly as far behind as we think. Vietnam was like yesterday; World War II a short 50 years ago. We are such a young country – just a couple centuries old.

At this time, I’d like to ask anyone here today in church who has served in a war to please stand.

I know it doesn’t sound like much, but it’s the most I can offer and I really mean it,

“Thank you for your service.”

The Four Faces of Jesus

© Davidson Loehr

23 May 2004

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

Prayer

We pray not to something, but from something, to which we must give voice;

not to escape from our life, but to focus it;

not to relinquish our mind, but to replenish our soul.

We pray that we may live with honesty:

that we can accept who we are,

and admit who we are not;

that we don’t become so deafened by pride and fear

that we ignore the still small voices within us,

that could lead us out of darkness.

We pray that we can live with trust and openness:

to those people, those experiences, and those transformations

that can save us from narrowness and despair.

And we pray on behalf of these hopes

with an open heart, an honest soul,

and a grateful reverence for the life which has been given to us.

AMEN.

SERMON: “The Four Faces of Jesus”

It was a time of terrible fighting. Everywhere people were divided into separate groups, like little clubs. And everywhere they fought against all the people who weren’t in their little club.

They all said they hated the fighting, of course. But they all knew that only the people in their little club were really right – and it is so important, being right. And as long as so many others were wrong – well, they all prayed that God would give them victory so the fighting could stop. But in the meantime, it was a time of terrible fighting.

One day a young magician came to the area. He didn’t belong to any of their clubs, but he was a wonderful magician who did some amazing tricks. And he had that kind of “star quality” about him that drew people to him. Many people loved watching him, though they didn’t much care for listening to him, because of the things he said to them.

What he said to them was that if they weren’t divided into so many little clubs, there wouldn’t be so much fighting. Their clubs, he told them, were the cause of their wars.

To the people, this was about the dumbest thing they had ever heard. Their little clubs gave them a tiny area of peace and friendship among people like themselves, in an otherwise hostile world. They liked their clubs. So they almost never listened when the magician tried to teach them. But they loved his magic, and so kept coming to watch him, and they started telling stories about what a great magician he was.

Years later, after the young magician died, a funny thing happened, though it wouldn’t have seemed funny to the magician. People formed a new club. And to be in this new club, you had to believe all the stories they told about the young magician. They even made pictures and statues of him, and put them up in their meeting-places, so people could remember how great he had been.

The club became very popular, and soon had thousands of members. Before long, they even had an army.

That’s when they finally decided that they could use their army to end the fighting once and for all. Their priests and generals went to their meeting-places – which had become churches – and sort of talked to the pictures and statues of the dead magician, as if to ask his blessing. After all, hadn’t the young magician always talked about bringing peace?

Then they went to war. It was a long war, and many people were killed or wounded. But their army was bigger, so they won. And they forced many, many people to come into their club, because they wanted them to be right – it is just so important to be right.

After the battles, their priests and generals went to church to give thanks. They stood before the pictures and statues of the dead magician, and told him their proud story of the victorious battle.

That’s when the miracle happened. Just as all the priests and all the generals were looking up at the statues telling them about their successful wars, it happened: all the pictures and all the statues began to cry.

The young magician, of course, was Jesus.

There are risks in stripping a man like Jesus of his halo and asking what kind of man he was, and how wise his teachings really were. It offends the popular romantic picture of Jesus as the Son of God and supernatural savior of humankind. Yet for over two centuries, scholars have known that those were mythic attributes invented by his followers long after he died, and that the real Jesus was 100% human – since that’s the only category there is for us. Calling him a “son of God” was poetry, not biology or genetics. We don’t like in a world constructed in such a way that people can receive half their chromosomes from a human and the other half from a sky-god – and neither did they.

I want to respect the truth without worshiping the myth this morning, by suggesting that this man Jesus had at least four different aspects, or “faces.” One aspect was useless, a second – the most “magical” – was real, but not supernatural. A third was just wrong. Then there is that fourth face of Jesus, which still seems to look into our souls with uncomfortable accuracy.

1. Jesus as an Itinerant Cynic Sage

The first face of Jesus concerns his life style, his personal values, the kind of role model he would have been. This is the dimension of Jesus that has hardly even been discussed, because it is so bizarre. For instance, see how many sermons you’ve ever heard preached on these quotations attributed to Jesus:

“Whoever does not hate father and mother cannot be a follower of me, and whoever does not hate brothers and sisters – will not be worthy of me.” (Gospel of Thomas 55) – Not the text for a “family values” sermon!

On another occasion, a woman from the crowd spoke up and said to Jesus, “How fortunate is the womb that bore you, and the breasts that you sucked!” It was a conventional way of handing a compliment to the mother through the son, like saying “your mother must be very proud of you.” But Jesus replied, “How fortunate, rather, are those who listen to God’s teaching and observe it!” (the Q Gospel, in Luke 11:27-28). – This one would be a bad Mother’s Day text!

And the last quotation is the most extreme and the most famous. It comes from the gospel of Luke, where Jesus says “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three; they will be divided: father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against her daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.” (Q Gospel in Luke 12: 51-53) – You seldom hear the Christian Right preaching on this one, either!

These sayings don’t fit the traditional picture of a sweet Jesus who preached family values. They show us some of Jesus’ personal values and lifestyle, and make him seem very strange and foreign, not to mention unappealing. For most of the styles of living that Jesus exemplified have never had many takers.

This is the profile of someone on the fringe of any culture at any time. Scholars recognize this profile, however. It was a marginal but well-known style of living in the ancient world. From about the fourth century BCE until the sixth century CE, there was a name for this style of living exemplified by Jesus. These were the people called cynics.

Some scholars describe Jesus as an “itinerant cynic sage.” The name itself is derogatory, given to the “cynics” by their detractors (the way most such names originate). It came from the Greek word for “dog,” and was meant to imply that cynics lived like dogs. They had no home, no property, no spouses, no fixed circle of friends, no jobs, and no love for the society in which they lived. Cynics didn’t offer a correction of society so much as they offered an alternative to society.

The best of the cynics were astute social critics: they were like secular versions of the Old Testament prophets, standing outside the accepted order of things, trying to subvert it.

Someone who could live a life in this manner had to be, among other things, extremely focused and dedicated to his particular vision. For history’s most famous cynic, Diogenes of Sinope, the vision was one of personal autonomy, freedom from the unnecessary demands of society. An old story makes the point:

The king’s messenger came to find Diogenes, who was squatting in the street, eating his simple meal of lentils. “The king invites you to come live in his castle,” said the messenger, “and be one of his court advisors.”

“Why should I?” asked Diogenes.

“Well for one thing,” said the messenger, “if you’d learn to curry favor with the king you wouldn’t have to eat lentils.”

“And if you would learn to like lentils,” replied Diogenes, “you wouldn’t have to curry favor with the king.”

The message of cynics was always extreme, and they were willing to sacrifice everything for it. Furthermore, they generally thought that everyone else would also be better off abandoning the society’s vision of life and adopting their cynic vision. Their message was to individuals. They didn’t belong to or care about a real community. They weren’t social reformers. They thought society was fundamentally wrong, and people should “tune in, turn on and drop out,” to recapture that slogan from the Hippie years.

Jesus fits very neatly into this conception of a cynic sage. He had no home, property or job. He didn’t respect the accepted images of “the good life” or the normal expectations made upon people in a civilized society – the religious and cultural rules that gave people their social identities, for example. His vision of the “Kingdom of God” was, for Jesus, the only thing worth living for. His parables presented the “Kingdom” in this extreme way over and over again: it was a “pearl of great price,” a “treasure buried in a field” for which the lucky finder would sell everything.

What must be noted about cynics, including Jesus, is that their message is never likely to be heard or followed except for the extremely marginal person – another cynic. Husbands, wives, children, the joy of working at a job, making a contribution to society, nationalism, ethnic or religious pride of identity – all these counted as nothing for cynics compared with their singular vision. In Jesus’ case, his entire family was treated as though they counted for nothing compared with his vision of the “Kingdom of God.” This doesn’t make Jesus exceptionally cold or uncaring, it just identifies him as one of history’s great cynics – and a sage whose vision was sometimes too extreme to be either useful or wise to the overwhelming majority of people who have ever lived, then or now.

And so the first face of Jesus was his cynic lifestyle. It was a huge part of who he was and what he valued. For nearly everyone in history except other cynics, however, it was not a wise road to follow, but a useless aberration.

2. Jesus the Faith-Healer

Virtually all biblical scholars agree that Jesus was a man with great charisma, and a remarkable ability for what we today call “faith healing.” While almost all scholars agree that the stories have been greatly exaggerated, and that scenes like”walking on water,” raising Lazarus from the dead or feeding 5,000 people from a few fish are all Christian mythmaking, the core fact remains that Jesus was primarily known in his time and in the early centuries as a gifted healer. It was this almost magical power that really attracted people to him, even if they didn’t understand, or didn’t want to hear, the things he wanted to teach. His followers also shared this healing power, though not to quite the same extent as did Jesus.

There is nothing here to debunk, except to note that this kind of charismatic power doesn’t necessarily imply that the healer is wise or good. There are still lots of faith healers today, from Oral Roberts to Bennie Han. Furthermore, the principle of faith healing is behind placebos — those sugar pills that can often make your symptoms disappear if you think they can. It is easy to think of other historical figures who also had immense charisma and personal power over other people, who were unwise or evil: Rasputin, Hitler, Jim Jones, Matthew Applewhite, and David Koresh come quickly to mind. Not all wise people are magicians, and not all magicians are wise. Still, Jesus was one of history’s gifted faith healers.

3. Young Idealist Without a Concept of the “Sangha”

The third face of Jesus shows a severe limit to his vision, one that would have almost undoubtedly relegated him to the dustbin of history without the contributions of St. Paul. That statement alone is enough to upset or enrage many who love Jesus and can’t stand Paul.

The ethical teaching most associated with Jesus is the Golden Rule. While he is reported to have said it means to “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” it has also been equated for twenty centuries with another of Jesus’ sayings: “turn the other cheek.” Some radical Christian sects, like the 14th Century Cathari group in France or the 16th century Mennonites in Germany, took this literally and refused to resist the violence of others altogether. This led to the slaughter of thousands or tens of thousands of Cathari, and the slaughter of most of the first generation of Mennonites.

It wasn’t a new teaching. It had been around at least five hundred years before Jesus came along. We know this because we have the story of one of Confucius’ followers asking him five centuries earlier what he thought of the idea of repaying evil with forgiveness. Confucius thought it was a dumb idea. “With what, then,” he asked, “will you repay goodness?” Instead, Confucius taught that we should repay evil with justice and repay good with good. Confucius lived to be much older than Jesus did; perhaps this just shows the greater wisdom of a much older man.

Others have said that if you want to see a place where people have lived by the rule of turning the other cheek, go to a battered women’s shelter. It was a very idealistic teaching, but not a wise one, unless you are in a community where all are treated with respect.

And that’s the second and more important limitation on the teachings of Jesus. All of his teachings were directed to individuals. He did not come to reform Judaism; he didn’t come to start a new religion or found a new church. He had no home, no job, no community, and he never addressed the necessity for a healthy community in his teachings.

A quick look at Buddhism can help understand what Jesus omitted. Buddhists say you must have three things to become awake, enlightened. You must have Buddha, dharma, and sangha. Buddha means a center, a source of authority and inspiration. Dharma means the personal work that you must do. Jesus, you could say, taught that you must have God and dharma: you must live as God wants you to live. But he had nothing at all to say about the sangha. The sangha is the supportive community devoted to serving these high ideals, like a good church. And the Buddhists are right: we’re not likely to do the growth and awakening we need alone. We need a supportive community, a faith community, a church. Jesus never mentioned this.

It’s ironic – especially for people who like Jesus but dislike Paul – but the concern for community was what Paul contributed, making it possible to create a religion out of the memories, myths and teachings of Jesus. Without Paul, Jesus was just another teacher who stressed individual duties but neglected to address the necessity of being part of a community of faith.

4. Subverter of Artificial Identities

It’s hard to know what to call the fourth face of Jesus. As all biblical scholars know, Jesus’ primary concern was for what he called the Kingdom of God. What Jesus meant by this Kingdom of God was fundamentally different from what most Christians have meant by the phrase. Properly understood, it was Jesus’ most radical teaching. It was also his most profound and timeless, and his fourth “face.”

The phrase “the kingdom of God” wasn’t unique to Jesus. It was a popular phrase in the first two centuries, used by many people. It meant the ideal world, the kind of world that could have the most compassion and justice. John the Baptist, who had been Jesus’ teacher, said the world was too far gone to save, that we should wait for God to destroy it all and start over with the right kind of people — those who believed as John the Baptist did.

After John the Baptist was killed and the end of the world didn’t come, Jesus emerged as a charismatic leader, and many of John’s followers began following him. But Jesus’ message was very different. John’s “kingdom” was to be supernatural; for Jesus, the kingdom of God was existential, here and now, not in a world to come.

For Jesus, the Kingdom of God wasn’t coming. It was already here, at least potentially, within and among us. Or as he said in another place, the kingdom is spread out upon the earth, and people don’t see it.

How do you rejuvenate a hostile world? That has almost always been the question to which our greatest sages have offered their different prescriptions. For John the Baptist, as for many apocalyptic preachers today, we have to wait for God to act. For Jesus, God was waiting for us to act. And we act, we create the kingdom of God, or the best possible world, simply by treating all others as our brothers and sisters, as children of God. What Jesus was doing was attacking and subverting exclusive identities, identities that make us feel special or “chosen” at the price of casting others into a second-class status.

This sounds sweet and nice, but it’s a dangerous thing to teach. For instance, the food laws of the Jews set them apart from their neighbors. So Jesus’ instructions to his followers were to eat whatever was set before them: pork, shellfish, goat, whatever the host was serving. The Jews hated the Samaritans, who bordered them to the north, more than they hated almost anyone. So Jesus told a story about a beaten Jew lying by the side of the road, when priests passed him by and the only person who helped him was a Samaritan. During their high holy days, the Jews ate only unleavened bread. So Jesus said the kingdom of God is like leaven that you put in dough to make it rise. Over and over, he spurned the artificial identities that set us apart from others. There was only one identity possible for us in the Kingdom of God: to treat one another as brothers and sisters.

Do you see how subversive this is? This is a message that could threaten any form of government, all ideologies, and all religious or racial identities. The world is in chaos, we’ve lost a shared center, so we create a hundred little artificial centers, or “clubs,” from which we get our identities. The problem is, they’re all too small, all exclude those who believe or live differently than we do, and so they’re precisely the structures that keep the world hostile.

Today, his message might be Stop joining clubs! Stop identifying yourselves with your nation, your race, your religion, your political party or your sex. All of these are ultimately divisive identities that make a peaceful world impossible. You want the Kingdom of God? You want a world of peace and justice? It’s in your hands, and only in your hands. You’ve been given everything you need, now it’s time to act.

This is a message that would still get the messenger killed almost anywhere in the world. Imagine going into Northern Ireland a few years back, telling the fighters that neither side is Christian, both are agents of evil, and they need to stop thinking of themselves as Protestants and Catholics, because those identities are themselves the problem. The only thing the two sides would agree on would be lynching you from the nearest tree.

Imagine trying to sell that message to the Jews and Palestinians, telling them the only way to stop the murderous fighting is to grow beyond thinking of themselves as merely Jews or Palestinians, and begin seeing each other as brothers and sisters, the children of God. You’d be shot!

I don’t want to imply that Jesus was the only person in history to see this vision of a world kept small and hostile by our artificial identities and our territorial impulses. You can find this idea that we are all brothers and sisters in many religions, many cultures. You also find it in cultures that never had contact with any Western civilization. Remember these lines from this morning’s responsive reading by the Lakota Sioux Medicine Man Black Elk:

And I saw that the sacred hoop of my people was one of many hoops that make one circle, wide as daylight and starlight. And in the center grew one mighty flowering tree to shelter all the children of one mother and one father. And I saw that it was holy.

These things aren’t true just because Jesus or Black Elk or the others said them. They are true because they have seen to the essence of what it means to be human, with a clarity few people in history have ever had. I don’t know of any way to argue against that insight. It seems deeply, profoundly, eternally correct. Our human or animal tendencies to create artificial identities for ourselves are the original sin of our species. We feel bigger and more worthwhile as parts of a family, a nation, a race, a culture. So naturally we join the little clubs and wave their flags, and we wait for Jesus’ second coming so there might be peace in the world.

The real tragedy of a man like Jesus isn’t that he has had so much silly hokum dumped on him through the ages – though God knows he has. The tragedy is that we elevated him into a man-God, then joined the religion of John the Baptist who expected this man-God to come save the world for us, as we sat silently by reciting whatever creeds our little religious or political or social cult has declared to be the current orthodoxy. We took the man who lived and died preaching against divisive identities, and created a club around his name. It is a cruel and ironic fate for the simple Jew from Galilee.

The tragedy is that this strange man, this marginal Jew without family, friends, property or job, really did have something to offer us, and nobody wants it. It’s too hard. It asks too much of us. So we found a simpler route. We made thousands of mental and physical pictures and statues of this man Jesus, whom we turned into a Son of God. And we pray that he, through his infinite power, will bring peace to this world in which we’re making war by identifying with our tiny religion, nation, party, race or territory. Then we say Amen, go outside, and prepare for the day’s battle against the infidels in the next church, next town, next nation.

And then I imagine the rest of the story. I imagine that all over the world, as people leave their churches, they turn their backs on the pictures and statues of Jesus they’ve made. And after they’ve gone, all over the world, in the cold darkness of the empty churches, all of the pictures and all of the statues begin to cry.