(Traducción al español, Francisco Javier Lagunes Gaitán)

Hay muchas ironías en los temas de ciencia y religión. Entre ellas está el hecho de que muchos de los ideales prescritos por las religiones, de hecho han sido cumplidos por nuestras ciencias. Podrías alegar que mientras las guerras religiosas siguen desatándose alrededor del mundo, nuestras ciencias nos han hecho más saludables, han prolongado nuestras vidas, nos han dado esperanza, vida y buenas noticias, así como empezado a establecer una comunidad mundial, incluso nos han dado el único lenguaje universal de que disponemos. Piensa en algunas de las cosas que nuestras ciencias nos han traído a todos, independientemente de si creemos, o no, en ellas.

? Enfermedades una vez consideradas como sentencias de muerte han sido curadas. Incluso el sida que fue declarado un asesino sin solución hace quince años, comienza a ser entendido, y bien podría curarse o controlarse indefinidamente.

? Cirugías que eran impensables hace 100 años ahora salvan rutinariamente miles de vidas cada día.

? El único lenguaje realmente universal que tenemos es la matemática. Mientras que las religiones occidentales enseñan el relato de la Torre de Babel, y de cómo estamos condenados a nunca ser capaces de comunicarnos con gente de otras lenguas y culturas, los matemáticos chinos se comunican con matemáticos de África, Europa y de cualquier otro continente de manera rutinaria.

? El impacto de las computadoras sigue en expansión. Aunque ya el correo electrónico conecta a gente de todo el mundo, en el intercambio de relatos, bromas y en la creación de una cultura de comunidad ?que las religiones han siempre predicado pero nunca creado. Recibí un mensaje electrónico esta semana que se originó como un proyecto de investigación de una secundaria (creo que en Virginia). Los alumnos de una clase enviaron una nota a sus amigos, en la que les pedían retransmitirla a sus amigos, y así sucesivamente, para ver a cuánta gente podrían alcanzar, en cuántos países, en dos meses. La respuesta automática que recibí decía que en las primeras seis semanas, recibieron más de 300 mil respuestas provenientes de unos 100 países. Nunca antes en la historia habíamos sido capaces de comunicarnos con tantas personas y culturas.

? Las leyes de la física, la química, y los principios de las matemáticas y de la ciencia de los lenguajes de computación son universales. Ellos estructuran nuestro mundo y organizan nuestros pensamientos, creamos o no creamos en ellos. Esto también es algo que las religiones no han sido capaces de lograr, incluso con su historia de guerras sangrientas.

Las ciencias han hecho esto a través de limitar estrictamente las clases de preguntas que consideran preguntas científicas apropiadas. Tratan con cuestiones de hechos, no con preguntas sobre significados. Tratan con cuestiones objetivas que pueden ser contestadas igual por científicos de todo el mundo, no con cuestiones subjetivas. Si quieres conocer la estatura, el peso o características conductuales de otras personas, los científicos pueden responder tus preguntas. Si deseas saber si realmente las amas, si te hacen feliz, y viceversa, no estás formulando la clase de preguntas para las que las ciencias están diseñadas.

Las preguntas sobre qué es la ciencia, qué es la religión y las claras diferencias entre ambas son preguntas enormes e imponentes. Tengo un programa de ocho horas que hice sobre este tema para las clases de educación religiosa para adultos, así que es un poco frustrante pasar al vuelo sobre ello en unos pocos minutos. Intentaré encontrar algunos patrones lo suficientemente claros como para no te resulten frustrantes. Es una historia fascinante, cómo la ciencia se convirtió en la religión dominante de nuestra cultura. Quiero contarles esta historia en unas pocas partes, con las que trataré de redondearla.

I. La visión precientífica del mundo

Primero, quiero hacer un boceto del mundo de las creencias religiosas e intelectuales de hace 200 años. Siempre es un poco chocante darse cuenta de lo que la gente inteligente creía en los tiempos de Thomas Jefferson, de la misma forma que resultará chocante para la gente de dentro de 200 años darse cuenta de lo que creemos ahora. Pero he aquí algunas de las cosas que la gente más educada creía cuando nuestro país acababa de nacer, justo unas décadas antes del cambio repentino:

? Todo el universo tenía unos 6 mil años de antigüedad, una fecha que a la que se llegaba al sumar los periodos señalados en la Biblia.

? Todo en el universo era creado por Dios, quien era nuestro amante padre celestial. Y estábamos todavía bastante cercanos al centro de la creación de Dios y de sus preocupaciones.

? Todas las formas de vida sobre la tierra fueron creadas más o menos al mismo tiempo, y ninguna especie podía llegar a extinguirse. Tengo una historia sobre esto. En 1785, Thomas Jefferson inspeccionó un enorme hueso fosilizado, un hueso demasiado largo como para pertenecer a cualquier animal conocido. Jefferson escribió que “tal es la economía de la naturaleza, que no se puede producir un ejemplo de ella habiendo permitido que alguna raza de sus animales llegara a extinguirse”. Y una de las razones por las que envió a Lewis y Clark al oeste a explorar fue para encontrar los animales de los que ese hueso enorme provendría, para Jefferson era seguro que seguirían existiendo en alguna parte.

? La realidad, en otras palabras, era una imagen estática más que una en movimiento. Las especies eran fijas, todo era creado por Dios de acuerdo a un plan suyo, y así permanecería hasta el final de los tiempos.

? La mayoría de la gente creía que el único cataclismo geológico jamás sucedido habría acaecido hace 4 mil años, durante el Diluvio.

? Lo más importante, nosotros como humanos estábamos en el mismo centro de las preocupaciones divinas, y su plan para todo el universo nos daba un lugar especial y amoroso en él. Este era nuestro hogar, hecho apara servir todas nuestras necesidades por nuestro padre celestial. Éramos amados: amados por el hacedor del cielo y la tierra, amados por el Dios que creó todo el asunto. Y como los comerciales televisivos de cerveza lo proclaman, “¡Nada es mejor que eso!”.

Este es un rápido boceto de un mundo que, para la mayoría de nosotros, hace tiempo que se fue, excepto quizás como cierta clase de nostalgia dulce y soñadora. Las mayores diferencias con nuestro mundo moderno eran el profundo sentido de unidad, la naturaleza estática de aquel, y la creencia incuestionada de que las glorias de la tierra eran las glorias de la obra de Dios y la evidencia de su amor por nosotros. Esas ideas son tan extrañas para muchos de nosotros hoy que cuesta trabajo recordar que fueron simplemente asumidas, incluso por las mejores mentes de su tiempo.

II. La revolución científica

Ahora vamos a la segunda etapa de este drama, y miremos la parte más emocionante de la historia, los avances científicos del siglo XIX, donde podemos ver el surgimiento y ascenso de lo que pienso que puedo persuadirte que es la religión de la ciencia.

Los avances logrados por las ciencias durante el siglo XIX fueron absolutamente explosivos. Cambiaron la forma de pensarnos a nosotros y a nuestro mundo. A partir de la década de 1790, los geólogos comenzaron a mostrar que la tierra tenía que ser muy, pero muy vieja. No 6 mil años, sino millones y millones de años, tal vez incluso más. James Hutton, el padre de la geología moderna, escribió en 1795 que él había estudiado los hechos de la geología por cincuenta años, y había sido llevado a una conclusión sorpresiva: “El resultado de esta investigación física”, escribió, “es que no encontramos vestigio de un inicio, ni perspectiva de un final”. El mundo era mayor, y diferente, de lo que la Biblia decía que era.

La siguiente conmoción vino casi inmediatamente. Para 1801, dieciséis años después de que Thomas Jefferson había dicho que ninguna especie podría jamás llegar a extinguirse, un paleontólogo francés llamado Cuvier había ensamblado los esqueletos de 23 animales extintos de tiempos prehistóricos, que fueron expuestos en lugares públicos, y llevados en exhibición itinerante por todo Estados Unidos de América, tanto en museos, como en ferias.

En 1830 otro geólogo, Charles Lyell, publicó un libro llamado ‘Principios de geología’, que representó un golpe aplastante al literalismo bíblico. Lyell convincentemente demostró que millones de años de un lento trabajo de las fuerzas naturales habían dado forma al rostro actual de la tierra. La geología repentinamente obsesionó a los teólogos usamericanos, y comenzaron a cambiar de opinión sobre la cuestión del literalismo bíblico. Es difícil creer esto actualmente, pero para 1860 el literalismo rígido era algo propio mayoritariamente de la gente sin educación formal, o de los arrogantemente obstinados, ya que la mayoría de los predicadores y maestros de religión estaban dispuestos a admitir que la Biblia, después de todo, no se basaba completamente en hechos reales.

El libro de Lyell tuvo muchas ediciones, y ayudó a educar a toda una nueva generación de científicos. Uno de aquellos jóvenes científicos que leyó el libro de Lyell en 1830 fue un naturalista llamado Charles Darwin. Dos años antes, Darwin recibió el segundo volumen del trabajo de Lyell mientras hacía su histórico viaje a bordo del Beagle.

La crítica de la biblia surgió desde dentro de la religión, y se presentó a sí misma como un estudio científico de la Biblia. Comenzó en Alemania, en las décadas de 1820 y 1830, y para 1840 los estudiantes de Harvard aprendían que la Biblia había sido escrita por mucha gente durante muchos siglos, en vez de caer de la mano de Dios encuadernada en cuero negro en la traducción del Rey James. La conspiración del silencio entre ambos, los predicadores y los maestros de religión todavía me llena de ira; ¡los estudiosos han conocido por 160 años hechos básicos sobre la Biblia que todavía no le han dicho a la gente en las bancas de las iglesias y las calles! Esto está en alguna parte entre un ultraje y un pecado, y muestra que los predicadores y maestros de religión parecen tener una opinión terriblemente baja de la gente ordinaria. Pero no debo salirme del tema?

Y entonces llegó el año 1859. En ese año, Charles Darwin publicó ‘El origen de las especies’, y lo que quedaba de la imagen del viejo mundo cayó al suelo hecha trizas. Aunque hay muchas razones por las que los descubrimientos de Darwin fueron tan destructivos para la vieja imagen religiosa ?que de alguna forma es todavía la imagen religiosa de millones de personas? la más famosa es que los descubrimientos de Darwin destruyeron lo que se llamó el Argumento del Diseño para probar la existencia de Dios. El Argumento del Diseño fue una especie de patada de ahogado de los teólogos para aferrarse a la imagen de un Dios personal que creó todo de acuerdo a un plan divino. Ellos podían señalar a los pajaritos y decir, “Mira. Estos pajaritos tienen pequeños picos, y adivina ¿qué es lo que les gusta comer? Semillitas. Ellos no quieren comer papayas, ellos quieren comer semillitas que quepan dentro de sus lindos piquitos. Esto demuestra que un Dios inteligente diseñó todo esto”. Luego de Darwin, hubo una explicación aún más simple: “Caramba, hubo una vez pajaritos que solo querían comer papayas. Si fue así, todos se murieron de hambre”. No hay necesidad de un argumento de “diseño”; la selección natural mantiene a las especies que se ajustan al ambiente, y el resto se mueren. Darwin, junto con otros científicos naturales, nos pintó la imagen de nuestro mundo que ya no necesita de un Dios para hacerlo funcionar.

Después de todos los avances tenidos en las ciencias, la iglesia empezó a perder su control de las universidades. Tú podrías ni siquiera saber que jamás tuvo ese control, pero sí lo tuvo. Harvard había tenido siempre a un ministro como su presidente, y uno tenía que contar con una recomendación eclesiástica para obtener un grado académico en Oxford y en Cambridge, así como en muchas universidades de los EUA. Pero alrededor de 1870 los exámenes religiosos se dejaron de exigir en las universidades británicas, y nombraron presidente de Harvard a un químico. Harvard no ha vuelto a ser dirigida jamás por un ministro. .

Durante esta época, la Ciencia, de una manera lenta pero segura se convirtió en una religión, incluso en la religión más influyente en nuestra cultura. Sé que no te has convencido de esto aún, pero pienso que lo estarás en unos pocos minutos. Sucedió a la manera de un cangrejo ermitaño que vuelve su hogar la concha de otro animal. He identificado por lo menos diez dimensiones de la religión que fueron asumidas, o al menos copiadas, por la Ciencia en el siglo XIX. Es difícil ya pensar en una lista de diez cosas sin recordar las listas de éxitos del “Top Ten” que vemos por todas partes. Así que he aquí mi lista de las diez cosas más socorridas que la Ciencia asumió de la religión en el siglo XIX:

10. La Salvación fue reemplazada por el Progreso. Los cristianos trabajan sobre la tierra para alcanzar un estado ideal futuro en el cielo. Los científicos trabajan aquí para contribuir al Progreso ?que, según ellos creen, nos conducirá a un estado ideal aquí en la tierra, en el futuro.

9. La Revelación fue reemplazada por el Descubrimiento. Por siglos, las iglesias han sido lugares a los que ibas para encontrar revelaciones sobre la palabra de Dios, la Verdad última. Ahora la revelación comienza a perder respeto intelectual, conforme confiamos en los descubrimientos de la ciencia más que en las revelaciones de los sacerdotes. Aún lo hacemos. Claro que si tomas como ejemplo estas dos palabras, revelación y descubrimiento, descubrirás que significan la misma cosa. Revelar es remover un velo. Descubrir es remover una cubierta. Hace unos 150 años, el trabajo de remover el velo o cubierta fue transferido de la religión a la ciencia, donde permanece hoy en día

8. La sotana del sacerdote fue reemplazada por la bata blanca de laboratorio del científico. Ambos son atuendos, pero por más de un siglo hemos visto a la gente con la prenda blanca como más fidedigna que aquellos que usan las prendas negras. Incluso si los sacerdotes visten togas color granate intenso con capuchas y barras, no es probable que te convenzamos de que conocemos más sobre los hechos que un científico. Y, desde luego, conforme cambiaron los atuendos, también lo hicieron los personajes dentro de ellos, así como los sacerdotes fueron reemplazados por los científicos como fuentes de la verdad.

7. La reverencia por el pasado fue sustituida por la reverencia por el futuro. Para cada cultura tradicional en el mundo, la frase “el nuevo modelo mejorado” resulta simplemente desquiciada. Las culturas se basan en la sabiduría de sus ancianos y en su pasado sagrado. Con el mito del Progreso, las antiguas verdades (y la sabiduría de ancianos y ancianas) fueron y son dejados de lado en la fe que en la que “novedoso” significa “mejor” y el futuro será superior al pasado. Esto nos ha despojado de mucha de nuestra sabiduría inmemorial y de la de los ancianos, haciendo de nuestra superficialidad algo especialmente triste.

6. Los rituales religiosos fueron reemplazados por los rituales científicos. Por siglos, las iglesias y sinagogas aquí han experimentado las mismas transformaciones de las mismas formas en sus servicios de adoración, y aquellos en la tradición vieron los rituales como el camino hacia alguna clase de verdad y paz. Ahora parece más importante que los científicos realicen los mismos procedimientos cuando conduzcan el experimento que nos llevará, así lo creemos, hacia el descubrimiento de los hechos.

5. Las iglesias fueron reemplazadas por los laboratorios. Por lo menos en tanto que lugares donde uno espera encontrar lo que es realmente la verdad.

4. Los símbolos y metáforas fueron reemplazados por el literalismo y los hechos. Esta es especialmente devastadora, pienso yo. La semana pasada les leí algo de un antiguo teólogo cristiano que explicaba que los escritos religiosos no significan realmente lo que dicen, sino que deben ser interpretados por métodos aparentemente disponibles para unos pocos. Si los científicos no tuvieran nada más exacto que símbolos y metáforas, nunca podrían construir un puente, o un cohete, o hacer diagnósticos y prescripciones confiables para las enfermedades.

Un desdichado, pero probablemente inevitable efecto colateral de la cultura científica es que nos ha vuelto mucho más literalistas, más preocupados con los hechos duros que con los significados más cálidos y ricos.

3. Las creencias se han vuelto intelectuales. Esto puede sonar extraño, porque todas nuestras vidas se nos ha enseñado a pensar en las creencias como en cosas cuya verdad afirmamos. Pero eso no es lo que la palabra solía significar. La palabra inglesa “belief” proviene de la palabra Alemana “belieben”, que significa “amado”. Las creencias religiosas fueron, y creo que deberían seguir siendo, entendidas como cosas a las que confiamos nuestros corazones. Pero dado que el conocimiento ha sido reemplazado por la ciencia, y los hechos han reemplazado a los símbolos y metáforas, las “creencias” ahora significan un conjunto de afirmaciones intelectuales más que un conjunto de acatamientos existenciales. Alguna vez los buscadores espirituales podrían haber dicho, “Creo esto porque resulta cálido a mis oídos, porque es profundamente revelador de la condición humana”. Ahora, nos han enseñado a decir, “Creo esto porque, de hecho, es verdad”.

2. La Sabiduría fue reemplazada por el Conocimiento. Incluso en la Edad Media, los teólogos conocían la diferencia. Ellos escribieron frecuentemente sobre la distinción categórica entre ‘sapientia’ y ‘scientia’. “Sapientia” es la palabra latina para sabiduría, como el autoelogioso nombre de nuestra especie: “homo sapiens”. “Scientia” es la palabra latina para conocimiento, que ha llegado a significar una red de hechos. Hace siete siglos, los teólogos enseñaron que el único conocimiento que realmente importaba era la clase de conocimiento que lleva a la sabiduría, el que nos dice quiénes debemos ser más profundamente y cómo debemos vivir, las demandas del amor y la naturaleza de los acatamientos y de la responsabilidad. Estas no son proposiciones científicas.

1. Dios fue reemplazado por la Ciencia. La gente siempre ha atribuido cualidades humanas a Dios. Decimos cosas como “Dios dice?” y “Dios nos dice?” como si Dios fuera un humanoide que pudiera hablar. Pero ahora, en nuestros periódicos y en la televisión, todos los días oímos a la gente decir “La Ciencia dice?” y “La Ciencia nos dice?”. Seamos claros: no hay tal cosa como la “Ciencia”, escrita con “C” mayúscula. Hay muchas ciencias y muchos científicos. Los científicos dicen cosas, pero no siempre están de acuerdo. Pero cuando construimos una frase que comience con las palabras “La Ciencia dice?” hemos creado un humanoide ficticio, lo hemos llamado Ciencia, y comenzamos a buscar consejo y guía en la misma forma en que solíamos mirar a Dios.

Pongamos juntas estas palabras dentro de frases para que puedas escuchar cuán similares que son. Los predicadores y los laicos dicen, “En una iglesia, a través de los rituales y tradiciones, sacerdotes ataviados de negro proclaman las tradiciones y las revelaciones de Dios, con lo que nos ayudan a aprender las creencias y sabiduría que pueden conducir a nuestra Salvación”. Muchos científicos y legos dicen, “En un laboratorio, a través de seguir los rituales y el método científico, científicos ataviados de blanco proclaman las nuevas teorías y descubrimientos de la Ciencia, con lo que nos ayudan a ganar entendimiento y el conocimiento que puede conducirnos hacia el Progreso”.

Los logros de nuestras ciencias han sido espectaculares. Las religiones no podrían colocar a un hombre en la luna, realizar un transplante de riñón o resolver problemas complejos de ingeniería a través de la interpretación de las escrituras. Creo que la razón fundamental por la que nuestras ciencias han sido tan exitosas es debido a que desde el principio, han limitado su enfoque a cuestiones de hecho, más que a cuestiones de significado. Aunque conseguir billones de dólares en fondos federales y corporativos no lastima?

Las ciencias han ignorado intencionalmente las preguntas existenciales y subjetivas. Pueden ser esenciales para nosotros, pero no son preguntas científicas. Nadie puede hacer una declaración científica sobre qué deberíamos amar, cómo deberíamos tratar a nuestros vecinos, si es que es más moral tener un aborto que traer a la vida a un niño no deseado en un ambiente de desatención, o miles de otras preguntas morales, éticas y subjetivas. Y cualquier científico que intentara hacer semejante declaración sería prontamente denunciado por otros científicos por no ser científico en esto. Estas preguntas son las preguntas a las que nos dedicamos en la religión, la ética, la filosofía y las humanidades, no así en las ciencias duras. Y las respuestas a estas preguntas son, como cualquier científico podrá decirte, no precisas, no iguales en todos los contextos, y no objetivas. Pascal una vez escribió estas palabras famosas “El corazón tiene sus razones que la razón no entiende”. Son bonitas, pero pienso que nadie reivindicaría como científicas.

Los sentimientos de Pascal, sin embargo, me recuerdan algunas otras palabras muy obscuras escritas por Charles Darwin hacia el final de su vida. Darwin escribió en su correspondencia privada sobre lo que llamó “las torpes, derrochadoras, erróneas, bajas, horribles y crueles obras de la naturaleza”. Él creyó en el progreso, pero incluso su fe en el progreso fue de poco consuelo para él, porque el progreso, según su advertencia, era “dolorosamente lento”. Aún peor, incluso la esperanza de progreso sucede como contraria a un terrible estancamiento. Así es como Charles Darwin la describió: “La certeza de que el sol algún día se enfriará y nos congelaremos. Pensar en millones de años, con cada continente pletórico de hombres buenos e iluminados, todos terminarán así, y probablemente sin un nuevo inicio hasta que nuestro sistema planetario haya sido de nuevo convertido en gas rojo y caliente. Sic transit gloria mundi, reiterada e inmisericordemente?”.

“Sic transit gloria mundi” significa “De este modo pasan las glorias de la tierra”. “De este modo pasan las glorias de la tierra, reiterada e inmisericordemente”, dijo Darwin. ¡Imagina eso! Un científico que pasó su vida dedicado a recolectar, analizar e interpretar las glorias de la tierra, concluye al final que las obras del sistema de la naturaleza son “torpes, derrochadoras, erróneas, bajas, horribles y crueles” y que sus glorias pasan rápida, reiterada e inmisericordemente. Darwin encontró, y ayudó a establecer, un nuevo mundo ?pero él no pudo encontrar un hogar confortable en él. Y su problema sigue con nosotros.

Cuando un Dios cae y se derrumba, esta es la clase de sonido que hace. La curiosidad de nuestras mentes estaba divorciada de las necesidades de nuestros corazones, y una mató a la otra. Y así murió dios. Puedes llamarlo selección natural.

Para vivir en el siglo XXI, necesitamos tener una fe que sea consistente, tanto con la ciencia, como con las demandas de nuestros corazones: una religión que pueda satisfacer a ambos, a nuestras mentes y a nuestros anhelos espirituales. Nos definimos a nosotros mismo y a nuestro mundo a través del conocimiento que hemos obtenido de nuestras ciencias. Nuestras creencias religiosas deben evolucionar y crecer para seguir ayudándonos a dotarnos de un sentido profundo de quiénes somos, y de qué somos llamados a hacer. Los predicadores deben tener un ojo en las ciencias, y pienso que esta es una cosa buena. Si yo solo predico mensajes que te hagan revisarte el cerebro a la entrada de la iglesia, te habré insultado, y habré deshonrado a mi propia profesión. Esto hace difícil a la religión liberal, pero si lo hacemos bien, puede llevarnos a una clase de autenticidad intelectual y emocional que podría no estar tan disponible de cualquier otra forma.

Hay una gran hambre espiritual hoy, y Pascal tenía razón: el corazón tiene sus razones que la razón no conoce. Y también sus necesidades y anhelos. Responder a esas necesidades, llenar esos vacíos, no es una ciencia, es un arte. Sin aprender algo de ese arte, no importa cuán inteligentes que seamos, no importa cuánto conocimiento ?scientia? tengamos, no podremos sentirnos plenos o satisfechos. Desde luego, difícilmente podemos vivir en absoluto. Ahora que, para el registro, este es un hecho. Y es un hecho para el que seguiremos intentando hacer justicia aquí, semana tras semana.

************

Referencia: John C. Greene, The Death of Adam, Iowa State Univ. Press, 1959.

The Religion of Science

© Davidson Loehr

February 25, 2001

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Sermon: The Religion of Science

There are a lot of ironies in the topics of science and religion. Among them is the fact that many of the ideals prescribed by religions have actually been accomplished by our sciences. You could argue that while religious wars keep breaking out all over the world, our sciences have made us healthier, let us live longer, given us hope, life and good news, begun to establish a world community, even given us the only universal language we have. Think about some of the things that our sciences have brought to all of us, regardless of whether we believe in them or not:

– Diseases once considered death sentences have been cured. Even AIDS, which was pronounced an unsolvable killer fifteen years ago, is beginning to be understood, and may well be cured or arrested.

– Surgeries that were unthinkable 100 years ago now routinely save thousands of lives every day.

– The only really universal language we have is mathematics. While Western religions teach the story of the Tower of Babel, and how we are cursed with never being able to communicate with people of other languages and cultures, Chinese mathematicians communicate with mathematicians from Africa, Europe and every other continent routinely.

– The impact of computers is still growing. But already e-mail connects people from all over the world, trading the same stories, jokes, and creating a kind of culture of commonality which religions have preached but never created. I was forwarded an e-mail this week that originated as a middle school project (in Virginia, I think). The class sent a note to friends, asking them to forward it to their friends, etc., to see how many people they could reach in how many locations in two months. The automated reply I received said that in the first six weeks, they received over 300,000 responses from about 100 countries. Never before in history have we been able to communicate with that many people and cultures.

– The laws of physics, chemistry, the principles of mathematics and the languages of computer science are universal. They structure our world and arrange our thoughts whether we believe in them or not. That too is something religions have never been able to achieve, even with their history of bloody wars.

The sciences have done this by strictly limiting the kinds of questions they consider proper scientific questions. They deal with questions of fact, not questions of meaning. They deal with objective questions that can be answered the same by scientists all over the world, not subjective questions. If you want to know the height, weight or behavioral characteristics of another person, scientists can answer your questions. If you want to know whether you really love them, whether they make you happy and vice versa, you’re not asking the kind of questions with which sciences were designed to deal.

These questions about what science is, what religion is and the clear differences between them are huge vast questions. I have an eight-hour program I’ve done on this for adult education classes, so it’s a little frustrating to fly over this in just these few minutes. I’ll be trying to find some patterns that are clear enough that it won’t be frustrating for you. It’s a fascinating story, how Science became the dominant religion of our culture. I want to tell this story in just a few parts, which I’ll try to bring full circle.

The pre-scientific world view

First, I want to sketch a picture of the world of intellectual and religious belief of 200 years ago. It is always a little shocking to realize what intelligent people believed in Thomas Jefferson’s time, as it will probably be shocking for people 200 years from now to realize what we believed. But here are some of the things that most educated people believed when our country was being born, just a few decades before the dramatic change:

The whole universe was about 6,000 years old, a date arrived at by adding up all the time periods listed in the Bible.

Everything in the universe was created by God, who was our loving heavenly father. And we were still pretty near the center of God’s creation, and of his concern.

All forms of life on earth were created at about the same time, and no species could ever become extinct. I have a story about this. In 1785, Thomas Jefferson inspected a huge fossilized bone, a bone too large to belong to any known animal. Jefferson wrote that such is the economy of nature, that no instance can be produced of her having permitted any one race of her animals to become extinct. And one of the reasons that he sent Lewis and Clark out west to explore was to find the animals from which that huge bone came, for Jefferson was sure they must still exist somewhere.

Reality, in other words, was a static picture rather than a moving one. The species were fixed, everything was created by God according to a plan of his, and would remain so until the end of time.

Most people believed that the only major geological upheaval there had ever been happened about 4,000 years ago, during the Flood.

Most importantly, we humans were at the very center of God’s concern, and his whole plan for the universe gave us a special and cherished place in it. This was our home, made to serve all of our needs by our heavenly father. We were loved: loved by the maker of heaven and earth, loved by the God who created the whole shebang. And as a television beer commercial puts it, “It doesn’t get any better than that”!

That is a quick sketch of a world which is, for most of us, long gone except, perhaps, as a kind of romantic nostalgia. The biggest differences from our modern world were the deep sense of unity, the static nature of it, and the unquestioned belief that the glories of the earth were the glories of God’s handiwork and the evidence of his love for us. Those ideas are so foreign to many of us today that it is hard to remember that they were simply assumed, and by even the best minds.

The scientific revolution

Now let’s go to the second stage in this drama, and look at a more exciting part of the story, the scientific advances of the nineteenth century, where we can see the birth and rise of what I think I can persuade you is the religion of Science.

The advances made by the sciences during the 19th century were absolutely explosive. They changed our way of thinking of ourselves and our world. Beginning in the 1790’s, geologists began to show that the earth had to be very, very old. Not 6,000 years, but millions and millions of years, maybe even more. James Hutton, the father of modern geology, wrote in 1795 that he had studied the facts of geology for fifty years, and was led to a shocking conclusion: The result of this physical inquiry, he wrote, is that we find no vestige of a beginning, no prospect of an end. The world was bigger, and different, than the Bible said it was.

The next shock came almost immediately. By 1801, sixteen years after Thomas Jefferson had said no species could ever become extinct, a French paleontologist named Cuvier had assembled the skeletons of 23 extinct animals from prehistoric times, which were placed on public exhibit, and later toured this country in both museums and carnivals.

In 1830 another geologist, Charles Lyell, published a book called Principles of Geology, which delivered a crushing blow to Biblical literalism. Lyell convincingly demonstrated that millions of years of slow workings of natural forces had shaped the present face of the earth. Geology suddenly obsessed American theologians, and they began to backpedal on the issue of biblical literalism. It’s hard to believe this today, but by 1860 rigid literalism was largely left to the uneducated or the arrogantly obstinate, as most preachers and teachers of religion were willing to admit that the bible was not, after all, completely factual.

Lyell’s book went through many editions, and helped to educate a whole new generation of scientists. One of those young scientists who read Lyell’s book in 1830 was a naturalist named Charles Darwin. Two years later, Darwin had the second volume of Lyell’s work sent to him while he was on his historic voyage aboard the ship The Beagle.

Biblical criticism arose from within religion, presenting itself as a scientific study of the Bible. It began in Germany in the 1820’s and 1830s, and by 1840 students at Harvard were learning that the Bible had been written by many people over many centuries, rather than falling from the hand of God in a black leather binding and the King James translation. The conspiracy of silence among both preachers and teachers of religion still angers me; scholars have known for 160 years basic facts about the bible that people in the pews and the streets still aren’t being told! This is somewhere between an outrage and a sin, and shows that preachers and teachers of religion seem to have a terribly low opinion of ordinary people. I digress.

And then came the year 1859. In that year, Charles Darwin published The Origin of Species, and what was left of the old world picture came crashing to the ground. While there are many reasons that Darwin’s discoveries were so destructive to the old religious picture which in some ways is still the religious picture for millions of people the most famous is that Darwin’s discoveries destroyed what had been called the Design Argument for the existence of God. The Design Argument was kind of a last-gasp effort of theologians to hold on to the picture of a personal God who had created everything according to a divine plan. They could point to little birds and say “Look: these little birds have little beaks, and guess what they like to eat? Little seeds. They don’t want to eat watermelons, they want to eat little seeds that fit into their cute little beaks. That proves that an intelligent God designed all of this.” After Darwin, there was an even simpler explanation: “Heck, maybe there once were little birds that only wanted to eat watermelons. If so, they all starved to death.” There is no need for a “design” argument; natural selection keeps the animals that fit their environment, and the rest die out. Darwin, along with the other natural scientists, painted us a picture of our world that no longer needed a God to make it run.

After all the advances made by the sciences, the church began losing its hold on colleges. You may not know that it ever had such a hold, but it did. Harvard had always had a minister as its president, and one had to have the church’s endorsement to get a college degree at both Oxford and Cambridge, as well as many American universities. But by about 1870 religious tests were no longer required at British universities, and the president of Harvard was a chemist. Harvard has never again been led by a minister.

During this time, Science slowly but surely became a religion, even the most influential religion in our culture. I know you’re not convinced of this yet, but I think you will be in a few minutes. It happened the way a hermit crab makes its home in the shell of another animal. I’ve identified at least ten dimensions of religion that were taken over, or at least copied, by Science in the 19th century. It’s hard to think of a list of ten things any more without being reminded of the “Top Ten” lists we see everywhere. So here is my list of the Top Ten things that Science took over from religion in the 19th century:

10. Salvation was replaced by Progress. Christians work on earth to reach a future ideal state in heaven. Scientists work here to contribute to Progress which, they believe, will lead toward an ideal state here on earth in the future.

9. Revelation was replaced by Discovery. For centuries, the churches had been where you went to find revelations of God’s word, the ultimate Truth. Now revelation began losing intellectual respect, as we trusted the discoveries of sciences more than the revelations of priests. We still do. Yet if you look up those two words, revelation and discovery, you’ll discover that they mean the same thing. To reveal is to remove a veil. To discover is to remove a cover. About 150 years ago, the job of removing that veil or cover was transferred from religion to science, where it remains today.

8. The priest’s black robe was replaced by the scientist’s white lab coat. Both are costumes, but for over a century we have regarded the people in the white costumes as more authoritative than those in the black costumes. Even if preachers dress up in wild maroon gowns with hoods and stripes, we’re not likely to convince you that we know more about facts than a scientist. (And, of course, as the costumes were changed, so were the characters in them, as priests were replaced by scientists as sources of truth.)

7. Reverence for the past was replaced by reverence for the future. To every traditional culture in the world, the phrase “the new improved model” is simply insane. Cultures are grounded in the wisdom of their elders and their sacred past. With the myth of Progress, ancient truths (and the wisdom of old people) were and are shrugged off in the faith that “newer” means “better” and the future will be superior to the past. It has robbed us of much wisdom of the ages and the aged, making our superficiality especially poignant.

6. Religious rituals were replaced by scientific rituals. For centuries, churches and synagogues here had gone through the same motions in the same ways in their worship services, and those in the tradition saw the rituals as the path toward a kind of truth or peace. Now it seems more important that scientists go through the same procedures when conducting the experiments that will, we believe, lead us toward the discovery of facts.

5. Churches were replaces by laboratories. At least as the places where one expects to find out what’s really true.

4. Symbols and metaphors were replaced by literalisms and facts. This one is especially devastating, I think. Last week I read to you from some ancient Christian theologians who explained that religious writings don’t really mean what they say, but must be interpreted by methods apparently available to a few. If scientists had nothing more exact than symbols and metaphors, they could never build a bridge, a rocket, or make reliable diagnoses and prescriptions for diseases.

An unfortunate but probably unavoidable side-effect of the scientific culture is that it has made us all much more literalistic, more concerned with cold hard facts than with warm rich meanings.

3. Beliefs became intellectual. This may sound odd, because all our lives we have been taught to think of beliefs as things we assert to be true. But it isn’t what the word used to mean. The word “belief” comes from the German word “belieben,” which means “beloved.” Religious beliefs were, and I think still should be, understood as things we trusted our hearts to. But since knowledge has been replaced by science and facts replaced symbols and metaphors, the “beliefs” now mean a set of intellectual assertions rather than a set of existential allegiances. Once spiritual seekers might have said “I believe this because it warms my hears, because it is profoundly revelatory of the human condition.” Now we have now been taught to say “I believe this because it is factually true.”

2. Wisdom was replaced by Knowledge. Even in the Middle Ages, theologians knew the difference. They wrote often of the categorical distinction between sapientia and scientia. “Sapientia” is the Latin word for wisdom, as in our self-flattering species name, homo sapiens. “Scientia” is the Latin word for knowledge, which has come to mean a web of facts. Seven centuries ago, theologians taught that the only knowledge that really mattered was the kind of knowledge that leads to wisdom, that tells us who we most deeply are and how we should live, the demands of love and the nature of allegiance and responsibility. These aren’t scientific statements.

1. God was replaced by Science. People have always ascribed human qualities to God. We say things like “God says” and “God tells us” as though God were a humanoid who could speak. But now, in our newspapers and on television every day, we hear people saying “Science says” and “Science tells us.” Let’s be clear: there is no such thing as “Science” spelled with a capital “S.” There are many sciences, and many scientists. Scientists say things, but they don’t always agree. But when we construct a sentence that begins with the words “Science says” we have created a humanoid fiction, named it Science, and begun looking to it for advice and guidance the way we used to look to God for.

Let’s put these words together into sentences so you can hear how similar they are. Preachers and lay people say “In a church, through rituals and traditions, black-robed priests proclaim the traditions and the revelations of God, helping us to learn the beliefs and wisdom that can lead to our salvation.” Scientists and many lay-people say “In a laboratory, through following the rituals of the scientific method, white-robed scientists proclaim the new theories and discoveries of Science, helping us to gain the understanding and the knowledge that can lead us toward Progress.”

The achievements of our sciences have been spectacular. Religions couldn’t have put a man on the moon, done a kidney transplant or solved complex engineering problems through the interpretation of scriptures. I think the primary reason our sciences have been so successful is because they have, from the start, limited their focus to matters of fact rather than matters of meaning. (Though getting trillions of dollars in federal and corporate funding didn’t hurt.)

Sciences have intentionally ignored the existential and subjective questions. They may be essential to us, but they are not scientific questions. No one can make a scientific pronouncement on what we should love, how we should treat our neighbors, whether it is more moral to have an abortion or to bring an unwanted child into an uncaring environment, or a thousand other moral, ethical, subjective questions. And any scientist who tried to make such a pronouncement would quickly be denounced by other scientists for being unscientific. These questions are the questions we take up in religion, ethics, philosophy and the humanities, not the hard sciences. And the answers to these questions are, as any scientist can tell you, not precise, not the same in all contexts, not objective. Pascal once famously wrote “The heart has its reasons which reason does not understand.” It’s pretty, but I think no one would claim that it’s scientific.

Pascal’s sentiments, however, remind me of some other very dark words penned by Charles Darwin late in his life. Darwin wrote in his private correspondence about what he called the clumsy, wasteful, blundering, low and horribly cruel works of nature. He believed in progress, but even his faith in progress was of little comfort to him, for progress, he noted, was painfully slow. Worse yet, even the hope of progress came up against an awful dead-end. This is how Charles Darwin described it: The certainty of the sun some day cooling and we all freezing. To think of millions of years, with every continent swarming with good and enlightened men, all ending in this, and with probably no fresh start until this our planetary system has been again converted into red-hot gas. Sic transit gloria mundi, with a vengeanceÉ.

Sic transit gloria mundi means thus pass the glories of the earth. Thus pass the glories of the earth, with a vengeance, Darwin said. Imagine that! A scientist who spent his life collecting, analyzing, and interpreting the glories of the earth, concludes at the end that the system of nature is clumsy, wasteful, blundering, low and horribly cruel, and that its glories pass quickly, and with a vengeance. Darwin found, and helped establish, a new world but he couldn’t find a comforting home in it. And his problem is with us still.

When a God falls and crashes, that’s the kind of sound it makes. The curiosity of our minds was divorced from the needs of our hearts, and the one killed the other. And so God died. You can call it natural selection.

To live in the 21st century, we need to have a faith which is consistent both with science and with the demands of our hearts: a religion which can satisfy both our minds and our spiritual longings. We define ourselves and our world through the knowledge we have gained from our sciences. Our religious beliefs must evolve and grow in order to keep helping us make profound sense of who we are and what we are called to do. Preachers have to have one eye on the sciences, and I think that’s a good thing. If I can only preach messages that make you check your brains at the door, I have insulted you, and disgraced my own profession. It makes liberal religion harder, but if we do it right it can lead us to a kind of intellectual and emotional authenticity which may not be quite as available in any other way.

There is a great spiritual hunger today, and Pascal was right: the heart does have its reasons that reason doesn’t know. And also its needs and yearnings. Answering those needs, filling those holes, is not a science, it is an art. Without learning some of that art, no matter how intelligent we are, no matter how much knowledge, scientia, we have, we cannot feel fulfilled or satisfied. Indeed, we can hardly live at all. Now that, for the record, is a fact. And it’s a fact to which we will keep trying to do justice here, week after week after week.

———-

Endnotes

1 John C. Greene, The Death of Adam (Iowa State Univ. Press, 1959), p. 88

2 Greene, p. 78

3 Turner, p. 205

4 Greene, p. 336

5 Ibid.

Oh God!

Davidson Loehr

February 18, 2001

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

STORY: “What you need to grow”

There was a boy with an unusual problem. He was only two feet tall, and all of his school classmates made terrible fun of him, calling him all the names you might imagine, and more. One day he heard that there was an old Wise Woman living on a hill outside of town, who had been known to be able to solve problems like this.

So he went outside of town and climbed the hill to find the old woman. She was there, and welcomed him in. “Old Wise Woman,” he said, I have a terrible problem!” “Well,” she replied, “have a seat, and tell me your story.” So he did, pointing out that he was only two feet tall, and nobody else he knew was only two feet tall.

The old woman smiled, studied him for a bit, and then announced, “Well, I know what your problem is, for I have seen it before. Your problem is that you don’t have enough stories in you.”

“What?” said the boy, very surprised by such a silly answer. “I don’t have enough what?”

“Stories,” she repeated. “You don’t have enough good stories in you. Without good stories, you will probably never grow any bigger at all. So go back home, and during the next year start listening to stories, and collecting them. Come back to see me in a year, and we’ll see how you’re doing.”

He hardly knew what to do! He’d never really thought of collecting stories before! The idea! He didn’t even know what to listen to, so he just listened to everything that came easily along. He heard a lot of very bad jokes, and a lot of very nasty gossip about his own friends, always spoken behind their backs.

The next year, he returned to the cabin of the old Wise Woman. “Stand up,” she said, “and we’ll measure you.” She did, and the news was very bad: he had actually shrunk! “Goodness!” she said as though she were surprised, “What kind of stories have you been listening to?” He told her, and she just shook her head. “Well, no wonder you’re shrinking! You can’t grow by taking in bad stories! They can only make you smaller! Now go back home, and this next year I want you to listen to stories of what people love. Just that. Now go!”

Another frustrating year! Though the second year wasn’t as bad as the first, for he heard much nicer stories. He learned that his friend had a gerbil named Max that she loved like crazy. She invited him over to her house, showed him her pet, and even took Max out so the boy could hold and pet him. “Oh, wow!” he said, and he felt like he had just grown an inch.

Another friend loved riding his bicycle, because he rode it, he said, to the most beautiful place in the whole world, a place he loved more than anyplace. So the boy rode out with him one day, to the top of a very high hill, and saw the most beautiful view he had ever seen. “Oh, wow!” he said.

There were other stories he heard that year, about pets places and people that were loved by his family and friends. He had never known these things about them before, and each time he learned what someone else loved, and shared that love with them, his world got a little bigger, and he felt like he was getting bigger too. He could hardly wait to see the Old Wise Woman again!

And, sure enough, he had grown, and grown a lot! “You see?” she said, shaking her finger at him, “You need good stories in order to grow! Now go back home and collect more stories. This time, learn what it is that makes people bigger. Now go!”

Well, this year was more fun. He began learning about all his friends’ religions, the things they believed that made them bigger, and he learned all sorts of things! One friend told him about Jesus. She told him all kinds of stories about Jesus, and about how having Jesus in her life made her feel better and more safe. She even showed him her blue bracelet that said “WWJD?” on it, and explained that it meant “What Would Jesus Do?” and was the question she asked herself whenever she had a hard decision to make.

“Oh, wow!” he said: “Jesus!”

Another friend had just moved to this country with his family from Iran during the last year. He said he was a Muslim, and told the boy about Allah, who was the God of his religion. He spoke of how he kept Allah in mind during the day, how Allah was like an invisible friend and parent, and how he never felt alone because of his faith in Allah.

“Oh, wow!” said the boy: “Allah!”

Still another friend was Buddhist, another religion the boy had never heard of. The friend told him the famous story of how the Buddha had once held up a Lotus blossom in his hand, to teach that the Lotus blossom is like the whole world: it seems so small, so easy to hold, but when it unfolds it contains all kinds of wonderful and unsuspected things.

“Oh, wow!” said the boy: “Buddha!”

These stories were so interesting, he collected them for a long time, and forgot about the Old Wise Woman. Years later, when the boy had grown, he decided to go see her once more. “Let’s measure you!” she said when she saw him, and she stood up to face him. He was now taller than she was! “Yes!” she exclaimed, “This is the day I’ve been waiting for! Come sit here,” she motioned toward her own chair, “there is someone who wants to meet you.”

The boy sat in the chair, the Old Wise Woman seemed to disappear, and suddenly a young girl entered the room. “Old Wise Man,” she said, “I have a terrible problem!”

He looked at the girl, who was only two feet tall. He smiled at her, and said “Please sit, and tell me your story.”

SERMON: “Oh, God!”

 “There is no race so wild and untamed as to be ignorant of the existence of God.” That’s an old quotation. The god he was talking about was Jupiter, for those words were written by the Roman Cicero, 2045 years ago (44 BCE). Well, today perhaps we are that race “wild and untamed,” for few of us spend three thoughts a year on Jupiter or his Greek version, Zeus (though we spend some time on them, as we will see).

If you read in some religions like Buddhism or Taoism, you won’t encounter the word “god” much, because those faiths don’t use god-talk to think about life. But in all Western religions based on the Hebrew scriptures, Judaism, Christianity and Islam, you read about God on nearly every page. So since almost all of us were raised in this Western culture, it may sound odd when I say that religion isn’t about God. But it isn’t. Religion isn’t about God. It’s about something else. Still, when you read the great writers of (especially) Western religions, It looks like God is what they are going on about, especially if you read literalistic, rather than liberal, theologians.

It’s an odd fact, but in their own time, almost every famous theologian of history was quite liberal, and most of them took great pains to distance themselves from the literalists of their day, and they seldom did it politely, either! When they used the word “God” they meant something with it that sounds pretty modern, no matter when they lived. I’ve chosen some quotations from some ancient and some modern people talking about the meaning of the word “God.” I’ve picked only a few, because of the well-established scientific fact that if you listen to more than six theologians in a row you are almost certain, right on the spot, to drop dead from boredom.

First was one of my favorites, the 3rd century Christian theologian Origen. It is said that when he died, he left behind over one thousand theological writings. He was born in 185 and died, after imprisonment and extended torture, in 253.

“God must not be thought of as a physical being, or as having any kind of body,” he wrote. “He is pure mind. He moves and acts without needing any corporeal space, or size, or form, or color, or any other property of matter.”

The other ancient theologian is St. Augustine. He lived in North Africa, from 354 to 430, and could be considered the inventor of Roman Catholicism. Augustine had some complex and strange ideas about sex and sin, but when he talked about the meaning of the word “God” he was quite liberal:

“Some people imagine God as a kind of man or as a vast bodily substance endowed with power, who by some new and sudden decision created heaven and earth. When these people hear that God said “Let such and such be made”, and accordingly it was made, they think that once the words had been pronounced, whatever was ordered to come into existence immediately did so. Any other thoughts which occur to them are limited in the same way by their attachment to the familiar material world around them. These people are still like children. But the very simplicity of the language of Scripture sustains them in their weakness as a mother cradles an infant in her lap. But there are others for whom the words of Scripture are no longer a nest but a leafy orchard, where they see the hidden fruit. They fly about it in joy, breaking into song as they gaze at the fruit and feed upon it.” (Confessions, p. 304 in Penguin Classics edition).

I’m not sure that many newspapers would even print quotations from liberal ministers today who described fundamentalists as being “still like children”! You get the idea that God, at least in the hands of the best theologians, is a bit of a mystery. It sounds like a Fellow, but it isn’t a Fellow, isn’t a being, doesn’t live in the sky, doesn’t have a body at all. It’s something else. I hope for us to get a glimpse of what that something else is today.

Let’s jump from the fifth to the nineteenth century, to one of the first Unitarian preachers in the United States. His name was William Ellery Channing. These two sentences come from the 1830s, but see how similar they sound to the two ancient ones, and to things you might say today:

“God is another name for human intelligence raised above all error and imperfection, and extended to all possible truth. The only God whom our thoughts can rest on, our hearts cling to, and our conscience can recognize, is the God whose image dwells in our own souls.”

I’ll add two more thinkers from the 20th century, a historian and a novelist. First, the historian:

“I find in the universe so many forms of order, organization, system, law, and adjustment of means to ends, that I believe in a cosmic intelligence and I conceive God as the life, mind, order, and law of the world.” Will Durant, This I Believe, 1954

And the novelist Upton Sinclair wrote “I am sustained by a sense of the worthwhileness of what I am doing: a trust in the good faith of the process which created and sustains me. That process I call God.” (What God Means to Me, 1935)

It looks like Voltaire may have been right when he wrote that “If God did not exist it would be necessary to invent Him”!

Still, the best theologians have been clear that the word “God” isn’t the name of a Being somewhere. It’s a symbol, our most powerful symbol, being used to allude to something that is beyond our ability to express.

The Buddhists have a metaphor for this. They call it the finger pointing at the moon. They say we usually mistake the finger for the moon. We do that with symbols. We mistake them for what they’re point to, and worship the symbol instead of that unnameable thing to which the symbol is pointing. You could almost say that we worship God rather than that to which the symbol of God is pointing.

For many people today, perhaps for many of you, the word “God” is associated with so much hypocrisy and deception you don’t even want to hear it. I don’t have such strong reactions against it, but I’ll admit that for me too, God-language isn’t the most interesting or useful way to talk about life’s most enduring questions and yearnings.

On the other hand, I don’t think illiteracy should be defended, and that includes religious illiteracy. I think God-language is one of the languages we need to understand, especially if we want to communicate with most other people.

So what is it like, this business of using powerful words like God? Here is an analogy that might be useful. I pick up a Stradivarius violin, perhaps the best violin ever made. I put a bow to it, saw back and forth, and make horrible squawking noises that scare the cats. I put it down and say “What an ugly instrument is the violin!” But the fault wasn’t with the violin. I just didn’t know how to play it.

I may not want to play the violin. Most of us don’t. I’d prefer the clarinet, which I can’t play very well either. But our lives can be enriched if we are open to hearing the music that can be created by those who can play the violin well.

The music analogy is helpful for religion, though it isn’t exact. Those who love the violin have never declared war on clarinet players, tried to convert them to violin, or burned them at the stake for persisting in the heretical love of clarinet sounds. A symbol like the word “God” is just far more powerful. If we get it right, it can be sublime. If we get it wrong, it can be vulgar, vicious, deadly. Some of the meanest hatreds I have ever seen were defended as God’s will.

But that’s where god-talk is like a violin again. It measures the character, imagination and heart of those who use it. Or maybe its double-edged quality makes it more like a bow and arrow. If you are an archer, you can use a bow and arrow to get food, to attack an enemy, or — if you’re really good at is, as Cupid was as a vehicle for expressing love.

At its best, God-language is a language of power and glory. We know that’s true, but it’s odd. How would a word have that kind of power? Nationalism has a similar potential for power and glory. It is not a mystery why these two vocabularies of God-talk and patriotism have that deep kind of power and glory, but it’s worth mentioning it.

It goes far deeper than religion. It goes far, far back into our evolutionary past, and is studied in the field of etholgy, or comparative animal behavior. Both the worship of God and the allegiance to a country are behaviors that look a lot like behaviors in a million other species. So let me back off from religion for a minute, to look at it from outside.

We are deeply territorial animals. That means that our sense of who we are is deeply connected to our place, our people, and our way of life. We build fences around our yards, defend our borders, and make battle-cries out of territorial boundaries like “Fifty-four forty or fight!” When we do these things, we are doing with weapons, flags and rationalizing speeches what a million other territorial animals do with teeth, threats and squawks or roars. Remember that a dog barks at strangers from inside your fence for the same reason you built the fence. So “nationalism” and “patriotism” are the words we have invented to describe and call forth our territorial instincts.

Besides being territorial animals, we are also hierarchical animals. We defer to presidents and kings, we fear the boss’s wrath. The ancient Greeks used to talk about how their god Zeus would throw lightning bolts down from above when he was angry. And even today, when somebody speaks out against authority figures, we still talk about “waiting for the lightning to strike.” In short, as students of animal behavior have noticed, God looks a lot like an Alpha Male. Alpha Males are the dominant males that rule the troop or herd. They are the top dog, the silverback gorilla, the male lion who rules the pride of lions. In a million different species, including ours, the acknowledged role of Alpha Males is to set the behavioral boundaries, reward the obedient and threaten or discipline the disobedient. They protect and punish and bomb Bagdhad and those under them fear their wrath and seek their approval. Their job is to draw the boundaries of their tribe’s permissible world. They keep the natives in and the aliens out.

A lot of scholars have said that the god of the ancient Hebrews looks like a super-sized tribal chief. And the God of the Bible was probably first formed as a projection of a tribal chief from somewhere in Canaan, the source of the ancient Hebrews’ religion. But even more anciently, it looks like the Alpha Males of a million other hierarchical species.

So God is an Alpha Male that embodies and claims ultimacy for our sense of place, normative behaviors, our amity toward those who are like us and our enmity toward outsiders. Religious wars show this on a large scale. Creeds, heresy trials and shaming sinners are close-up examples.

There’s something in us that needs to know who we are, whose we are and where our place is in life, the world, everything. And judging by our history, it looks like we need to believe that we’ve heard the answer from On High.

So God, at least in the three religions based on the Bible, is a symbolic vehicle for our highest hopes, our deepest fears, our assurance that the world is safe, we have a meaningful place in it. We make him our father, our father who art in heaven. We crave his love and fear his wrath and seek our peace in an obedient relationship with Him, usually mediated by priests, creeds, rituals and sacraments.

You see that what we’re exploring here is not gods but some of our own deepest levels. Our most powerful symbols measure us as a Stradivarius violin measures us if we try to play it.

Once you frame your quest in god-language, you can go either shallow or deep, the language permits both literalism and liberalism, as theologians have been noting for a couple thousand years or more.

Origen, that 3rd century Christian theologian I quoted earlier, taught that religious scriptures had three levels, which he called the body, soul and spirit. The “body” was the lowest level, the literal level, and he had nothing good to say for it. He thought nothing religious could happen at that level. To understand the “soul” of scripture meant you could raise it a level, and understand the key words, including the word “God” as symbols and metaphors for a deeper kind of awareness and wisdom. And at the highest level, those who understood the “spirit” of religious writings finally see that religion isn’t finally intellectual. It isn’t finally about holy words, but about living a holy life. He wrote that the cardinal rule of understanding religious scriptures is to seek out those things “which are useful to us and worthy of God.” That was the 3rd century, and it’s about as liberal as you can get!

So what is god-talk? It isn’t the name of a Being. It’s a language, an idiom of expression, a certain stylized way of thinking and talking about the human situation understood profoundly.

For me, part of what it means to become human religiously lies in learning how to hear spiritual music played in different keys, on different instruments, in different idioms of expression. It’s being able to hear the violins, the clarinets, the trumpet, drums, the oboe and the rest of it. In religion, it is the learned ability to allow the many different religious languages easy access to our minds and our hearts. The whole human sound, and the full divine sound, goes up only from the full orchestra and chorus.

I work every week, struggling to find words to wrap around who we are, what we seek, and how we might find it and let it find us. Expressing it with power and glory is an art. I seldom achieve it, and always admire it when I hear someone else do it. There are things we know, and things for which we yearn, and I don’t think they have changed much throughout our history.

We know that whatever the forces of life are, they’ve been a part of us forever. These incomprehensible dynamics gave rise to the world and all life on it, including ours. In the span of our planet’s billions of years, we’re hardly here for an eyeblink, then we fly away, and return to the dust from which we came. Our lives are swept away by these infinite forces, as though we didn’t even matter.

Who can begin to measure this power? The sustaining parts of life may feel like love, but the destructive aspects, accident, disease, war, the death of those we love, if we take it personally, and we almost always do, those things can feel like anger, even wrath. If we could get a little humility by seeing ourselves and our vanities against this immense background, we would probably be wiser than we are. In the face of this immensity, we yearn for a sense of peace, a sense that we are, somehow a beloved, a cherished, part of it all. And we wish the things we work for during our lives could somehow become established, and outlive us. Most people can die in peace if they know that the things they have loved, the things they have worked to create, will outlive them. I think, though my language wasn’t very poetic, that everyone who has ever lived has had these feelings and hopes.

Now let me play you the same song I just gave you in the last two paragraphs. But this time, I’ll play it on a borrowed Stradivarius. Listen to those same basic human concerns, as they were expressed by an anonymous poet of perhaps 2500 years ago, in the 90th Psalm of the Hebrew Scriptures, or “Old Testament.” Here is that old tribal god, that ancient Alpha Male, raised to the level of timeless beauty.

Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting thou art God.

Thou turnest us back to dust, saying “Turn back, O Children of Adam!” For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, or as a watch in the night.

Thou dost sweep us away; we are like a dream, like grass which is renewed in the morning: in the morning it flourishes and is renewed; in the evening it fades and withers.

For we are consumed by thy anger; by thy wrath we are overwhelmed. Thou hast set our iniquities before thee, our secret sins in the light of thy countenance.

For all our days pass away under thy wrath, our years come to an end like a sigh. The years of our life are threescore and ten, or even by reason of strength fourscore; yet their span is but toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away.

Who considers the power of thy anger, and thy wrath according to the fear of thee? So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.

Return, O Lord! How long? Have pity on thy servants! Satisfy us in the morning with thy steadfast love, that we may rejoice and be glad all our days. Make us glad as many days as thou has afflicted us, and as many years as we have seen evil.

Let thy work be manifest to thy servants, and thy glorious power to their children. Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and establish thou the work of our hands upon us, yea, the work of our hands establish thou it.

Oh, God!

Amen.

Choosing the Feathered Things

Davidson Loehr

February 11, 2001

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PUPPET SHOW:

INTRO. (Lisa): Now is the time for children to come down for the Story for All Ages. Children please come sit in front of the curtain and bring your gifts for Caritas so you can put them in the wagon after the puppet show. And now The First UU No Strings Attached Puppet Players present”The Lesson”.

GRUMP: I am so bored, nothing ever happens at this church.

BIG RACCOON: We’re looking for sticks!

LITTLE RACCOON: Sticks! Sticks!

BIG RACCOON: You can do lots of tricks with sticks. Can you help us?

LITTLE RACCOON: Were in a fix. We need some sticks!

GRUMP: Uh, no. (sarcastically)

WOLF: I need some bricks to go with their sticks ’cause we’ve got a lot of fun things to fix. Would you like to join us and show off your tricks?

GRUMP: You people. I mean puppets, are nuts!

CATERPILLAR: I was wondering whether, you might have a feather? If you join me, we could make things together.

GRUMP: What do I look like, Big Bird?

CATERPILLAR: Could I assume, you don’t have a plume?

GRUMP: No, but you need a padded room.

BIG RACCOON: (appears with sticks) Would you help us with our sticks?

LITTLE RACCOON: Sticks! Sticks!

WOLF: (with brick) Would you help me lay some bricks?

CATERPILLAR: (appears with feathers) Would you help me glue some feathers?

ALL PUPPETS: We can all have fun together!

GRUMP: No, I will not help you with your sticks! I will not help you lay some bricks! I will not help you glue your feathers! Why don’t you all get lost together!

BIG RACCOON: Okay.

LITTLE RACCOON: Have it your way.

WOLF: You don’t have to huff and puff about it.

CATEPILLAR: What a bird brain!

(Puppets disappear and make all kinds of construction noises.)

(Raccoons and Wolf appear with house)

WOLF: All you do is gripe and grouse.

BIG RACCOON: But look at us.

LITTLE RACCOON: We made a house!

GRUMP: That’s not fair! I don’t have a house!

WOLF: Stop your complaining.

BIG RACCOON: Stop your grousing! You had your chance.

(Turn house to logo)

LITTLE RACCOON: at Paws-on-Housing!

GRUMP: DOH! (Buries head in hands)

BIRD: Look at me up in the sky. With these wings, I can fly!

GRUMP: I want to fly. I want a house. I wish I hadn’t been such a louse. You’re right, you’re right. I’ve learned, I’ve learned. I have no right to what I’ve spurned. I’ve learned my lesson. Okay. Okay. Now what can I help you make today? (Walks over to side of puppets.)

BIG RACCOON: I ‘ve got some string.

LITTLE RACCOON: String!

WOLF: I’ve got some glue!

BIRD: Let’s go figure out what to do!

ALL: Yea!

END

SERMON: Choosing the Feathered Things

As many of you have read in the latest church newsletter, your governing board and I have been busy during the last month, on two very exciting projects. The first was the remarkable offer of 142 acres of land in the Hill Country, complete with four buildings, a new barn and an outdoor pool. Some of you have visited the land; I hope others will make the trip to see it before you vote on whether to recommend that your board accept this gift in the congregational meeting two weeks from today. There are some legal and financial details we are still investigating, and some good sober questions we need to resolve, but it’s an amazing gift, filled with exciting possibilities.

For me, though, the other project was even more exciting. Your board and I developed an ambitious model for serving the church that we have modestly called The Austin Model. While it will evolve and change over time, as a living thing would do, its essence is really very simple. We know that organizations, including churches, exist to make a difference in the world, that they are supposed to be doing something. It is like sailing a boat rather than minding the store, and like standing on the bridge to see where we’re actually going rather than being in the engine room check oil levels. We’re not just trying to stay afloat, we need to ask where are we going, and are we making any progress?

Here’s another way of understanding it. We are taking nearly a half million dollars a year from this community, and the time and talents of over five hundred adults. What are we doing that’s worth that amount of time, energy and money? The money could be used instead to open a bookstore, a little coffee house, maybe a donut shop. In what ways is what we are doing more worthwhile than that? I think we need to be able to answer, both to ourselves and to the community, just what differences we are making that are worth that kind of time and money. And I think you need to be able to give a satisfactory answer to your Baptist or Catholic friends who wonder what in hell (or at least the preparation for hell) you are doing here.

We want to begin consciously planning the actions of myself and the other staff to make a positive difference in the lives of our members, our children, and the community. And as far as possible, we want to take a rough measurement of the differences we are making, and keep you informed of them so that you will feel some of the excitement as we move in this new style.

This may all sound very obvious, you might expect that of course all churches and all organizations would think this way. But they don’t. And to be honest, it is an intimidating prospect, this business of actually taking who we are and what we’re doing with your money and your trust seriously enough to measure our actions by the differences they are making.

It is exciting and frankly, a little scary. It changes, or at least sharpens, my focus in planning sermons.

I wonder what I should do to be more intentional and effective in addressing issues that might make a positive difference in your life, the lives of your children and the community? How do we choose the things in life that might make a positive difference? Or in terms of this morning’s puppet show, how do we choose those things we need to make a home, or those feathered things that can help our spirit take flight? It was Emily Dickinson who said that hope is the thing with feathers, and I’ve always liked her definition. Hope is the thing with feathers, the thing that lifts us up. How do we choose that thing?

There is plenty to gripe about if we’d rather do that, you know. Our lives aren’t as perfect as we fantasize they should be. Not everybody loves us, or even understands us. Our jobs are like most jobs, filled with ups and downs, but not ideal. And as of this week with Motorola’s layoffs, there are over 4,000 fewer jobs in Austin, a number that may soon increase. Besides our jobs, our relationships are seldom perfect. And our kids will almost all grow up to be just regular old adults, not the envy of the civilized world. They’ll probably make about as many dumb mistakes as we did, as will their kids and their kids’ kids. It’s easy to just sit it out, gripe that Nuts, I don’t like this place, or this place, or this place. And we do it too often and too easily, don’t we?

It’s as though we come to believe that the world owes us something. As though we were born with this long list of entitlements. I don’t think we are. I think there is only one gift offered to us, and that is the gift of life itself. I think we’re paid in full the day we’re born. After that, it’s up to us to learn how to negotiate for the other things we wish we had. I don’t think the world owes us love. It doesn’t even owe us fairness or justice. Those are conditions we have to create if we really want them. We were given life, and the chance to make something of it, or just sit and be disappointed. It matters what we believe. It also matters what we choose.

And given the choice, we have to work to discover who we are and make a home for ourselves in life. We need to choose the things with feathers. And I think we must wish the same for others, and try to make our interactions with them positive rather than negative, creative rather than destructive. If our beliefs can’t help us do that, we probably have the wrong beliefs. If they can help us do that, they’re probably working fairly well for us and those in our greater community. That’s a pretty pragmatic approach to religion, but I think it’s the right one.

But the only real miracle is the gift of life. It wasn’t supposed to be perfect, it was only supposed to present itself to us, to let us see what we would and could do with it. If we sit back like couch potatoes waiting for life to please us, it will probably be a very long wait. This is true in churches, too, including this one.

Several years ago I was talking about things like this with two colleagues, and we discovered that the same visitor had been to each of our churches a few times, and then went away. So she had visited a Unitarian church, an American Baptist church, and a liberal Disciples of Christ church.

They were all good churches with good people. In each one, the visitor could have found ways to ask her questions, to meet wonderful friends, to struggle with personal and spiritual issues on several levels. None of the churches was any more perfect than the visitor, but they were all good enough. Maybe she finally found a church where she decided to take root, make friends and become a participant rather than an onlooker. If so, she was the exception.

It’s easy to read this as a failure of the church to integrate visitors, and it’s fair. We could do more to integrate visitors into the body of the church, and we should. But it isn’t only a failure of the churches. It’s also the habit of people to see themselves only as shoppers who keep moving on until something finds a way of keeping them there.

If you are a visitor here, or have just been coming for a few months, here’s something to think about: less than half of you will still be here a year from now. In this or any other church, most who come never join, never make a commitment, and never become a part of the church. Liberal churches, conservative churches, big churches, little churches, it’s the same: most visitors don’t last a year.

I think people visit churches sort of thinking, “Well, I’ll just sit here quietly and see if they swarm around me to make me feel welcome.’ The truth is, it isn’t likely to happen very often. So while I want to welcome all visitors, I want to challenge you. Don’t be passive here. Don’t expect these people to try harder to keep you than you try to stay. We’re not any better at it than you are, and creating a meaningful relationship is a two-way street.

And the way you stay ‘ here or anywhere ‘ is to seek for and choose those things, those relationships, that you can build on and grow from. Seek the things you need to make a home for yourself here, and seek the hopeful things, the bits that nourish you.

This isn’t something I have always known. It is something I learned in a memorable moment. And while I can’t give you the experience I had, I can tell you the story.

It was about twenty years ago, in a preaching class in graduate school. David, our professor was a very gifted preacher who was deeply serious about the ministry, and equally serious about professionalism. In those minutes before class begins, several of the students were whining about the church they all attended, complaining that the preacher was horrible, the service was amateurish, and they didn’t get a single thing out of it. David glared at these future ministers and said ‘How hard did you try?’

That was the first time I really understood that attending a worship service, like attending to living, is meant to be an activity, not a passivity. It changed a lot for me. The church I attended during graduate school also had a very poor preacher, and I could fall into whining about not getting anything out of the worship service as quickly as the next person.

But after that day in class, the question ‘How hard did you try?’ stayed with me. And, while I seldom heard a sermon worth remembering in the next five years, I was always glad I had attended church, but each week I saw it as a personal challenge to find something moving, something memorable in the service. Sometimes, it was the organist, sometimes the sound or feel of a hymn. Sometimes, it was just sitting there as the candles were extinguished, watching the wispy smoke rise up into the dark at the top of the big old church, thinking of the smoke as a spirit set free. But every Sunday, I went to church to try and find something, and it made all the difference.

So if you are a visitor, or have been coming here less than a year, I want to offer you a challenge. Don’t sit passively with us. Come try with us. Or if this church doesn’t suit you and you need to find another, try hard there.

Most churches are pretty good, and this one is pretty good too. We can raise spiritual questions here without any regard for whether they cross over the boundaries of an orthodoxy. You can find some interesting and engaging people here whose spiritual searches are similar to your own, once you get to know one another. We have a strong and active social conscience, we are important parts of our community, and during the coming years we will learn to make even bigger positive differences in the community.

So I challenge you to try hard here, and to come up to me next February and tell me you are still here. We’re not unfriendly. In fact I think many of us are quite friendly. But acceptance and community here require some effort on your part. If you want meaningful relationships and associations here, you have to try. If you want to feel chosen, you have to choose. If you want to live in a friendly community, you need to make friends. I challenge you to come see me and tell me you have done it.

Now some of you are sitting there thinking “Yeah, right!” It’s a lot easier said than done. We sit passively; we hesitate to reach out, to meet new people, partly because most of us just aren’t very good at it, but also because it is very risky. You could fail, feel rebuffed, and be embarrassed. It is so easy to stand back, mind the shop, wait cautiously to see if maybe the world will take the first step, come to you, and make it easy.

It’s like sailing a boat again. Much of life is kind of like sailing a boat. On shore, the boat looks good, and you can have all these great fantasies about how cool it would be to be sailing. But once you actually put the boat in the water, it’s bound to get messier. The wind comes up, the balance shifts, you have to learn what you’re doing, and not all lessons keep you dry.

I like this sailing metaphor even though my experience with sailboats has not been impressive. I was about sixteen the first time I went sailing. My friend Tom took me out in his family’s small sailboat. He steered, I sat on one side feeling the breeze and thinking how cool this was, this sailing business. Within a few minutes, he uttered the strangest sentence I had ever heard in my life. “Prepare to come about,” he said. “Prepare to come about,” I thought: hey, that must be sailing talk. Now I really know I’m a sailor, because we’re talking sailing talk. This is so cool!

Then, with absolutely no warning, I learned what that four-word bit of sailing talk meant. For the land-lubbers here, those words are a kind of shorthand that mean “In about three seconds, the sail is going to swing across the boat, hit you in the chest, knock you overboard, and tip the whole boat over!” Tom explained that to me while we were swimming around in the middle of the lake. And I decided, right there bobbing up and down like fish bait, that I didn’t much like sailing. I still liked the idea of sailing, and the fantasies about it, as long as no boat containing me ever touched the water.

So I understand the fear of failure, and the fact that wishing something were so doesn’t accomplish a single thing, though it’s not as intimidating as putting the boat into the water. I suspect that’s why, in so many areas of life, we are controlled by our fears rather than our hopes, and keep our boats on the shore. We don’t want to fail, we don’t want to be embarrassed, and we don’t want to feel like an idiot.

Sometimes, it helps to hear stories about others who have failed, so we don’t feel so alone when it happens to us. So I have another story for you about someone who was so good at failure he made a career out of it. If you’ve ever felt foolish or inadequate because you made a fool of yourself, this might make you feel better.

It was a while ago; he was a man without any apparent gifts or any apparent luck. I have never personally known such a failure, and I doubt that you have either.

First, he failed as a businessman. Maybe he thought politics would be easier, so the next year he ran for the state legislature, and lost. He went back into business and two years later, he failed in business again.

Besides his habit of failure, life wasn’t very kind to him and he wasn’t very lucky, because the following year his sweetheart died and the next year, not surprisingly, he had a nervous breakdown. Two years later, incredibly, he tried politics for a third time, and for a third time he lost. Then perhaps thinking that his problem was that he had set his sights too low, he ran for Congress. He lost.

About this time in reading his story, I thought this is a guy who just didn’t get it. There are people like that, and he was one of them. Life was giving him all the clues he needed, and he wasn’t listening. If he had any gifts, it seemed pretty clear they didn’t lie in running a business or in winning elections. How many times do you tip the boat over before you decide you weren’t meant to be a sailor?

Still, three years later he ran for Congress again, and was defeated again, and two years later he tried again and again he lost. This man had never won an election. He had run five times and lost five times. When do you get tired of bobbing up and down in the middle of the lake like fish bait? But he wasn’t through. He decided to aim still higher.

So his sixth defeat was for the Senate, his seventh defeat was for the Vice Presidency, and his eighth consecutive defeat, with no victories, was for the Senate again.

Finally, finally! Two years later, he was elected President. Then he won the second and last election of his life when he was re-elected as President in 1864. If you look on your calendars or your daily planners, they’ll tell you that tomorrow is his birthday. We Americans tell a lot of stories about Abraham Lincoln. But we almost never remember that in his whole life, he won only two elections and one war and his victory in that war is still not universally acclaimed in some parts of the South.

But how, after so many successive defeats, was he able to keep choosing the feathered thing? How did he keep putting the boat in the water, when it had turned over on him eight times in a row? I honestly don’t know. I wouldn’t have done it. I would have given up, or found another career, some time before the eighth consecutive failure. I suspect most of you would have, too. That’s just one of the reasons that we won’t have our birthdays written into the next century’s calendars. He doesn’t seem to have spent much time looking for sticks and bricks, looking to stop and make a home. But Abraham Lincoln had an amazing ability to keep looking for and finding hope over, and over, and over again.

If this were a competition, we could feel pretty inadequate next to Lincoln. But this is church. This is the time and the place when we gather together to seek inspiration from higher visions and strivings of more nobility and character. Sometimes we do it by looking to the lives of great religious figures. Today, I used the life of a great American for whom official religion was not a very important category. It is remarkable, I think, how many similarities we find in the lives of great religious figures and great civic figures.

They all show the powerful presence of an invisible kind of force, a kind of dynamism that helped them steer the course of their lives. It isn’t a “force” in the sense of some scientifically demonstrable energy field; it is the force of a powerful and life-affirming kind of attitude. The power of that hopeful, trusting attitude beckons to me through these stories, and I hope it beckons to you as well.

Because life wants to be an active word, not a passive one. And there is a source for that activity that seems to dwell within and around us. Call it the will of God, the inner and outer moving of the Holy Spirit, the Tao, the dynamic presence of the Life Force, or call it something else. As long as you can call it forth, it doesn’t much matter what you

call it. But it has feathers, this indescribable thing. And if we can keep seeking and choosing that feathered thing, it will absolutely make all the difference: all the difference in the world.

Endnotes

The puppet show script was a collaborative effort. I gave the puppeteers a script that gave the general direction and made the points I had incorporated into the sermon. They modified and adapted it, adding their own creative twists. They also turned it into Dr. Seuss-like rhyming. The puppeteers were Lisa Sutton, Eric Kay, David Smith and Melissa Smith.

The Story of a Life

Failed in business – 1831

Lost election for legislature – 1832

Failed again in business – 1834

Sweetheart died – 1835

Nervous breakdown – 1836

Lost second political race – 1838

Defeated for Congress – 1843

Defeated for Congress – 1846

Defeated for Congress – 1848

Defeated for US Senate – 1855

Defeated for Vice President – 1856

Defeated for US Senate – 1858

Elected President – 1860

(Abraham Lincoln)

Three Steps From the Edge

© Jim Checkley

February 4, 2001

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

If spirituality could be put into a pill and sold over the counter, then in this country at least, billions would be sold annually. The ratio of spiritual fulfillment to material wealth appears to be at an all time low-although the number of books, seminars, and discussions about both subjects is at an all time high. In the Golden Age of Materialism I want to suggest that there is an inherent conflict between the traditional rendition of the American Dream and finding meaning and spiritual fulfillment in life. And I do not refer to the conflict between serving God and mammon. The conflict I wish to discuss is far more insidious, manifests in many areas of our culture, and goes to the heart of who we are. But it is, I believe, reconcilable; hence, the basis of Sunday’s service.

Today would have been my Father’s eighty-sixth birthday. He died in 1981 at the age of 66 and never saw any of his grandchildren. I owe my intellectual curiosity to my Father and it is in that spirit of curiosity about ourselves and the world we live in, that I present this service today.

When I was growing up in the 60s, my family was very poor. Things got worse when I was nine years old and my Father had a massive heart attack. He never was able to work a real job again in his life. I, on the other hand, had gotten my very first job just a few months before he had his heart attack. In the summer of 1964 I got a job handing out flyers for a butcher shop on Main Street in Clifton, New Jersey. I have no idea what I was paid for this job in the conventional sense, because the butcher used to weigh the flyers on his meat scale and then paid me by the pound. Except for one semester of law school, I have had some kind of a job ever since.

In many ways I was oblivious when I was really young about being poor. It wasn’t until I and my brothers and sisters became teenagers and started seeing the world and going to friends’ houses for overnights and the like that we realized how little we had. I had really never liked having old everything when I was very young, but by the time I was 16 or 17 years old, I was becoming quite embarrassed about it. Being poor, feeling poor, as I approached adulthood was a major defining element in my life.

Today I am a partner with one of the forty largest law firm’s in the country. I have had the opportunity to work on some of the most challenging and interesting cases in Texas over the last 18 years. One might almost be tempted to say that, from an economic point of view at least, I have lived the American Dream.

I was thinking about this and the coincidence that I was asked to speak on my Father’s birthday, and I realized that I wanted to talk about something that has bothered me in recent years about the American Dream. I wanted to talk about how it can be that despite the fact that we live in the richest nation on Earth, a nation that consumes 50% of the world’s resources for only 4.3% of the world’s population, a nation that has more gadgets, cars, TVs, movies, airplanes, designer clothes, choices of music, cable stations, and professional sports teams than anywhere else on the planet, how can it be we are so well off and yet so many of us seem to be so unhappy?

The array of stuff that is available to us is staggering and although we still have poverty and too many of us remain poor, that array of stuff is available to a really huge proportion of the population. For while millions of people made fortunes during the greed era of the 1980s and more recently, in the amazing economy of the 1990s, even more millions have joined the ranks of the great American Middle Class and achieved a kind of safety and security few people in centuries past have ever known.

And yet, despite all this, huge numbers of people (successful people) say they are unhappy, or at least unfulfilled. My favorite anecdotal example is something I read in Time Magazine last year. In a story about the search for meaning among our material possessions, a doctor was quoted as saying that more of his and his associates patients were complaining of depression, loss of interest, lethargy, loss of energy, and the like than ever before. He said that the existential crisis had hit epidemic proportions and if you could just put spirituality into a pill you could sell billions of them.

There appears to be a paradox here. If people have more stuff than ever before, if their needs and wants are being met in greater proportion than ever before, why aren’t more of us happy? I like paradoxes. Whenever there is a paradox, there almost certainly is an opportunity for learning. And this one happens to be near and dear to my heart. I certainly have no delusions of solving it today, but I do want to at least talk about it. And to talk about it, I want to start right in the middle of things.

For a long time in our country, the American Dream was viewed as a rags to riches kind of thing. It was epitomized by the cliched notion that any one could grow up to be president. But over the last forty or fifty years, in my lifetime at least, something has happened either to us or to the Dream. I’m not sure, but I think that as we have become more of a meritocracy where increasingly more people have had access to the fruits of our incredible economy and the opportunities that go with it, the American Dream began to take on a new dimension. On some level, I think the American Dream was transformed into the notion of creating safety and comfort for ourselves and our families within this complex and dizzyingly fast paced society we have created. In this sense, I want to say that the American Dream became the great Middle Class Dream.

Let me give you an example of what I mean. When I was in college, I noticed that very few of my friends ever talked about their dreams. What they talked about was having majors in areas where there were jobs. I specifically recall talking with many of my friends in chemistry and physics and discussing how our majors hard science offered the prospect of many excellent jobs. And I also remember overhearing many conversations where people questioned the sanity of students who were studying in majors where the job market was poor. So it seemed very much to me that most of my generation, at least, of college students primarily wanted a good and secure job, a place to live that they could call their own, a good school system for the kids, and finally, being part of a community or neighborhood of equals who respected and obeyed the same rules and had similar beliefs to their own.

Most of us got all that and more. And we believed that in gaining the safety and security of the great American economic bounty, we had satisfied our needs, our desires, and our dreams. But it turns out we hadn’t. There was something we didn’t count on about dwelling in what I will call the great American middle in honor of our Middle Class Dreams.

Living in the middle, in relative safety, turns out to be like making a popcorn string. Each day is like a kernel of popcorn, each different from the last, but each exactly the same, and we put each kernel on a string, and when we die, we have a very long string of barely distinguishable days. Oh, every once in a while there is a string of seven to fourteen kernels that have a different color, perhaps, those days when we went on vacation, but even those days are hardly distinguished.

And yet, we Americans truly have a love for the middle. It is part of our folklore. By the time we are five, we all have heard of Goldilocks, who is excited when she finds porridge that is neither too hot nor too cold, but is just right. It is part of our deepest held beliefs about the nature of truth. If I had a quarter for every time I heard somebody say that truth is somewhere in the middle, I would be rich. Just yesterday there were two articles in the newspaper in which the author of each suggested that the truth lay somewhere in the middle. Finally, when I think of this issue, I think of a herd of zebra. If you are a zebra out on the plains of the Serengeti, then you should get as close to the middle of the herd as possible because it is less likely any lions will get you. In many ways, we are no different from the zebra: our thirst for the middle is driven by the same concerns, only translated into human culture.

And now we’ve gone well beyond safety in our quest for the middle. So many of us are to the point where we want and can have Pema Chodron’s Perfect Room that was the basis of today’s meditation. And don’t get me wrong: I think that is great, I really do. But there is a danger. Living in the great American middle there is a danger that we will become complacent, will get soft, and we will end up being lukewarm, like Goldilocks’ porridge. Within our Perfect Room we become ever more distant from life, and not just figuratively, but literally. I wonder how many people feel connected to the world because they watch CNN or CNBC or CSPAN or some other ‘C’ network? But it is a false connection.

We are bombarded every day with news of catastrophes all over the world and we just keep on eating our dinner. Does anybody else think it is weird that our network news programs wherein we are treated to images of war and violence in our schools, where we hear about youth killed by drunk drivers, and catastrophes of all kinds, coincides with dinner time and bedtime? I can’t figure out which of the two is worse, to tell you the truth, but I do know this. If the connection were real, then we would get upset and be unable to eat our dinner or go to sleep when we were told that many thousands of Indians died in a major earthquake. The truth is that living in the safety of the middle, living in our Perfect Room, we begin to lose compassion as we lose touch. We also begin to lose our sense of being, our sense of meaning, and finally we end up losing our sense of spirit and self.

I tend to see our love of the middle as quite Darwinian. Evolution is about survival. Evolution tells us that mostly we should choose safety. But what works for our bodies does not necessarily work for our souls. This is the great paradox of life and my take on the conflict between the contemporary vision of the American Dream and having a spiritually meaningful life. Evolution and middle class dreams are about the survival, and more than that, of the body. But in order to have a spiritually meaningful life, we need to talk about the survival, and more than that, of the soul.

Oh I know, we are Unitarians and we are scientific, and science seems to be telling us we probably don’t have souls. Well, let me tell you something: I don’t care. I am going to talk about them anyway. In fact, I am going to suggest that we would do well to reconsider the rejection of the notion of the separation of mind, body, and soul. Because, while it may not be true as a scientific reality, I think we need to treat ourselves as having minds, bodies, and souls in order to have a better shot of having complete lives, because each of those three aspects of ourselves have different needs.

Without at least thinking of ourselves as having souls, whether we actually do or not, we are more likely to ignore the real spiritual needs we have as humans and concentrate more on the needs of the body or the mind. And along these lines, how could we have ever thought that the human spirit would be happy with life in the middle, with being safe and secure but ultimately lukewarm? It isn’t. The human spirit needs challenges, it needs dreams, it needs faith, the kind of faith necessary to leave the safety of the middle and go to the edge and take some chances for something we value and believe in, something besides our own safety or having porridge that tastes just right, or having digital cable TV. To this extent, the life of the soul, of the spirit, is different from the life of the body and sometimes is even in conflict with it. The truth is, a spirit out on the edge is a mutant as far as the body is concerned.

I recently found something neat about this in the Bible. The Book of Revelation, Chapter 3, verses 15-16 states:

I know thy works, that thou art neither cold nor hot: I would thou wert cold or hot. So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth.

This is so great: John, the author of Revelation, tells us that being lukewarm is the ultimate sin. God would rather that we be hot or cold. But we love being lukewarm. We are drawn to the middle and its safety and security like a moth to the flame. And I would suggest to you that as safe as the middle is for our bodies, the middle can be just as deadly a place for our souls.

Here then is the heart of the conflict I have been talking about: the only place to feel truly alive is close to the edge, but it is also the place where we are the most likely to be hurt. So if we want to be alive, if we want to grow, if we want to explore life and all its possibilities, then we have to be brave enough, and motivated enough, to give up the comfort and safety of the middle and venture to the edge.

I have a friend who lives in Minneapolis. He is in his early fifties and has practiced law since his mid-twenties. Ever since I met him ten years ago, he has been on a mid-life quest for meaning and answers for the second half of life. We were talking one day about how he had gotten a puppy and how the puppy changed his life. Now for a single man who is a partner in a major law firm, getting a 6-week-old puppy is really going out to the edge and is a case of leading with the heart rather than the intellect. And for two months, he left the office every day and went home for lunch. This is a man who skipped lunch most of the time because of the pressures of work. And because he had to walk his dog twice a day, he says that he noticed the arrival of spring for the first time in 15 years. Imagine that.

He and I talked a little bit more about living a life that made us feel alive, one that had some zip to it. And in the course of that discussion, he made a profound observation. He told me that in walking his dog and noticing the arrival of spring, he observed that growth occurs at the edges, not in the middle. The middle may be green, may be solid and set, but it is not where the action is. That happens on the edge.

This was a wonderful observation. And I liked it even more because for years I have been defending stuff like comic books, science fiction, and fantasy because I believe that those genres, as far out as they often are, nevertheless provide wonderful opportunities for understanding ourselves and the world simply because they, unlike mainstream literature, constantly grapple with issues on the edge.

So many people end up struggling to fight the symptoms of living in the middle, but they do not realize that the problem is the very real conflict between the safety of the middle we all desire and the wants and needs of our souls, which would much rather go playing around at the edge. So we have the strange phenomena of people living in the middle but jumping out of airplanes to feel alive; they jump off bridges with elastic tied around their ankles to feel alive; they listen to Madison Avenue and buy cars that can give them a certain thrill so they can feel alive. All this and I suggest that the real problem is the fundamental approach to life: becoming lukewarm living the middle class American Dream.

Our spirits long for space, not the claustrophobia of the middle of the herd. How can our hearts and souls be free living in the Perfect Room Pema Chodron talks about? It is actually a trap, albeit a nice one. And the irony is that the longer we stay trapped in our perfect porridge world, the more resentful we become of the real world. What I mean is, how are we ever going to develop real compassion for anybody when it means leaving the sterility of our Perfect Room, of getting messy in the world, of enduring odors, sights, sounds, and risks that our Darwinian survival instinct tells us to avoid like the plague? We are explorers and adventurers we humans. And if we sit all comfy with our perfect porridge in our Perfect Room with no windows and a big screen TV that gives us the impression of being connected to the world’we will die inside. We will. And many of us already have.

Don’t misunderstand me. There is nothing wrong with being comfortable, safe, fed, happy, and secure. These are in fact good things. I want them for my family and myself. Nor am I suggesting that we have to indulge in dangerous or self-destructive behavior. My suggestion is simply that we become aware that what is good for our bodies is not necessarily good for our souls and that the safety of the middle we so yearn for can be death to our spirit. As stated in the poem I read earlier, the soul is a quiet animal and we need to pay attention to it and its needs or we will simply drift apart and lose contact until it is too late. And in order to help myself do this (I am really bad at practicing what I preach sometimes) I have developed a rule for making choices in my life.

But before I talk about that rule, I want to say that choosing to be alive, truly alive, is not an easy choice to make. Choosing to go to the edge, to be alive, means paying more attention; it means taking risks, but risks that are both reasonable and meaningful; it means investing energy and emotions into something important to you and having the faith in it and yourself to go and do it; it means developing your senses and your awareness like you never have before; and it means sometimes having to go too far in order to understand how far you can go, and frankly, paying the consequences.

If it is hard to do, then how do we do it? All I can tell you is that the best way I have found is this: in everything you do, everything, lead with your heart. That is, follow your passion first, and then use your intellect, reason, and logic to insure that wherever your heart and passion may lead, you will be at least three steps from the edge and not three steps over the edge. The goal is to be close enough to see it, but not so close that we are in constant danger of going over. So it is necessary for us to use our intellect to monitor and channel our hearts or else we may end up like Wylie Coyote, suspended in space several steps beyond the edge, certain to fall as soon as we recognize that nothing is holding us up. If you remember nothing else from this talk, I hope you will remember this simple rule.

You see, the intellect can always give shape to what the heart wants. That is, the intellect is a tool that operates upon whatever situation is brought to it. It is objective, indiscriminate, and cares only for the cold hard facts. But that does not apply to the heart and soul. Passion is often very picky and mysterious in where it will cast its desire and energy. It is for this reason that the finely made balance sheet of pros and cons thought out by the intellect will not by itself insure that the heart will agree to follow. Hearts are like that. They have minds of their own, you know. And they are stubborn. Show the intellect that 2 plus 2 equals 4 and it will believe you. Show the heart that this is the most logical path to take, and it still may rebel. We go against our hearts at our own peril.

In 1978 I was faced with a life choice. I could have gone to law school or I could have earned my Master’s in Radio, TV, and Film. My mind, reason and logic, said go to law school. My heart said RTF. In part because of a youth spent in poverty, in part because I felt that success at law school would more easily translate into my own Perfect Room, I chose law school. This was one of the most pivotal decisions I ever made in my life and frankly, was the inspiration for this service. And while I will not say that I made a mistake, for I have been successful and who knows what may have happened otherwise, I will tell you that my heart has never forgiven me.

But the good new is that it is not too late. It is never too late to leave the middle and move to the edge. It is never too late to recognize that sometimes moderation in all things is not necessarily a good thing. Let me put it this way: Does it feel right to love with moderation, to dream with moderation, or to dance with moderation? I hope not. But that is what happens if we allow ourselves to lose touch and become lukewarm. That’s why God is ready to spew lukewarm people from his mouth. I say: Love with passion, dream with abandon, and dance until you drop.

I will conclude by saying this: leading with your heart and living three steps from the edge is the difference between being Jean Luc Picard or James T. Kirk, and being a couch potato. Jean Luc and Jim Kirk actively embrace life and go often to the edge, following their hearts, sometimes at great risk, while the couch potato passively hides out in his Perfect Room and pretends to be engaged with life through his television. It’s more dangerous to be at the edge, and it isn’t always very comfortable either, but in the end it is much more meaningful. We don’t need to choose between our bodies and our souls. We can satisfy both. But we need to recognize that they have different (sometimes conflicting) needs and then set about to honor them all. Living three steps from the edge does that.

I know my Father would not want me to do it any other way.

Reaching Across Generations

© Rev. Kathleen Ellis

January 28, 2001

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

The Rev. Kathleen Ellis has been the minister of the Unitarian Universalist congregation in College Station for seven years. She is also a Campus Minister at Texas A&M University and a volunteer Chaplain with the College Station Police Department.

Mary Pipher, in writing Another Country: Navigating the Emotional Terrain of Our Elders, continues to promote relationships among children, adults, and elders, and the communities in which we live. We are often separated not just geographically, but by the times in which we formed our basic values. How can we best understand “the landscape of age”?

This morning I shall begin my sermon with death (and lesser losses) and end with birth (and other signs of life). Recently I was asked by a family to work with a Roman Catholic priest in planning a funeral. The man’s daughter was Catholic; his son was Unitarian Universalist. The service was held at a Catholic Church. The priest John McCaffrey and I did not exactly work together, but in parallel, and we agreed on the order of things. Our respective parts came together in some ways but they clearly came from a different perspective and with a different objective. Although the family members are not of one faith, they had an equal need for an appropriate expression of their religious beliefs. The man who had died had no faith community.

Where the Rev. McCaffrey and I clearly harmonized in our remarks was in the matter of community. Friends, colleagues, neighbors, and acquaintances brought a collective message to the family that their loved one had made an impact on this assorted community through his wife and children, his work, and his love of gardening. People were reminded to tell one another about the good they do while they are living. They were all encouraged to stay in touch with the family long after the casseroles had been consumed, the dishes returned, the flowers wilted, and work resumed.

It is not my intention here to dwell on the death of an individual but to focus on the community of the living. Annie Dillard wrote a wonderful novel by that name: THE LIVING. It tells stories of generations of pioneers who claimed and settled the Pacific Northwest. Death came suddenly, brutally, and almost randomly to many of the characters. But it was the living’of course! the living who carried the story forward to the next generation. Those who died became a backdrop to the harsh reality of daily life. The living had to continue with the essential work of survival.

In another tale of survival, writer Velma Wallis recorded the story her mother had passed on to her. It’s called Two Old Women: An Alaskan Legend Of Betrayal, Courage And Survival. The story is based on an Athabascan Indian legend passed down from mothers to daughters for many generations in Alaska’s upper Yukon River area. The two old women, both complainers, are reluctantly abandoned by their starving tribe during a brutal winter famine. Left to their own devices, the women must either survive the winter alone or die trying. The importance of friendship and community forms an underlying theme in their story. It also tells of survival, forgiveness, and reconciliation among tribal members before the old women die.

A third book I have read recently is Another Country: Navigating The Emotional Terrain Of Our Elders. The author is Mary Pipher, who also wrote Reviving Ophelia And The Shelter Of Each Other. Mary Pipher is a psychologist and a Unitarian Universalist. Her latest book explores the complex relationships among families today when our elders begin to need more help. She distinguishes the ‘young-old’ from the ‘old-old.’

I think we all want to by “young-old,” because they are the people who travel around the country in their recreational vehicles, keep up with hobbies, and maintain their physical activities. They volunteer in a full range of jobs; they greet us at Wal-Mart with a smile. Young-old people are happy to be whatever age they are’65 or 80 or 104 like Esther Albrecht. (And if you haven’t met her, you’re missing a treat. Her daughter Greta Fryxell and son-in-law Paul are members of this church – a great family to know.)

Old-old people begin to lose their health, trade their homes for rest homes, become more isolated, and suffer from dementia. They have attended entirely too many funerals of their friends, so that few people know how they were ‘way back when.’ One woman Pipher interviewed compared life to a game dodge ball. ‘In random fashion, people are hit out of the game, one by one, and then your time comes.’

The old-old may be ourselves. The older we get the more we notice that aches and pains and illness do not heal so quickly as before and may even become a permanent part of our lives. They may be our parents or grandparents or great grands. They may be our siblings or children who need extra care. At the same time, adult children often have children and grandchildren of their own or school to attend or a career path to worry about. All of us are fully aware that families are supposed to take care of one another. But how?

According to Pipher, the Lakota believe that if the old do not stay connected to the young, the culture will disintegrate. We are seeing signs of this disintegration in our culture. Children watch television instead of hearing stories. They are frightened and unruly, numb from hurry and overstimulation. Teenagers run in unsupervised gangs. Parents feel isolated and overwhelmed, and elders go days without speaking to anyone. No generation’s needs are truly met. Segregated societies are intellectually stagnant and emotionally poisoned. Only when all ages are welcome into the great hoop of life can a culture be a healthy one.

When we live far away it takes a special effort to stay in touch. For example, Sherry Coombes spends several days each month with her father so that the caregiver gets some time off. My husband visited his dad every month in Illinois until his death a few weeks ago. He lived in a nursing home in a small town where everyone knew him and would take him to church, bring him cookies, and just check in on him. People here help out with folks like Red Adams and Jean Wyllys and a long list of other good folks. That is such a great ministry: every church needs Helping Hands and caring hearts. Margaret Mead said that our deepest human need is to have someone who cares if we come home at night.

Some people move to be closer to family members. To have at least one relative nearby can be quite comforting. Others have close relatives within the rough circle of Houston, Dallas or San Antonio’not so far by Texas standards. But possibly the majority of us live quite far from other family members.

It’s not just geography that keeps us apart. It’s also the same old stuff that makes family members fight among themselves for years. The generation gap may widen because of the different languages we speak: Words and phrases like ‘depression’ (is it the Great Depression or a psychological term?); ‘just war’ (which war?); ‘gay nineties’ (different century, different context); and ‘courtship’ (is it simply an old-fashioned notion?).

When distance of any kind keeps us apart, it helps to get past the language to the underlying feelings and values. Then figure out what you’re able and willing to do, both physically and emotionally. That might be to write once a month or call once a week. If it’s hard to be with your parents for emotional reasons, limit the length of visits and be sure to have an ally somewhere in town or accessible by phone. It makes a huge difference.

When my two sisters and I were each traveling to visit our parents every three months, one of the most important contributions I made was to find a telephone jack way under the bed in the guest room and ran out to buy a cheap phone. Soon we could have our private conversations with spouses and friends and let off some frustration. We also kept a large poster for coloring and a supply of markers under the bed!

As for communication with one another, we kept a large three-ring binder under the bed with divided sections to record whatever we had done during our visit. We described medical appointments and what the doctor said. We made a list of resource people like plumbers and bankers and friends who could help. We included a list of phone numbers in the neighborhood and made sure one of them had a spare house key. One section in the notebook was called Next Steps, to alert the next sister about things that needed to be done. Copies of important documents were kept there, too.

When decisions needed to be made, we consulted with each other and also tried to give choices to our parents. They did not want us to tell them what to do but if there were a couple of options that would work, we tried to let them choose. Sometimes we recruited close friends to suggest options. It’s a lot easier to hear advice from a friend than from your own child. We would also gain another perspective by talking with friends of our parents.

I remember a time when we called our mother’s friend in Alabama. “Thelma,” we pleaded, “talk to Mama – she doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to give up her furniture and all the other treasures, and she’s just not safe here alone anymore.” So Thelma said to Mama, “Glynn, I never have seen a hearse pulling a U-Haul!” That made Mama laugh, in a way we probably never could.

If you can’t visit the elders in your family, you may be able to take care of bills or insurance claims or send money to hire relief if another relative is the primary caregiver.

If you live far away from next of kin or you don’t have any, you can find ways to connect with elders near where you live. The good news is, they probably won’t irritate you as much as your actual relatives do. You won’t push each other’s buttons by falling into the same old family patterns.

If you’re an elder, you can find a way to connect with a younger generation. Leonora Montgomery, a retired UU minister in Houston, hosts an annual Young Women’s Luncheon. She invites all her teenage and young adult nieces, granddaughters, and daughters of friends to her home to find out what interests them these days. She has taken each grandchild separately on a special trip and takes great care to keep informed about their activities and challenges. She gives lots of advice along with a healthy dose of values.

It used to be that the generations literally depended on one another for life.Pipher pointed this out when she wrote that:

Before the pioneers came, the Native Americans of the Great Plains survived the harsh winters by having grandparents and grandchildren sleep beside each other. That kept both generations from freezing to death. That is a good metaphor for what the generations do for each other. We keep each other from freezing. The old need our heat, and we need their light.

To learn from the old we must love them, and not just in the abstract but in the flesh, beside us in our homes, businesses, churches, and schools. We want the generations mixed together so that the young can give the old joy and the old can give the young wisdom. As we get older, we sense more the importance of connecting old to young, family member to family member, neighbor to neighbor, and even the living to the dead. In connection is truth, beauty, and ultimately salvation. Connection is what makes life bearable for us humans.

My sister Madeleine directs an interfaith peace center in Columbus, Ohio. Part of her work is to teach mediation to inner city school children. She has noticed that resilience is an extremely important factor in predicting success for these kids. This holds true for adults as well. Resilient people of all ages carry on in spite of losses. For everything that is taken away’health, money, companionship, for example’everything that remains becomes precious as a single rose. I am reminded of these anonymous lines which speak to the resilience necessary in the face of hard times and the importance of beauty as well as sustenance.

If of thy mortal goods thou art bereft, And from thy slender store two loaves alone to thee are left, Sell one, and with the dole, Buy hyacinths to feed thy soul. Food for the soul can be more valuable than bread alone. There are some basic things we need at any age. -work that is real & relaxation: as simple and as important as story telling -respect for individuals & opportunity to form/maintain relationships: as gentle as a child’s soft pat on your back and a lap for her to sit on -self worth: as basic as repeating an affirmation to yourself each morning -and the beauty of hyacinths to feed thy soul

Pipher’s final chapter suggests ways she has seen to dissolve the boundaries of age segregation that begins as early as preschool.

In one town, children formed weekly partnerships at a rest home beginning with kindergarten age. Each child was paired up with an old person and they played games together. One week it was miniature golf; another week it was bingo. The kids learned how to push wheelchairs and how to slow down. The elders got to love the kids unconditionally, even the ones with a cleft palate or a case of extreme shyness.

In a college town, international students went to nursing homes to practice English. But really, it was because they miss their grandparents. Many of them come from countries where the old are important and honored.

Court ordered community service can involve interaction with a different generation like working at a day care center or helping with home repairs for elderly residents.

Musicians of every ability level provide joy and interaction with elders.

And in one town, a planned community included all ages and ability levels. It included assisted living / nursing home / day care / after school care / summer programs / teen volunteers / staffers / day care for workers on site.

There are deaths every day yet there are also births every day. We who have made friends with our elders have been blessed. We who have made friends with children have stories to share. A Chinese saying teaches that ‘We cannot help the birds of sadness flying over our heads, but we need not let them build nests in our hair.’

May we find ways to shake out the nests, loosen our thinking, and find ways to live until we die.

Amen


 Dillard, Annie. The Living. New York: HarperPerennial, a Division of Harper Collins, 1993.

Pipher, Mary. Another Country: Navigating the Emotional Terrain of Our Elders. New York: Riverhead Books, 1999.

Wallis, Velma. Two Old Women: An Alaska Legend of Betrayal, Courage and Survival. New York: Harper Perennial, a Division of Harper Collins, 1994.

2000 Sermon Index

 

Sermon Topic Author Date
Carpe Diem! Chris Summers 12-31-00
Christmas Stories Davidson Loehr 12-24-00
No Room at the Inn Davidson Loehr 12-17-00
From the Fringes to the Center? Davidson Loehr 12-10-00
How To Become A Butterfly Davidson Loehr 11-26-00
Choose Life Davidson Loehr 11-19-00
Why do Soldiers Die? Davidson Loehr 11-12-00
Spooks from the Depths Davidson Loehr 10-29-00
Religion for Atheists Davidson Loehr 10-22-00
Religion para ateos Davidson Loehr 10-22-00
Not Fit to Live: Capitol punishment Davidson Loehr 10-15-00
The Dark God of Capitalism Davidson Loehr 10-08-00
Talk is Not Cheap Davidson Loehr 09-24-00
Salvation, American Style Davidson Loehr 09-17-00
The ABC’s of Religion Davidson Loehr 09-10-00
In a Restaurant, Choose a Table Near a Waiter Davidson Loehr 08-27-00
The Virtues of Heresy Davidson Loehr 08-13-00
Las virtudes de la herejia Davidson Loehr 08-13-00
ESSAY: From Surviving to Thriving: Moving Beyond UUism Davidson Loehr 08-01-00

Carpe Diem! – Chris Summer

Chris Summer

December 31, 2000 

SERMON: CARPE DIEM! Latin for Seize the Day!

The Roman God Janus is depicted with one face always looking back and the other always looking ahead. Some of you may have noticed my strange attire today. You may have also noticed the other face I was wearing. Life can be understood looking backward, but the catch is that it can only be lived forward. I drew one eye closed and one eye open. Since there is nothing anyone can do to change what has happened or gone before, that eye is closed, things best forgotten. The other eye is wide open. That is so that we may learn from our past and the experiences of others who have gone before so that we need not repeat their mistakes. Also it allows us to view all experiences, ours and others, and learn from them so we may duplicate their successes.

Since there is nothing we can do about changing the past, let’s then focus on the future. As I go through this sermon today feel free to use the white paper to note things that come to mind: hopes, dreams, visions, aspirations, desires and goals, and save them for later. Dare to dream! Establish a vision for your future. Set a goal. A goal is a Dream with a date, but a Dream without a plan to achieve it is a hallucination. If a little girl can set a goal and with her mother’s help, actively change for a pretty dress what could we as adults achieve? Don’t just speak meaningless resolutions and wishes this New Years Eve. Take Action! Replace your wishbone with your backbone and DO IT! I encourage everyone to think, dream and live outside the box. It all begins with a box many of us have forgotten. A box we quietly tucked away and forgot. That is the box where we keep all our hopes and dreams. The “I wish?” “Wouldn’t it be great if,” “Someday,” box. Sometimes it’s sealed by “I should have” or “Let’s be realistic.?

THE DREAM

The reason that box is hidden away and we stop looking at the future is that it is sometimes painful to take it out and open it, mistakenly thinking that the contents must always remain stored away. For a minute though, just imagine the possibilities. There are no limits. What would you attempt if you knew you could not fail? Young or old, man or woman, black or white, reach into your dream box and lift out your future. Let yourself explore the wonderfully diverse nature of your personality. Lift the limits you, your family and associations, and society have placed on you and told you to live with. Unshackle your spirit and resolve to LIVE until you die.

You have so much potential locked up within your box or hidden beneath a bush. You are a wonderful creation, a magnificent miracle just waiting to shine. Share your gift with others, explore the boundless possibilities that exist, right now inside your own boxes. Having a Dream box full of exciting possibilities is one thing, making them come true is another. There is an old proverb: Three frogs are sitting on a log. One decides to jump off. How many frogs are left? Three! A decision to jump off is not the act of jumping! First, decide that your dream box will open and become reality then take action to make it so. The second action you must take is to find someone who will help you. This magnificent sanctuary you see here could not have been completed by one person alone. As with this service today, thankfully, many people helped put it together. Your mentor or coach will be someone who can help you open your boxes to reveal the wonderful dreams for the future inside. They are someone who can help guide you along this new path you have opened up. Oftentimes we can see the as yet unrealized potential within someone else before we can see our own. Reach out to someone and help them unseal their own box and let their dreams become reality. You will be amazed at how wonderful it feels watching someone becoming. The candle you nurture into a flame can in turn light a thousand candles. It all starts with you. Open your hearts, take a chance, reach out your hand, share your light and rekindle another’s flame. The journey of a thousand miles begins with just one step. A million points of light begins with just one candle. Open the box and let it shine.

SET GOALS

We are who we are. The choices we made and the associations we keep help define not only who we are as a person today, but where in Life that person will go. The decisions you make and the associations you choose today will determine where you will be five years from now. Just as the decisions you made then determined where you are today. The beauty of this plan is that if we are unhappy with the decisions we chose in the past, we can decide to close that chapter and set new goals open up a new chapter. And thus, change the future direction of our lives.

Set goals. In this new year and new millennium give birth to your visions for the future and nurture them. Focus on them, make them a priority in your life. Set deadlines for your goals. Nothing happens without a deadline. How many people would pay the IRS if they said, “That’s OK, pay us when you’re ready?” Develop a consuming passion that will not be denied.

Next year as you sit here you can count your achievements rather than say, “Well, maybe next year.” There may not be a next year! Write down what you want and when you expect to have it. Write down what you are willing to give up as payment to achieve this goal. Write out your plan for accomplishing this goal then put the plan into action. Read this plan everyday aloud until your goal is a reality. Remember, your past has no bearing or relevance to your future unless you let it. Past experiences serve as foundational lessons for future successes. Winston Churchill said, “Success is going from failure to failure with great enthusiasm”. So, instead of looking back, let’s peer ahead with wonder and anticipation of a great and wonderful year to come. The Christian Bible says “What the mind of Man can conceive, and the heart of Man will believe, He will achieve.” Zig Ziglar a very successful man and motivational speaker said, “With good vision, you not only see with your eyes but with your heart.” J.Paul Getty, the wealthiest man of his time said, “If I’ve seen farther than others it’s because I stand on the shoulders of giants.” What all these are saying is that you need a vision of your future. So where are you going and how do you plan to get there? If you are not out pursuing your own Dream you are following someone else’s. Your goal should be high enough that you must stretch and grow in order to attain it. You can accomplish so much more in life if you have a big enough ‘why’. Goals are the major landmarks on your road to success. Achievement of a goal has four stages: wish, want, need, got. What does it take to move a wish for something to a need? A dream or goal big enough that will motivate you into action. Those who accomplish great things are not necessarily smarter than other people; they are not more gifted, have better health, or have more education. They just have a bigger need because they have a bigger dream. You have to move away from what everybody in America does: wishing things were different. Take action! Think hard why you want these things, material or non-material. Think about it often enough and it becomes a strong desire to want it. Your vision of your future becomes your past. Most people use their vision of their past to see their future. Stop driving by your rear view mirror. Stay positive, forget what’s behind you and focus forward. Now visualize what you would do when you have achieved your goal. What does it feel like? Now it becomes a need. This is now something about which you can get passionate. Passion will stir your soul and provide the positive motivation and the energy necessary to get moving, change your circumstance and do something about it. Remember we are talking about your goals and Dreams here. You can only apply negative motivation to yourself. You can never negatively motivate someone else. You can threaten someone with a negative consequence but they will not be truly motivated. You can, however, apply positive motivation to both yourself and anyone else.

Everyone likes to win, if you are trying to help motivate someone else, the carrot you dangle in front of them will help them get moving. Remember though, it must be something they believe in and want greatly. It does no good to offer someone a free set of tires if they do not own a car. Belief in your Dreams triggers in the mind the ways and means of accomplishing it. Belief in your ability to accomplish your goals banishes all fear and doubt. At this point don’t confuse the how to do something with the decision to do it. The decision to be successful comes first. Once the decision is made, then the how-to-do-it vehicle follows. You don’t need to know all the details of how something works to make use of it. First decide to achieve your goals then the means to make it happen will reveal themselves.

COACH

Once your vision is crystallized so that you can touch and taste it, share it with someone who can help you achieve it. A spouse, coach, mentor, God; whomever can support your vision. Don’t share your vision with anyone who might criticize your dream. If they have stake in helping you achieve your Dream they will help guide you so you can take action. Don’t confuse an open mind with one that’s vacant

Michael Jordan and Tiger Woods are unquestionably the best athletes in their sports. Both have coaches. Why not the rest of us? Your coach will help you to consistently and persistently pursue you dreams and goals; guiding you around obstacles and keeping you honest to yourself and your dreams. With a mentor’s help it’s no longer necessary to keep your Dream box, or any of your other boxes, hidden away.

Never live your life by the negativity of others. Do what you need to do for yourself and for your family’s future. What do you need with someone else’s opinion anyway? The only way to avoid criticism is to do nothing, to be nothing, to go nowhere with your life.

You are going to be criticized anyway, so why not be criticized for doing something great. If they are really giving it to you, ask them what they are doing that’s so great. They obviously think they have a better deal, so ask them to share their secret plan for success. Remember to keep moving forward. Happiness is a failure in your rear view mirror.

TAKE ACTION

Every morning in Africa the gazelle wakes up and realizes it must outrun the fastest lion or it will die. Every morning in Africa the lion wakes up and realizes it must outrun the slowest gazelle or it will starve. The moral of this story is that regardless of who you are, you better wake up and start running.

Great ideas and a Positive Mental Attitude are a great place to start, but progress also requires action. The guy who achieves and the guy who doesn’t both have the same 24 hours but the former does not hesitate to put a positive mental attitude and ideas into action.

Yes, there are fears and doubt. You would not be human otherwise. Nevertheless, Mr. Success goes through them in pursuit of his vision. You can’t mosey up on success. You have got to kick it into high gear and go after it like the checkered flag at the Indy 500. Do not wait. It is easy to sit up and take notice. What is difficult is getting up and taking action. Take action now.

Sit down and establish goals for all areas of your life, spiritual, family, career, and recreation. These goals should fall into near term, short term, and long term. Doing something every day builds a daily habit and your weekly goals just naturally happen.

Making your four weekly goals, and then your monthly goal happens all by itself. Put twelve of these months together and your yearly goal is a done deal! And it all starts with doing something today. Once you have decided what your goals are and pictured them in your mind, keep reminders of them clearly visible. Write them down. That is why you have the white paper. Researchers at Yale University did a landmark study beginning in 1953. They interviewed the entire graduating class. They found that only 10% had goals and only 3% had them committed to paper. Twenty years later the graduates were again interviewed. That 3% had accumulated a higher financial net worth than the other 97% combined!

Be specific about what you want and when you expect to have it. Know why you want it and what you are willing to give up, the price to be paid for your goal, in order to achieve it.

First, your goal should be written in the form of an action statement, “I will lose 10 pounds by March 1.” “I will…” Without action there is no beginning, just thought.

Second, the goal is stated clearly, and to the point, “..lose 10 pounds.”

This is something that can be measured. ” I want to be happier.” is a great statement but as a goal statement it is too ambiguous. Happier in relation to what, by when; how do you measure happiness? If loosing weight will make you happy then go for it. But it must be something that generates action.

Finally your goal statement must have a date, “..by March 1.” How would a football game look if there were not any goalposts or a game clock? Guys would be running every which way and would never know what the score was.

By wording your goal statement this way, you are laying out the road map with your destination clearly fixed. All you need to do now is follow the mile markers.

Keep looking forward. You must constantly visualize what you want, not what you don’t want. You want to re-program your brain for success so start feeding it success based images. If you expect the worst, you invite the worst to happen. Why not instead invite joy and happiness and demand they become your travelling companions?

Pictures are nice reminders. If you can’t find exactly what you’re looking for in a magazine or brochure draw it yourself. Try putting them on your bathroom mirror, refrigerator, the inside of the front door, or inside your car. Places that your eyes often frequent.

When you don’t really feel like getting out the door, pictures of your goal will help motivate you off the couch. Something that I found very helpful when faced with doing something to progress toward my goal that I didn’t really fell like doing, was thinking of the alternatives. I could go out and put in the effort and get my goal that much sooner, or not do it, and either push back when it will be achieved, or face the possibility that my goal may never be realized.

The fear of not having what you want should be bigger and stronger then the fear of doing what it takes to make it happen. This will require change on your part.

CHANGE

If you always do what you always did, you will always get what you always got. If you want different results you MUST change what you are doing! It is Man’s nature to resist change. Change requires energy and action. That’s why Man created the Lazy Boy and remote control, to avoid spending his precious energy.

Like the trees, if you’re not growing and changing every day, you are dying. You must make growth and change a part of your everyday existence.

You do have the freedom to choose. You can choose to change or you can choose to remain as you are. Do not cop out by abdicating responsibility for your situation to someone else. You are where you are by the choices you made. The system, your boss, your spouse, all had input to where you are, but YOU made the choices. Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to the other 10%. If you do not like where you are, you have the power to choose to change. Don’t be mad at the way the ball bounces if you’re the one who dropped the ball.

The definition of insanity is doing the same things over and over again and expecting different results! Do something different. Change something and get different results. If you want to have more, be more, do more, give more, YOU need to change. To change the world why not start with the easiest thing and the best example of what you want: yourself. Be the change you want to see in the world.

Change by improving your relationships with your spouse and family, friends, and co-workers. Lasting success in anything depends largely upon your success in building strong relationships with people. When people trust and believe in you, they will support you, fight for you and follow you to the ends of the Earth.

People, when led properly and justly, become an unbeatable resource. An army of sheep led by a lion will defeat an army of lions led by a sheep every time. A man with belief, conviction and no skill will always defeat a man with skill and no belief. Eliminate the barriers you have erected that are keeping you from moving forward. Change your associations to a more positive, uplifting and supportive crowd. Begin diluting all the negative junk your old filter allowed into your brain by reading more positive books and watching less tv.

A great way to overcome your weak areas is to shine a spotlight on them and force them out into the open. If a schoolboy has difficulty in math, how does he become top of the class? Certainly by not hiding in a closet and never doing math again! He gets to be top of the class by doing MORE of what is difficult. Through practice and repetition, focusing on weak areas, they become your strengths. You, and no one but you, have the power within you to change who you are.

CHALLENGES

Use every moment you have to be productive, learn and grow. Don’t just kill time. Invest it. Read, talk with experienced people, listen and associate with successful people, and add to your knowledge and experience. Visualize your future. Do something of value.

Henry Ford said, “Obstacles are those frightful things you see when you take your eyes off your goal.” he also said, “Whether you think you can or think you can’t, you’re right.” Think of a very successful person and ask yourself how they would handle the present situation. If that person is a good role model for you, take that action. If they are a negative role model, do the opposite. This process will also help put you in the mindset of those successful people you are trying to duplicate.

As you begin to see your first goal realized, check with your long-term goal and see what’s next to tackle. Dream bigger. Always set new and higher goals. This will keep you continually growing, moving forward and pursuing excellence.

The next step is to identify any potential roadblocks or challenges. Facing challenges gives you an opportunity to think creatively. Once these have been identified, develop them into an action plan and devise a way to overcome the challenges. Overcoming the roadblocks will become milestones for measuring progress toward your goal. There is often more than one way to skin a cat. Be creative when it comes to potential obstacles. They often produce a result of equal or greater benefit.

Focus on the solutions to those challenges and the answers will come to you. Look at it this way, if you focused your vision on a bug on the windshield instead of where your car is going, you would eventually drive into a ditch. See through the challenges and focus on the goal. In overcoming, you have learned something that you can teach others and can also apply to other situations later. This may be the silver lining you are looking for. The point is that you solved the problem. Now move on down the road to your next milestone.

PROGRESS

It is important to measure your progress over meaningful periods of time. For example, if you were driving from Chicago to Los Angeles, you wouldn’t stop after an hour and ask, “Am I there yet?”

Meaningful change and growth takes time. Years in come cases. The point is that you will notice progress in the way you think and act and how you respond to other people, but it might not be overnight. At least four times a year evaluate your situation and see how far you have or have not come. Doing this on a regular basis will keep you on track and avoid any lengthy detours. As long as you are progressing toward your goal, you win, regardless of how long it takes you to get there. If you do not make it this time, there is always another day to try again. You only lose by quitting.

This is why milestones are so important; they give you tiny victories and empower you to go on. You can measure progress and feel that sense of accomplishment. Reward yourself for achieving tiny victories, small things that you have denied yourself as the price to be paid in order to win. And I do not mean having a double cheeseburger and fries with a Diet Coke as a reward for losing 5 pounds! It should be something that is meaningful to you and helps you move forward towards your goal.

Don’t confuse activity for accomplishment. Earl Nightingale, an early master of success teaching said, “Successful people are Dreamers who have found a Dream too exciting and too important to remain in the realm of fantasy; and who day by day, hour by hour, toil in the service of their Dream until they can touch it with their hands and see it with their eyes.”

SUMMARY

Look back. Acknowledge your triumphs and defeats. Learn from the mistakes and missteps. Drop any baggage that may be holding you back. Turn around, seize THIS day!

Face forward and set a new course. Set your goals, write them down, enlist a mentor to help you achieve them, allow yourself to change, stay focused, take action daily and this will be the best year of your life.

_______________

Adapted from his forthcoming book “The Road to Success is Always Under Construction”, Chris Summers President/CEO CRS Enterprises, travels nationally delivering his popular lectures on personal freedom and financial independence.

Christmas Stories

Davidson Loehr

December 24, 2000

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

There are so many stories about these days at the end of December, and this morning I would like to tell you just a few of them. Each of the three main stories I’ll tell you seems to embody a certain central word, and for each of those three words I will light a candle. Then later in the service, I’ll use the candles to light something else, as you’ll see.

1. The oldest Christmas story is thousands and thousands of years old. That long ago, people noticed that every year at this time, when the days have been getting shorter and the nights longer, the cycle reverses, the sun starts coming back, and the days start getting brighter and longer again. Today, we call this the winter solstice. It’s December 21st on our modern calendars. But in the ancient calendars it came four days later. So in the world of several thousand years ago, long before the man Jesus lived, December 25th was already a symbolic and famous date, the date of the winter solstice.

People didn’t call it the winter solstice, though. They spoke of things in terms of their gods and goddesses. And December 25th was the birthday of their sun-god. When you think about it, the winter solstice is the day the sun starts being born again, so by definition it is the birthday of all sun gods. There were many sun-gods; each culture had its own. For the Greeks, tomorrow was Apollo’s birthday, and they carved pictures of Apollo driving his chariot pulled by flying horses across the sky, and pulling the sun behind him.

Another religion, which was much more important for our own history, even though most people have now forgotten its name, was the religion of Mithraism. Mithra was also a sun god, and tomorrow would be his birthday. Mithra was called the Son of God. Shepherds followed a special star in the sky to find the place of his birth, and they brought gifts to him on his birthday, and taught that he was the Son of God, sent to save the world. Since he was a sun-god, the sacred day for this religion was Sunday. They also carved bas-reliefs of Mithra in a chariot, pulled across the sky by flying horses.

If this story sounds familiar it’s because back in the year 336, the Christian church adopted Mithra’s birthday, December 25th, as the official birthday of Jesus, and also adopted Sunday as the holy day of Christianity. Until then, Jesus didn’t have an official birthday, and Christians didn’t celebrate Sunday. In fact, Christian writers of the first three centuries used to brag about the fact that they had no holy days, which they regarded as purely pagan practices. All that changed in the early fourth century.

And as a footnote to complete a theme I’ve mentioned twice, around 1865, the Civil War cartoonist Thomas Nast created an important image that brought an ancient theme full circle. Nast was the man who first gave us the Republicans’ elephant and the Democrats’ donkey. He was also the man who drew the picture showing us that Santa Claus rode in a flying chariot pulled through the sky by flying animals on the eve of the ancient winter solstice.

The story of Christmas on December 25th really goes back many centuries before either the Christians or the Jews existed. It was a religion of great faith: a faith that nature is trustworthy, faith that life and light will always begin returning at this time of the year, and a faith that their God was there and that he cared for them. They used evergreens, holly, ivy, mistletoe, and lights as symbols of their faith. And we still use all of their ancient symbols, as signs of our own faith.

So the first candle we’ll light for this season is the candle of Faith.

(LIGHT CANDLE OF “FAITH” AND TURN IT AROUND SO THE NAME “FAITH” SHOWS.)

2. If you are Jewish, or if you have Jewish friends, they tell a different story about this time of the year, though it is similar, too. It is the story of Hanukah, which begins on the 25th day of the Jewish month Chislev, which corresponds to what we call the 25th day of our month December.

(Tell Hanukah story)

It is a story of faith, and it is also a story of hope: hope that these forces that make the world so predictable and comfortable for us will continue to be friendly to us. They called these forces Lord, or God. For the Jews, it was and is a story of faith and hope in their God.

And so on Hanukah, Jews light not one but eight candles to stand for the faith and hope they felt when their oil light, which had only enough oil to burn for one night, burned for eight days, until more oil arrived. It was the hope that the God who had cared for them would continue to do so, and the hope that they would continue to serve that God with their hearts, minds and souls. And so the second candle we light for this season is the candle of HOPE.

(LIGHT CANDLE OF “HOPE” AND TURN IT AROUND)

3. The third Christmas candle will come from the third Christmas story. It may be the one you know the best, it’s the Christian story about December 25th. It was written about fifty years after Jesus had died, more than eighty years after he had been born. But those who put the story together put it together from parts of much older stories.

– Like the god Mithra and the Greek god Dionysus, Jesus was also a son of God, with the power to save his followers.

– As in the older story of Mithra’s birth, men followed a special star to find the place of Jesus’ birth, and they brought gifts fit for a savior or a king.

– Like Dionysus, Jesus’ father was the most high god and his mother was a young woman.

– Later in life, Jesus would have twelve followers, as Mithras had. He would heal the sick and raise the dead as Asclepius had, and turn water into wine like Dionysus.

– Jesus and his twelve followers would have a Last Supper at Easter time, at which they would eat bread and drink wine that had been associated with his body and blood – just as the followers of Dionysus and Mithra had done for a long time.

Religion scholars who study the stories of Jesus and other ancient religions love to point out the similarities and borrowings, and there were a lot of them.

But there was a difference, too, that brings in our third Christmas candle. Jesus had faith, he trusted his God and he was not afraid of the world, like the believers in the religion of Mithraism. And Jesus taught hope, too. He hoped and believed that his God would keep being there and keep caring for everyone.

But for Jesus, the answer to the world’s real problems didn’t rest with the return of the sun, or waiting for a God to make things better. He said that the Kingdom of God – which meant the kind of world God wants us to have — was up to us to bring about. It was within us and among us, he said. And it would be here as soon as we learned how to love one another. When we could treat everybody else as our sister or brother, as a child of God, he said, this whole world will become like a kingdom of God. Because of all the powers on earth, the most powerful is the power of Love. Love can forgive us when we make mistakes, can embrace us as we struggle, sometimes fail. Love can love even the unloveable. And if you love your enemies, as he also taught, they’re not your enemies any longer. That’s a great power.

And so the third Christmas candle we light is the candle of Love.

(LIGHT “LOVE” CANDLE AND TURN IT AROUND).

Religious people have celebrated faith, hope and love forever, and they are important parts of this winter solstice or Christmas season. But they aren’t the whole story; they’re only part of what is going on inside of you this season. Because you know as well as I do that not all of the feelings you have are feelings of faith, hope or love. Part of living is that sometimes we are afraid, or sad, or we are filled with regret, which means that we are sorry we did some of the things we did, or we wish we had done some other things instead. And those feelings can make it harder for you to enjoy Christmas, or even to enjoy yourself, you know?

So besides faith, hope and love, you have some Fears at Christmas. (PICK UP “FEAR” PAPER AND SHOW IT). What are you afraid of at Christmas? Well, you’re afraid that the people you’ve given presents to might not like them. Think of all the times that you’ve said or thought to yourself “Oh, I hope he likes it!” or “Oh, I hope she likes it!” And this doesn’t stop when you grow up, either. You are always giving people things you hope they’ll like, and are always a little afraid that they might not like them.

Or you’re afraid you won’t get the presents you want. Or you’re afraid they won’t be “cool” presents so you can impress your classmates. Or maybe you’re afraid that if Santa Claus is making a list and checking it twice, and is gonna find out who’s been naughty and nice, that maybe he will find out that you haven’t been as nice as you might have been.

These fears are awful things, even though everybody has them, and even though you will have fears of one kind of another for the rest of your life. And they can make Christmas a lot less happy for you.

And so for this Christmas, I’m going to tell you a secret about how to get rid of your fears. You think of the things that you can count on, the things that give you hope. Spring will come again; the days will begin getting longer and warmer. You can count on your family, your friends. You can count on your church community. Your parents love you; your friends love you. God loves you – all the gods love you. There are a lot of things you really have faith in, and faith cuts fear like scissors cut paper. So think about the things you can count on, the faith you have. Then take your fears (LIFT THE PAPER WITH “FEARS” ON IT) and you just take them over to your FAITH, say “Begone, fears, and let Christmas come!” and touch them to it (TOUCH THE FLASH PAPER TO THE CANDLE FLAME)

Besides fears, you might have some sadness this Christmas. (PICK UP THE “SADNESS” PAPER AND SHOW IT). Someone you love or someone who loved you may have died this year, and you may be sad about that. Or you may have lost a pet, whether it was a cat, or a dog, or a hamster or a goldfish, and that’s sad, too. Or someone you love may be sick or hurt or far away. It is hard to enjoy Christmas when you’re sad.

And so for this Christmas, I’m going to tell you how to get rid of some of your sadness. Think of all the things that you are glad for, all the things that give you hope. The presents, the toys and clothes and cool games, the fun of swapping Christmas stories with the other kids in your classes. Think of all the things you have to look forward to, and see how that makes you feel less awful. Just gather together all of your sadness and take it over to your Hope, and you just let your hopes touch your Sadness and say “Begone, sadness, and let Christmas come!” (TOUCH THE FLASH PAPER TO THE “SADNESS” CANDLE)

Besides some fears and some sadness, you might also have some Regrets. (PICK UP THE “REGRETS” PAPER AND SHOW IT). In other words, you might wish you hadn’t done some of the things you did this past year, or you wish you had done some things that you should have done but didn’t. You could have been nicer to your parents — or to your kids. You could have worked harder in school, or in sports, you could have done more around the house, you could have played more and had more fun than you did. You could have done a lot of things that you didn’t do, and you wish you had.

Don’t think these feelings only come to kids. You’ll have them for the rest of your lives. Older people also look back and wish they had done a better job in their jobs, or with you, or a hundred other things. These regrets can get you down, and make it hard to feel like celebrating Christmas, if you let them.

But this year, you don’t have to let them. Because for this Christmas, I’m going to tell you how to get rid of some of your regrets. Instead of getting all sad about the things you wish you hadn’t done, or the things you wish you had done that you didn’t do, think of somebody you love. You know, they did some things wrong this year too, and you still love them. That’s a pretty good clue that they still love you, too. So this Christmas, gather up all of your regrets (PICK UP THE “REGRETS” PAPER) and you take them over to thoughts of people you love or people who love you. Then you say “Begone regrets, and let Christmas come!” (TOUCH THE FLASH PAPER TO THE ‘LOVE” CANDLE.)

These are tricks that work on Christmas or on any other day. But don’t just think about it, do it. Oh, it’s easy to make excuses and put it off. “I’d love to get back in touch with my faith, hope and love,” you may think, “but there’s just too much to do. Maybe next year.” So you put it off, this Christmas season comes and goes, and you’ll never be blessed by its magic at all.

There’s only one time to try all these things, to let your faith, your hope and your love burn away your fears, sadness and regrets. And that time is now! (HOLD UP THE “NOW” PIECE OF FLASH PAPER.)

So have a good Christmas now. Because if you wait too long, this moment, and this Christmas, will quickly disappear. (HOLD “NOW!” FLASH PAPER OVER A CANDLE.)

Merry Christmas!

No Room at the Inn

Davidson Loehr

December 17, 2000

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

Five months ago today I left St. Paul, Minnesota and began the two-day drive moving me to Austin. Though I’d been born in Tulsa, I had lived in the North for the past thirty years and I knew there would be some cultural adjustments here. Before I moved here, I was instructed by e-mail in the proper use of the word “y’all.” It was explained to me that “y’all” is singular, while the plural version is “all y’all.” After arriving, there were other new things to absorb, in addition to the heat. Like the armadillo races in Leukenbach, or the amazing number of pick-up trucks that aren’t hauling anything.

As Christmas decorations began going up, I was surprised – though no native Texans seem surprised – to see that Santa Claus had a Lone Star belt buckle, a cowboy hat, boots and spurs. And I don’t know whether this is a state-wide custom or not, but I was also surprised to see that some of the public Christmas decorations down in Gonzales included not only four or five Wise Men, Santa with boots and spurs and assorted farm animals, but also Popeye and Olive Oyl!

Besides the funny and fun differences, there are some other new traditions, coming mainly from the Hispanic communities. And of these, one of my favorites is this seasonal custom of La Posada.

Dawne Spinale, our interim DRE, told me about it when she came up with the idea of turning today’s coffee hour into an invitation for the adults to visit the religious education classrooms. Then I was moved, as I know many of you were, in learning of the La Posada enacted in town recently between Hispanic and black churches, where Hispanic Christians went from church to church seeking admission, only to be told there was no room for them, until the final church welcomed them in for hospitality and food. It was very moving for the participants, and for most of us who read about it.

It’s a whole different lens through which to see the Christmas season, and a profound one. I had never seen the old story of Mary and Joseph being told there was “no room at the Inn” as being more than a prelude to the tales of the stable, the animals, and the birth of Jesus in a manger.

They really weren’t asking for much. Just a place that would take them in, someplace where a child might be born. But there was no room at the Inn.

La Posada, though, brings out so much more. It takes the focus off of Christmas presents and makes us the gifts to one another, whether we choose to offer those gifts or not. We want somebody to see us as a fellow human being, just to say, “Of course there is room. After all, you’re just like me: alone, in need, vulnerable, and dependent on the compassion of others. Of course there is room.”

For me, this changes the whole Christmas story. Something sacred wants to be born. The opportunity presents itself, as it almost always does, in the plainest, simplest way. A couple anonymous people who don’t look like anything special will give birth to something holy, and the world has no room for it. Religious stories are seldom about kings and queens. The surprise is always that the highest comes out of the lowest, if that’s not too crudely put. The holy is within and among us, just as Jesus taught that the Kingdom of God was, and our abiding failure is the failure to recognize it.

Now if we could see these as sacred opportunities, there would always be room in our Inn. If these people dressed or looked like such important messengers should look, we’d be there for them. If they wore a crown, or came as movie stars or football quarterbacks or beauty queens – well then, of course there would be room at the Inn. But a couple simple-looking ragamuffins? Get away! Go sleep in the barn. This Inn isn’t for just anyone. It’s for the right kind of people, our kind of people. Go away.

This spirit of refusal has always been a part of us. It’s Scrooge, with his “Bah Humbug!” attitude. It’s the Grinch Who Stole Christmas. That’s what this spirit does, this “No-room-at-the-Inn,” Bah-Humbug spirit: it steals Christmas, turns it back into just another Monday. Something holy wants to be born and we won’t see it, so this spirit of refusal says “Sorry Mac, there’s no room at the Inn.”

It is a way of using what is or what has been to forbid what might be. That’s the sin involved here. It’s a way of keeping life small, forbidding its possibilities to grow beyond our habits. It’s ancient, much older than the Christmas story.

Something in us hates it when others might outgrow us, when they’re not like we are, not “our kind of people.” Churches do this too. In every church I have served, I’ve heard the same stories from visitors and newer members. They may not sound like they’re related to this La Posada story, but see if they don’t begin to feel familiar.

Newcomers to our churches usually arrive excited by this amazing range of possibilities, a religion for both head and heart, where no questions are forbidden. They have dozens of ideas for how we could spread this “good news” with the hundreds or thousands of others in the community that would love a place like this if only they knew about it. But when they say their ideas out loud, they feel that the old-timers just find reasons why they wouldn’t work, or want it studied by a committee for a year. New people come with excited ideas of what might be, and find them shut down by established habits of what has been. Looking at this from the outside, it feels like fear of change, fear of the new and different. Looking at it as an old-timer, it feels like protecting this institution you’ve loved and nurtured for so long. But if you’re an excited newcomer, it begins to feel like there’s no room at the Inn for the new life that is begging to be born.

So they go away: because, as they will tell you and as many of you have told me, they were never really invited in. There was no room at this Inn, so they left.

Nothing here is evil or awful; it’s just human nature. We get used to our people and our habits and we’re glad to see our people on Sunday, so we don’t notice there are lots of other people trying to find some room in this Inn, and not knowing how to get in. When they leave, they take with them the possibilities that might have been born here if they had stayed. There are starting to be more and more of them, they’re starting to wonder if there isn’t room for them here after all. It’s happening. And I think some new possibilities are beginning to be born. We’ll see, but I’m optimistic.

See how reality changes, depending on what kind of story you view it through? If you just see classic stories like the La Posada story as fables from a distant past, they’re not much help. But if you enter them, and let them enter you, they are a window onto our own lives, our own world. I just tried using the metaphor of people finding no room at the Inn to talk about the experience of many newcomers to many churches, including this one. But there are many more down-to-earth, more personal, examples of finding, or allowing, no room at the Inn. You can think of many as you let this subject settle in this week.

I’ll share just one story with you, a personal. I hadn’t thought of it as relating to the Christmas story at all until I learned about the La Posada tradition, but now I think it was a good example. It involved the last time I saw my grandfather, thirty-one years ago this month, just a few months before he died.

I hadn’t seen him in nine years. I had moved out of state, gone into the Army, gone to Germany and then Vietnam, then gone to Michigan to finish college. My brother called to say he didn’t think our grandfather would live much longer, so I decided to drive the four or five hundred miles to visit. He had always been such a sweet man.

I phoned information for Clarinda, Iowa, got his number, and called him. He was very happy to hear from me, and it would be “just fine” if I visited after Christmas. I called again a couple days before leaving, and he was still very happy to hear from me and it was still “just fine” if I visited.

A few miles outside of Clarinda, which is in the extreme southwest corner of Iowa, my car broke. I went up to the farmhouse, but the lady didn’t want to let me use her phone. Finally her husband came down, a big burly fellow, and she allowed that I might come in while he was there, but don’t go walking into other rooms.

The operator gave me the Ford garage, the only garage in town that would be open now. They towed my car in. I had a 1966 Datsun 1600 two-seater sports car, and I had some doubts that there would be a Datsun mechanic in Clarinda, Iowa. Once they got the car in the garage and popped the hood, it got better for a minute, as three big old farmer-mechanics in overalls all leaned over to look at the engine. I heard some positive, approving grunts. Then one of them looked up at me and said “Nice car. Did you make it?”

And I thought, ” I’m going to die here!” It was the alternator, they said. The alternator was broken. I know nothing about cars, and an alternator sounded like an exotic piece of equipment. My mind began replaying the worst scenes from old Alfred Hitchcock movies as I imagined how my end might come. Then they discovered that my little Japanese Datsun used a Delco alternator, which was made by Ford and which they had in stock! I accepted it as a miracle. They charged me a very fair price, gave me a donut, and told me where to find my grandfather’s house, just a few blocks away.

By the time I got there, it was about nine o’clock: cold, dark and windy, with blowing snow. I knocked at his door, and within just a few moments he came. When this dear old man opened the door, I was suddenly aware of two things, simultaneously.

The first was that he had no idea who I was. He was quite senile; his mind was almost completely gone. He didn’t even know he had grandsons, and he didn’t know me, though he thought my last name rang a bell, since it sounded like his.

I came to see my grandfather, and he opened the door to find a complete stranger, come from far away on a cold, dark, snowy night.

The second thing I noticed just as quickly was that, even while he had no idea who this strange young man on his porch was, he was opening the door as wide as he could, and welcoming me inside. There was room at this Inn, even for a strange young foreigner.

I stayed for two days, and in the few lucid moments he had, there were some warm and wonderful memories with this dear old man. His mind was mostly gone, but his heart was still working, and working well. I would have to introduce myself to him several times a day. Every time I would come out of one of his rooms and he would come out of another, he would be mildly shocked to find a stranger in his home and would say again “Well hello and welcome! And who may you be?” Every time I would tell him my name and let him know I was his grandson. And while he tried to react politely, I knew that for all but a few minutes he had absolutely no idea who I was.

I remember some of the stories he shared during his few lucid moments, stories from sixty-five years earlier, the story of how he had proposed to my grandmother, back in 1907, stories told in crisp and poignant detail, as though he were still there – which, in some ways, I guess he was.

Now when I think back on that strange visit of so long ago, I am transfixed by that image of him throwing his door wide open to invite into his home a total stranger on a cold dark night. I keep trying to remember the lines from the poem: “I was hungry and you fed me, I was alone and you took me in-” That’s not quite right, I can’t quite remember them.

But I do remember what it felt like the night I knocked at a stranger’s door and he took me in. I try to write a script for him as I replay the scene in my mind. I have him saying dramatic things like “There’s room at this Inn!” But the words aren’t right. They’re too phony, too contrived. He did it better, without any words. He just opened the door as wide as he could, welcomed me inside, saw my little suitcase, and showed me to a bedroom where I might sleep. I learned it was his bedroom; he had taken some blankets to the big sofa. But he wouldn’t hear of offering his young guest – whoever I was – anything but the best bed he had. I will remember that visit for as long as I live.

Well, that’s kind of how the Christmas story ends, too. Mary and Joseph were finally welcomed in, and something holy was born, something holy and memorable that had the power to save the world.

That part’s true. It can testify to it. Every time there is room at an Inn, every time we overcome fear with love, the stage has been set for another kind of manger scene where something holy can be born. And the attitudes, the spirits, the memories that are born of that encounter of finding that yes, there is room at the Inn and we will find you a nice bed – that attitude really can change the world. It changed mine. Even hearing about it second-hand in this story may bring a change into yours. Something happens to the one who, against all odds, was welcomed in by the stranger, something that will never be forgotten.

If only, somehow, this spirit could become contagious and others could catch it! That’s the kind of miracle that really might save the world. In fact, it’s the only miracle that could save the world.

From the Fringes to the Center?

Davidson Loehr

December 10, 2000

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

These are remarks in response to the book The Cultural Creatives: How Fifty Million People Are Changing the World by Paul Ray and Sherry Anderson. The good news is that a thirteen-year study of American society shows a huge and growing number of people – between 25 and 50 million whose guiding values sound a lot like the basic values of most people who happen to attend UU churches – who could be the next “silent majority” with the numbers and the creative power to change the direction of our society. The bad news is that, for decades, Unitarians have developed – some would say, “reveled in” – an identity at the fringes of American society. The power offered in this new group – which has not been self-identified yet – lies near the center, as a part of the larger society, rather than apart from it, as cultural liberals have so often been. Is this a challenge, and a calling, which we can, should, or even must meet?

PUPPET SHOW: “The Lone Ranger and the Posse”

STORY: The show begins with the Lone Ranger opposed to The Posse (four puppets). It’s a point of both pride and identity with the Long Ranger that there’s only one Lone Ranger, while The Posse is (just) a group, a herd. But then a second Lone Ranger appears, and then two more. They are all still clear that they are “The Looooooone Ranger,” but as there become two and four of them, they’re confused, and look at the other “Lone Rangers.” Finally, after four of them appear and they look at each other, they begin to move together, until finally it is clear, from their unison movement, that the Lone Rangers have become The Posse. (There needs to be some hat or mask or something that is easy to slip on a hand puppet and identifies them as Lone Rangers.)

NARRATOR: This is the story of the Lone Ranger

Lone Ranger puppet appears and cries, “I’m the Looooooooone Ranger!”

NARRATOR: – and The Posse.

Four puppets appear, moving together, like they’re riding horses. They go to the left (up and down together), then turn and go back to the right, then disappear.

NARRATOR: The Posse always had some friends with them –

The four puppets appear again, quickly go in formation to the left, then back to the right, then disappear.

NARRATOR: – the Lone Ranger was always alone.

Lone Ranger appears and cries, “I”m the Looooooooooone Ranger! The heck with The Posse!” Lone Ranger stays in sight during next line, and turns toward the Narrator’s voice during the following line:

NARRATOR: And sometimes, it was pretty lonely.

Lone Ranger: “I’m the Looonely Ranger!”

NARRATOR: But not The Posse-

The Posse appears and starts going together to the left as the Narrator continues.

NARRATOR: They were never lonely.

The Posse turns and goes back to the right, then disappears.

NARRATOR: But one day, something very unexpected happened. First, the Lone Ranger appeared –

Lone Ranger: “I’m the Looooooooone Ranger! The heck with The Posse!”

NARRATOR: – and then, out of nowhere, a second Lone Ranger appeared!

Second Lone Ranger appears on the right side: “I’m the Looooooone Ranger! The heck with The Posse!”

First Lone Ranger suddenly turns at the sound of the second Lone Ranger. The second Lone Ranger moves across stage, over to the first, and snuggles up against the first Lone Ranger. As the Lone Rangers are moving together, the Narrator continues:

NARRATOR: And just as they were getting used to there being two Lone Rang-ers –

Two more Lone Rangers appear on the right side of the stage.

NARRATOR: two more Lone Rangers appeared!

Two new Lone Rangers: “We’re the Loooooooone Rangers! The heck with The Posse!”

First two Lone Rangers, from the left side: “We’re the Loooooooone Rangers! The heck with The Posse!”

This is when the most important movement happens. The two sets of Lone Rangers sort of begin moving (maybe kind of up and down, like horseback rid-ers) and begin moving towards each other. Once all four are together, they are kind of moving independently, but begin moving more and more in synchronized movement – their movement needs to show the audience that they are becom-ing The Posse.

NARRATOR: But in spite of all their yelling, something had happened, and the Lone Rangers – all four of them – hadn’t even noticed it! Have you? Have you seen what’s happened?

The four Lone Rangers, who have been moving from the left side to the right side together like synchronized horseback riders, separate – two going to each side – then reach down behind the screen and bring up a big sign between them that says

“THE END”

SERMON: From the Fringes to the Center?

Something revolutionary has begun being born in the past forty years, and it’s arriving almost unnoticed. It is the birth of a new worldview, a fundamentally new way of understanding ourselves and our world. It is dramatically different from the two American worldviews which preceded it. I think it signals a cultural revolution already in progress, and still nearly invisible.

I want to talk with you this morning about three fundamentally different worldviews. One has been with us for centuries, one has been part of us for about the last 150 years. And the third one is really just about thirty years old – still a baby.

What is a “worldview”? What does that word mean? Your worldview is the content of everything you believe is real – God, the economy, technology, the planet, being moral or smart, conformist or rebellious. It includes your view of how things work, how you should work and play, your relationships with others, everything you value. (The Cultural Creatives, p. 17) Most of us change our worldview only once in a lifetime, if at all, because it changes virtually everything in our consciousness. (pp. 17-18)

That’s also why it is useful to group people by their worldviews. If you understand a person’s worldview, you can understand a lot about them. You’ll have a good idea how they will vote on a wide variety of issues, what kind of heroes and heroines they are likely to have, what kind of a life they admire, and what they think America and the world should be like.

I’m trying to do several things this morning. I may be biting off more than I can chew. I am reflecting on a very provocative book called The Cultural Creatives: How 50 Million People Are Changing the World (Paul H. Ray & Sherry Ruth Anderson [New York: Harmony Books, 2000]). I’m also trying to back off from the book far enough to find some very broad and clear patterns, and I’m trying to present these patterns in a way that will feel relevant to your lives. Finally, I’m trying to make this into a sermon, rather than just a book review. Only a fool would try to do this in thirty minutes. Let’s begin.

The three worldviews: Traditional, Modern, and Creative.

Traditionalists

The first, and oldest, American worldview might as well be called Traditionalism, because that’s what it sounds and feels like. Traditional Americans feel that the best American values were represented by images like John Wayne, Jimmy Stewart, Donna Reed or Doris Day. They look to global figures like Mother Theresa, Billy Graham, or Pope John Paul II as people of the right kind of moral values. Their hope for America is that it might, somehow, rediscover a romanticized, idealized version of the small-town and rural America of a hundred years ago, when life was simpler and people were, they believe, more responsible and moral. They love Rush Limbaugh and Dr. Laura, though him more than her.

They hate feminism. They hate the idea and fact of gay or lesbian rights. People are supposed to know their place. Men are supposed to be men and manly, women are supposed to be nurses, teachers, wives and mothers. Sex and passion of all kinds must be kept under control in all areas. Life isn’t complex if we’ll all just follow the rules. All the guidance you need to live by is contained in the Bible. And if people read their bibles more the world would be a much better place. Preserving civil liberties is nowhere near as important as restricting immoral or unpatriotic behavior. (pp. 31-32).

One quarter of American adults fall into this general category, about 48 million people. Those with strong religious feelings tend to be Catholics, Mormons, fundamentalists or evangelical Protestants. Many are African American or Hispanic American. About 70% of these Traditional people are religious conservatives who oppose abortion. They oppose it, however, for two main reasons that are seldom acknowledged. First, because it’s too much inappropriate independence for women. And second, because a woman’s right to an abortion is felt as a symbol of a whole immoral order that rejects the rule of men, the church, and “the way things are supposed to be.” But this group isn’t mainly about politics. It’s about beliefs, ways of living, a sense of the world’s order and their place in it.

You know these traditional-minded people. They’re in your family, as they are in mine and everyone else’s. Some of them love you dearly, as you love them, even though your beliefs drive each other crazy. We might think of them as “The Posse” – that big group that all moves together – but they’re really not. They were more numerous and powerful 150 years ago. But they have become the “moral minority,” and have no chance of being the vision of the future unless the country takes a turn toward fascism, which seems unlikely.

Modernists

The second worldview that has defined our society developed during the 19th century, and most of the 20th century. This worldview can be called the Modernism, and Modernists make up about half of the population. They believe that science, technology, and capitalism are the secrets of America’s success and the best hope of humanity.

Since they’re half the population, we all know lots of them, and know them well. We’re really living in their world. They value Success – and seem to spell it with a capital “S” – and making or having plenty of money, whether they actually have it or not. Bill Gates is the richest of them, and they think we should be in awe of rich people. They know that science, not religion, is really the answer to most of the questions we have. “Spirituality” is kind of a flaky concept. Our bodies are pretty much like machines, not temples. They don’t relate to John Wayne as much as they relate to Harrison Ford, Sean Connery, or Madonna. It’s not being traditional, obedient and moral that matters as much as being smart, aggressive and rich. These are the people who believe, and sometimes live, the American Dream. When Ronald Reagan was asked what he thought was the greatest thing about America, he said it’s a country where you can get rich. Half the population thinks that’s pretty solid.

You can see the Modernist worldview everywhere. Read Time magazine, the NY Times, the Wall Street Journal, Business Week, Forbes or USA Today, and you’ll be soaked in the official worldview of the Moderns. You know these people too, they’re part of us, they still run the country.

But see what a different world they live in than the Traditionalists! Science counts for more than religion. Being smart, independent and successful are more important than being faithful or moral. And religious notions like “the meek shall inherit the earth” or the poor will “get their reward in heaven” just seem foolish to them.

For most of us, society seems to be a battle between these two groups, the Traditionalists and Modernists. This is the battle between science and religion, or pro-life versus pro-choice. Jimmy Stewart or Jimmy Carter served proudly in the armed forces when they were called to, as Traditionalists should. Bill Clinton and George W. Bush did not, and avoiding the draft was seen as the smart thing to do. They really are two different worlds, two fundamentally different ways of understand what is good and right.

Creatives

But since about 1970, a new worldview has emerged. If the first worldview, the one from 150 to 200 years ago, is Traditional, and if the second one – the one soaked in science, technology, and the American Way – is Modern, the new worldview might be called Creative. It’s more concerned with trying to heal and mend, trying to become whole people in a whole world, than with taking sides. That’s very different!

Now: how to persuade you there is a new worldview and that you are probably up to your eyeballs in it? It’s kind of like trying to explain “water” to fish. Let me ask you about a dozen questions, and just mentally see how many you would answer Yes to. And as we’re going through them, feel how fundamentally different they sound than anything in the Traditionalist or Modernist world-views:

1. Do you love nature, and are you deeply concerned about protecting it?

2. Are things like global warming, the destruction of the rain forests, overpopulation, ecological irresponsibility and the widespread exploitation of people in poorer countries important to you, and would you like to see us take action to act more responsibly in these areas?

3. Would you be willing to pay a little more in taxes, or for your consumer goods, if you knew the money would go to clean up the environment and stop global warming?

4. Do you give a lot of importance to developing and maintaining your personal relationships?

5. Do you think it’s important to try and help other people develop their unique gifts?

6. Do you believe in equality for women at work, and more women leaders in business and politics?

7. Are concerns about violence and the abuse of women and children around the world important to you?

8. Do you think our politics and government spending should put more emphasis on children’s education and well-being, on rebuilding our neighborhoods and communities, and on creating an ecologically sustainable future?

9. Are you unhappy with both the left and the right in politics, and do you wish we could find a new way that’s not just in the “mushy middle”?

10. Would you like to be involved in creating a new and better way of life in our country?

11. Are you uncomfortable with all the emphasis in our culture on success and “making it,” on getting and spending, on wealth and luxury goods? Do you feel that it all misses the most important things in life?

12. Do you like people and places that are exotic and foreign, and like experiencing and learning about other ways of life? (p. xiv)

Now: how many people, what percent of the American adult population, do you think shares those values? Maybe two percent? Five percent? Those are the answers that researchers get when they ask this question. Very few, maybe five percent, maybe not that many. We’re the Lone Rangers, not The Posse.

But no, it’s about 26% of the adult American population who share those values. Since the 1960s, about fifty million people have changed, or been born into, this new worldview.

These figures don’t sound believable. When researchers began publishing them, a lot of Europeans didn’t even believe them. Three years ago, officials in the European Union decided to do a survey in each of their fifteen countries. In the fall of 1997, they found an even higher percentage – and between 80 and 90 million people — in their own cultures who had, almost unnoticed, somehow changed to (or been born into) a worldview that embraced all the values in those questions I just asked.

A very important piece of this new way of looking at the world is that it is a vision that is beginning to appeal to, and that works in, business. Where political liberals have spent decades bashing business in the name of ecological and other concerns, business leaders are beginning to discover that, ideology aside, it simply makes better business and earns more money to be ecologically responsible, to hire the best people available, and to create healthy and respectful working situations. I’ll tell you just one business story.

Ray Anderson, CEO of Interface, Inc., the largest commercial carpet firm in the world, read a book several years ago called The Ecology of Commerce and he had a kind of conversion experience. He turned his company, with manufacturing sites spread across four continents, into a business that not merely recycled its waste materials but returned to the Earth more than they took out. His people (in 110 countries) are reimagining and redesigning everything they do. And it pays. In the first five years, they invested $25 million in waste reduction and saved $122 million. By 1998, Ray Anderson was giving more than 100 speeches a year to business and environmental groups around the world. He wants to create “the next industrial revolution.” (11) Other large multinational companies – like Electrolux and Mitsubishi Electronics – have also begun changing their philosophy and their ways of doing business – again, not so much out of a notion of ideological purity as out of the simple and powerful realization that it makes more money to work smart.

We know where this new worldview came from. Its origins were in the civil rights movement, the movements for women’s rights, gay rights, the environmental movements and the anti-war movements of the 1950s – 1970s.

But while these different ways of thinking about nature, women, sexual identities, animals and the rest each began in a separate movement, they have now coalesced into this new Creative worldview. If you meet with the activists at Rainforest Action Network in San Francisco, for example, you’ll hear about more than rain forests. You’ll also hear them talk about feminism, gay liberation, so-cial justice, organic foods, spirituality, and people of the third world. All these issues are in the air they breathe. They’re imagining a whole new culture that’s trying to heal what has been divided and broken for so long. (p. 166) That’s the Creative worldview.

To Traditionalists, all of this just sounds like a weird bunch of people. They see the 1960s and 1970s as the birth of the Age of Narcissism and the loss of our moral center as a society. There is a lot of narcissistic personal behavior around to support the idea. But a better case can be made that we are actually far more morally aware and responsible today than we were forty years ago. I gave you a list of questions with which nearly all of you identified. Now here’s another list that we don’t think about often enough. It is a list of moral attitudes and behaviors that were normative forty years ago, but are nearly impossible to defend today:

White supremacy.

Discrimination against women in the legal system, colleges and the work-place.

Creating a hair-trigger risk of nuclear war, in which the amazing phrase “mutually assured destruction” was the main military strategy, ignoring the fact that it would kill billions of people or even all life on Earth in a nuclear winter.

The McCarthy-era suppression of civil liberties in the name of anti-Communism.

Expecting people to stay in stultifying, dead-end, or harmful jobs in the name of security or loyalty.

Expecting people to stay in stultifying, dead, or harmful marriages in the name of security or loyalty.

Expecting people to stay in churches and religions that are stultifying, dead, and lacking in spirit. Just this morning I saw a bumper sticker coming from this sort of feeling. It said “If going to church makes you a Christian, does going to the garage make you a car?”

Treating our souls, or psyches, as steeped in Original Sin, or as a sewer of unconscious drives, rather than being full of positive human potential. What an amazing revolution the “human potential movement” was, to define us as basically healthy rather than basically evil!

Gay and lesbian bashing.

Routine mistreatment of animals in research laboratories.

And subjects like drunkenness, old age, ethnicity, race or gender as the butt of comedians’ jokes.

All of these attitudes have deep moral dimensions. And in all these ways and many others, we are far more mature and responsible today than we were fifty years ago in the days of “Ozzie and Harriet.” Furthermore, the Lone Rangers from all these movements have now become the new Posse. There are more “Cultural Creatives” today than there ever were in the Moral Majority!

It is a huge movement, with far greater intellectual, political and economic power than it has yet realized – primarily, I think, because it isn’t aware of itself. For example: In 1998 and 1999, the top-selling movie video, The Lion King, was advertised and promoted everywhere. You couldn’t turn on the TV or go to a fast-food place without seeing posters, cups and gadgets promoting that block-buster movie. But it wasn’t the top-selling video of the time. The Lion King was outsold by an instructional video for yoga, which sold more than a million copies. In fact, among Amazon.com’s ten top-selling videotapes for those two years were two other yoga videotapes as well. (p. 328)

So what does all this mean? For one thing, it means that if you hunger for a deep change in your life that moves you in the direction of less stress, more health, lower consumption, more spirituality, more respect for the earth and the diversity within and among the species that inhabit her, you are not alone!

It’s funny, how new world views are born. During the Industrial Revolution, the image of the machine became the central image of Modernism: it still is. Our new worldview also has a powerful guiding image. And just as the picture of the machine wasn’t possible before the 19th century, so our new picture wasn’t possible until the late 1960s. Interestingly, both the picture and its power were almost prophetically predicted over twenty years earlier. In 1946, astronomer Fred Hoyle said that when the first picture of the Earth taken from space was shown, it would change the world. (p. 303)

The photos of earth taken from the moon are powerful signs of a new consciousness, a new picture of our interdependence, our interrelationships, a world without borders that is an organic whole. Those photographs of the blue-green earth floating in space are the baby pictures of a new worldview. Our first baby pictures.

As we approach the Christmas season, it’s a good time to think of things like baby pictures. Christmas is about the birth of something hopeful and lifegiving, something that might even save the world. We’re not the Lone Rangers any more. There are about fifty million of us; we’re The Posse. Extending the Christmas story metaphor, I wonder: What if we are the infant in this new manger? What if our mission is indeed to save the world, and our most sacred task is to get about the business of discovering, together, how to do it?

How To Become A Butterfly

Davidson Loehr

November 26, 2000

Sermon

The story of Psyche and Eros is among the oldest stories in human history, first passed on orally for centuries before it came to be written down. It is a complex story with many layers and turns. It would be easy to do six sermons on its many layers and levels. This morning, I want to consider just a few parts of it.

Psyche is a young woman who is seduced by, and falls in love with, a mysterious man whom she can meet only at night in a magical castle. While the nights are heavenly, his rules are that she may never see his face nor know his name.

Psyche’s jealous sisters convince her that such rules can only mean that her mystery lover is a horrible monster, and that her life may even be in danger. They advise her to take an oil lantern and a dagger, to light the light after he has gone to sleep, and when he is indeed revealed as a monster to use the dagger before it is too late.

So at their next meeting, Psyche follows the script. But when she lights her oil lantern, she discovers that her lover is no monster, but is instead the handsome god Eros, the god of divine love. Startled, she jerks the lantern, a drop of hot oil is spilled on Eros’ shoulder, and he awakens. Infuriated that Psyche has broken his rules, Eros vanishes, and in the morning the magical castle is gone as well, and Psyche is alone.

She seeks for Eros and finally, after many trials and with some divine intervention, finds him. This time, they meet in the daytime; they can see and know each other, and the love is more equal. As a reward, the gods of Olympus grant Psyche immortality. Even in this quick summary, you can see some of the many levels of psychological insight in this ancient myth. The core salvation stories of both Eastern and Western religions are contained within this ancient Greek myth. I want to back off and think about religion from a distance, then sort of approach it from several directions. But all directions will come back to that old story of Psyche and Eros — or to translate their names into English, the soul’s search for divine love.

It’s a funny story to think about people believing. But we’re funny animals. We will believe almost anything. And if you look at the range of things people actually believe, it looks like we do believe almost anything. When you listen to any one of us talk about what we believe, how we think life works, what we think it’s about, the stories tend to be well-rehearsed and dramatic. We’re often so serious about it, so sure.

But we always leave out the most important part of the picture, because our stories never seem to include the picture of us telling them. In other words, religious beliefs aren’t really about gods or angels or demons. That’s too simple. They’re really pictures of some person sitting there telling us these stories about gods or angels or demons. They’re stories we tell, and the stories always seem to revolve around our needs, our fears, our wishes. When you put the thinker back into the picture of the things we think, it changes the picture. When you back off, the whole show of people telling the stories of their religious beliefs looks more like a flea market, or a storyteller’s convention.

  • I hear a full-grown woman tell me she believes in God. I have no idea what she means by that, and she probably doesn’t either. She doesn’t believe there’s a Guy in the Sky, so she’s using the word “God” in a psychological or emotional way it would be hard to understand without knowing her fairly well. Still, the belief, whatever it means, is a deep part of her, and it gives her the “center” for her life.
  • Somebody else spins a yarn about how we all have guardian angels. But they know that no video camera would show anything but the person telling the story, with no angels ever in sight. So they are using that word “angel” in a creative way, too.
  • A man tells you he’s going to heaven when he dies, and will see his wife there, and he’s sitting there in his kitchen telling this story in a world without anything “up there,” where an “up there” doesn’t even exist, where his wife was cremated after she died, just as he’s planning to be. If you enter into his imaginative world, you can see where it might comfort him. But when you back off to put him back into the picture, it’s just another old man who wishes he weren’t so alone, wishes that we didn’t all have to die and disappear from memory, and who was once taught this imaginative story about living forever that he’s now telling to you. When we talk about going to heaven, or living again after we have died, we don’t mean to examine the belief for coherence. If I saw my grandfather in heaven, would he be a senile half-blind 84-year-old man like I remember him? If so, what kind of heaven would it be for him? Or would he be in his prime, a man of about forty or so, when he was happiest, and before I was born? Would we all be in our primes? Would heaven be filled with 35-40-year-olds? How would anyone recognize their parents, grandparents, children, grandchildren? Pictures of heaven aren’t meant to be examined this closely. A belief in heaven is a different kind of statement. It’s a story we’re spinning from our imaginations, a story for us to live in.The point of religious beliefs isn’t really their meaning. It’s a kind of comfort, safety, confidence, a feeling of being at home in a world that can be trusted, or that we have at least decided to trust. We’re spinning stories to live in the way spiders spin their webs. But it isn’t science. We’re creating imaginative, comforting worlds to live in.
  • And our faiths aren’t just religious. We even spin tales about our favorite sports team, how they — and we – are “Number One.” University of Texas fans flashed the “Number One” sign during their defeat of Texas A&M Friday, even though they knew there wasn’t a chance the team would be ranked that high. Even a team that isn’t ranked in the top 1000 gets its fans waving the “Number One” sign when they score. When you’re waving a flag or caught up in the emotions of a tight football or basketball game, it all feels so convincing. Then you back off and see the whole show, where there are thousands and thousands of people all selling these stories of how they are part of something that’s Number One – and again, the stories are about us, and something we’re seeking.
  • A young woman in love tells her friends this new guy is the most loving man, the handsomest dude, in the whole world. But when you stop just listening to the story, and back off to see her sitting there telling it with that excited, hopeful look on her face, you see that she has no intention of traveling the world to see if it’s really true. The story really isn’t about this guy at all. It’s about her hopeful yearning to be part of a relationship in which she feels cherished. And all those other stories aren’t about gods or nations or sports teams either: they’re about us, and our need to feel special, to feel that we’re part of something bigger and more enduring than just ourselves.It’s always about us. The real subject is all these storytellers. The real religious question isn’t about what we’re selling, but why we need to sell it.Some faiths we just inherited, loaded our hopes and fears onto, never questioned, and have carried with us ever since, the way some people used to put those little plastic statues on the dashboards of their cars. They couldn’t explain just how that plastic statue was going to protect them, but they felt safer with it there, and would feel a lot less safe if it weren’t there.

The things we believe cover an amazing range (From “What Does America Believe?” pp. 114ff in Dec 96 issue of “George” magazine):

  • 75% of Americans believe in life after death, though probably no one has any idea just how or where this would all take place.
  • 86% believe in Heaven, and most will still point up if asked where it is. But if they believe in it, they think there might be a place for them in it.
  • Only 38% believe in evolution, which means most people can’t find a place for themselves in that story, they don’t feel like it connects them with something they want to be connected with. It may be scientifically true, but it isn’t an interesting enough story to live in for more than about 38% of the people.
  • 78% believe in angels, some swear they’ve seen them, though nobody has ever caught one on a camera, so it sounds like the angels exist in their minds, not in the public space they share with others. But I’ll bet they think that if there are angels, the angels notice them.
  • And I don’t know how many people believe in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, Barney or the Tooth Fairy, because these polls seldom include children. But it’s easy to see that even as children, we create imaginary playmates and imaginary worlds that make us feel included and cared for.

The ancient Greeks used to say that their world was supported by the strongest of the gods, Atlas. We’ve all seen pictures of Atlas, holding up the modern earth. That’s what all of our special beliefs are like: that picture of Atlas, holding up the world. All of our deepest and most important beliefs are stories we tell ourselves because we really need to believe, as the ancient Greeks also did, that our world is being supported by something that is both strong, and friendly to us.

Psychologists say that such imaginative worlds show us projecting our own needs and thoughts outward like movie projectors, investing all these inanimate things with spirit that really all comes from us. Many scholars view our religions as successful imaginative projections of a positive spin onto an otherwise indifferent world. Then, in a “footnote” tone, they may add that these imaginative stories seem to let us live with verve and hope. There’s a line from Leonard Bernstein’s “Mass” that I’ve always liked. It comes when the priest is trying to conduct the Credo, and a street singer, sort of a hippie, comes up to argue with him. “I’ll believe in one god, I’ll believe in three,” sings the hippie: “I’ll believe in thirty, if they’ll believe in me.” He didn’t just want a God, he wanted an Atlas, something both strong and friendly.

Then religion is an act of the imagination, a creative response to life’s deepest urgings, the active attempt to make a home out of an otherwise indifferent world. We must make a home, we must make a home for us. But there is a catch to this. There is a price to pay, and it stops most people from growing up religiously. Growing up religiously is always heretical – it always involves growing beyond the boundaries of the beliefs we inherited. You can stay a child with inherited faiths, but growing up religiously means making those beliefs an integrated part of your adult worldview and your life.

Next spring, I’ll be teaching an eight-hour program here, on the Jesus Seminar, the findings of this critical scholarship, and some of the revolutionary implications of this new look at the man Jesus and the origins of the religion of Christianity. I’ll also be doing the week-end program in Wilmington, Delaware in the spring. I think it’s an important program, and have been doing it for several years. If you come to the Friday-Saturday program here, you’ll hear how the man Jesus taught that his version of the Kingdom of God simply required all people to treat one another with love and charity. There was nothing supernatural about it, no miraculous intervention by a God from above in Jesus’ notion. The Kingdom, as he said again and again, is already potentially here, it is within and among you. His disciples didn’t understand him, and Christianity, you could say, is founded on that misunderstanding.

These two levels of understanding religion, the natural and supernatural, have been with us forever. Most of you know the character of the Grand Inquisitor from Dostoevsky’s novel The Brothers Karamazov. That chapter shows the difference between spiritual children and spiritual grown-ups, and the terrible price that must be paid if we are to grow up religiously. As you may remember, the Grand Inquisitor is interviewing Jesus, who has returned during the Spanish Inquisition. He knows what Jesus tried to teach, but isn’t impressed. He says Jesus demanded too much of people, demanded that they grow up, and people don’t want to grow up. People just want magic, he says, and are eager to give away all their freedom to any church or charismatic leader who will promise to take care of them like children. That is the biggest single dividing line in religion, the line between the Narrow Path that prophets and sages like Jesus teach, and the Broad Path of magic and gods that too many churches offer. Finally, all “Kingdoms of God” must point beyond God.

This is the paradox of religion: growing up means letting go. Here, the Buddhists seem to see this much better than we Westerners do. “When is a man really grown up?” asks the student in one Buddhist saying. “When he no longer needs to be lied to,” is the teacher’s answer. “If you meet the Buddha on the road,” runs the title of one popular book on Buddhism from thirty years ago, “kill him.” As long as you are bowing, deferring to a teacher, a savior, or a god, you are fooling yourself. Because religion isn’ t about God, even when it seems to be. It’s about something else, something deeper, something older than the gods.

You notice that all the pictures of people telling their special stories look a lot alike. They’re all variations on a common theme, and that theme is older than the human race. Whether it’s the woman who’s found the most handsome and loving guy in the world, the man who wants to spend forever with his wife in a heaven above the sky, or even a kid wearing a football jersey with his favorite player’s number on it – these are all variations on the same story, a fundamental human story.

It is the story of life’s longing for itself, playing out once more through us. There’s a puppet show going on here, and our strings are being pulled by the same force, always invisible, always there.

Even modern science has produced a poetic myth for us to live in, and quite a nice one. According to current theory, everything in the universe, including us, was present at the Big Bang fifteen or so billion years ago. That means that each and every particle of us is made out of stardust, and that our home is in the cosmos; we are children of the universe. That’s a way of understanding that our deepest yearning has always been for a sense of reconnection with that infinite and eternal identity. That’s what religion is about.

The spirit that animates the religious search is that spirit of life’s longing for itself, trying to find a form that fits us yet is true to those deep yearnings that lie at the heart of existence. Or religion is like clothing, but it must be our clothing. What we inherit are always hand-me-downs, yesterday’s faith, second-hand religion, and we can never grow up until we have grown beyond them.

That’s one of the fundamental lessons of religion: Healthy religion is always equipping us to grow beyond it. It always begins by claiming authority, and asking us to defer to its authority, like the religion of the Grand Inquisitors. But if it’s an adequate religion, it must always end by helping us to reject its authority, find the necessary authority within ourselves, and grow toward becoming worthy of this spirit of life that, through us, is longing for itself.

It’s the story of Psyche’s search for Eros, too. Her search didn’t begin until Eros had left her. She broke the rules, and he left her, because while she needed love, she also needed to be known, and to know the one she loved. She didn’t want generic love, not even from a god. She wanted a love that knew her name, and could be known by her. It was during that search that she grew beyond her cocoon and her soul took flight. That’s part of the meaning of the end of the story: after her successful search, she was given immortality, and joined the gods. But to do that, she had to grow beyond her servile, obedient, unquestioning attitude toward the gods. And what she learned, in the end, was that she was one of them. When the soul has the courage and the vision to grow beyond its cocoon, it becomes immortal, to put it in that magical poetry of mythology. The Greek word “psyche” means “soul,” and this is the archetypal story of the soul’s search for divine love.

In ancient Greek, the word for “soul” (psyche) was also the same as the word for “butterfly.” In a way, that double meaning of the word “soul” contains the essence of the story about Psyche and Eros, the soul’s search for divine love, life’s longing for itself, the human search for our infinite and eternal home. Because butterflies can’t fly, aren’t recognizable as souls, until they’ve grown through and grown beyond their cocoon. Till then, they’re just caterpillars, and caterpillars can’t fly anywhere. The growth of our own souls also demands that we grow beyond the beliefs we were born into, and do that hard work of taking the meaning and purpose of our life into our own hands. It’s that same choice between the religion of Jesus and that of the Grand Inquisitor, between first-hand religion, which is always hard-won, and second-hand religion, which is the cocoon we are meant to outgrow when we grow up religiously.

Our goal is not a modern goal; it’s a very ancient one. All of modern society is after progress. But the religious goal isn’t progress but return, and reconnection with that infinite and eternal identity. In fact, that is the meaning of the word “religion” itself: reconnection.

We’re into poetry here. As T.S. Eliot put it, the end of all our searching is to arrive where we started, and know the place for the first time. This is the highest teaching of Hinduism, too. Each of us contains a small piece of the infinite and eternal creative powers of the universe, they say. That great universal and eternal power is called Brahman, our little piece of it, like our soul, is called atman, and the goal of growing up religiously is to realize that our atman is, in fact, Brahman, the way a teeny drop of water’s real identity is as part of the ocean. The Hindus teach this by pointing to everything, everything in the universe, and saying “That – art Thou.”

All these pictures and stories point “beyond God.” Yet the “beyond” doesn’t mean something in the future, something we’ve never yet experienced or known as a species. It points in the other direction: toward the ground of our being.

Many years ago I heard one of the world’s leading Buddhist teachers interviewed on the radio. Growing up religiously, he said, involved growing beyond the boundaries of your religion’s symbols. When he was asked what Westerners needed to do to grow up spiritually, he said the answer was easy: Western Christians, Jews and Muslims had to crucify Christ and God in order to grow up. “Christ” and “God” were only training wheels, he said, and we had mistaken them for a sacred vehicle.

Another Buddhist story makes this point:

A new arrival to the monastery reported for his initial meeting with the Master. He was agitated. “Why have you come here?” asked the Master.

“Oh, Master, I must know the Buddha!”

“The Buddha,” said the old one, “is the Mind.”

For several years, the young initiate used the Master’s short statement as a focus, a center, and a mantra as he explored everything he could find inside and outside of him that seemed to shed light on “the Buddha” and “the Mind.” Then he had a second meeting with the Master.

“Years ago, you told me the Buddha was the Mind. I have followed many paths to and from that wonderful statement, and have grown in many ways. But now I need more.”

“Very well. There is no Buddha, and there is no Mind.”

“But you said-” began the young one.

“When you came here, your baby was crying. To lull your baby to sleep, I gave you the first lesson. Now that your baby has stopped crying, you can grow up.”

There was a Buddhist version of the move Jesus made when he told people the Kingdom of God was within and among them, and nowhere else. It is life’s longing for its best self, through us, and it can only be found by growing through our cocoon and learning to fly.

It’s like that Psyche and Eros story again. It’s also like the difference between Eastern and Western religions. In Western religions, we can never aspire to becoming God. That’s blasphemy. The most we can ever hope for is to establish a relationship with God, and that relationship is always mediated, by priests, creeds, or churches. But such “relationships” always keep us in the dark, as Psyche was in the dark at first. And that isn’t our real longing. We long to find our identity with the sacred, with the gods: the atman merging with Brahman. Stardust. Thou art That.

Psyche began her story in the dark, too. She was blissful, but it was a kind of ignorant bliss, meeting a stranger in the night who she couldn’t know in the daytime. She only left her cocoon, only began her spiritual quest, when she lit that light and looked for herself. At first, she thought he was completely unlike her, for he was a god. Then her illusion vanished, and she lost her childish world of obedient love that won’t bear examination. But later, when they came at last to know one another as equals, her butterfly took flight and she at last saw they both were gods.

It’s true, you know: That art Thou, and Thou art God. We have within us all that is godlike, if we will just outgrow our protective cocoon and set it free. It’s true. But to see that, we must first be willing to light the light, leave the cocoon, become a butterfly, and finally discover our true identity and our true home — an identity, and a home, that has been waiting for us to discover it since the day we were born.

Choose Life

Davidson Loehr

November 19, 2000

One sentence in the Hebrew scriptures has always seemed to me the essence of religion: “I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse; therefore choose life, that you and your descendants may live” Deuteronomy 30:19. Yes, it’s from the same book filled with a whole slew of other advice on things for which mean, women and children must be stoned to death. Choosing wisdom from the Bible, as from any religious scripture, is always a matter of selective editing. But that line “I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse; therefore choose life” — it’s just superb. And, coincidentally, it’s at the heart of the Thanksgiving story.

SERMON: Choose Life

How do you know when it’s Thanksgiving? You might say that it’s Thanksgiving when the fourth Thursday of November rolls around, or when the big turkey is served, with stuffing, cranberry sauce, and pumpkin pie. But there has to be more to it than that: the fact that turkey is served on a Thursday is hardly a reason to declare a holiday.

You could say that, since Thanksgiving began as a harvest festival, and as such is thousands of years old in one form or another, that Thanksgiving comes when the harvest is in. But harvests don’t have the same importance in our lives that they once did. No matter how the crops are locally, you can drive to Central Market, where the harvest is always in. Most of us wouldn’t even know how to harvest, let alone how to plant.

But Thanksgiving is much more than a harvest festival. It isn’t about picking corn, it’s about choosing life. Consider the first Thanksgiving, in 1621, 379 years ago. In 1620, 102 Pilgrims arrived on the Mayflower and landed in Massachusetts. They had left England because they were not free to practice their religion. They went to Holland, where there was too much freedom for them. So like the story of Goldilocks and the three bears, they first found it too hot, then too cold, and they came here to try and create a society of their own where it might be just right.

They were a brave group, those Pilgrims. Their character was strong enough and their faith was strong enough that they would not be bent to the will of the others. But even more than this, they knew the cost of this freedom, and they were willing to pay it. They left in two boats, but one was not seaworthy, and so they returned and all came over in just one boat, the Mayflower. They were greeted, after a harrowing trip across the Atlantic, by a brutal and deadly Massachusetts winter. One hundred and two of them arrived here; by the following summer, only 55 were still alive. Nearly half of these brave Pilgrims died. That was the cost of their freedom.

Imagine this! 102 people leave their homes, say farewell to families and friends, say goodbye to a whole way of life, a whole world. They arrive as strangers in a strange land, and the land knows them not. It is cold, indifferent and deadly, and they spend a lonely and fearful winter freezing, starving, and dying. They bury nearly half of their number: one half of these Pilgrims buries the other half, and in the spring they plant crops and they hunt for food.

The crops are good. There is food here after all, there can be life here, coming from the fields and forest next to the graves of their loved ones who didn’t make it through that first winter. It was like all the tragedies of life, compressed into one year. And by late summer, when they could at last celebrate a good crop, half of those with whom they had hoped to celebrate were dead.

This was the background of the first Thanksgiving. Once it arrived, Thanksgiving lasted for three days. There was much eating, drinking, and merriment between the surviving Pilgrims and Chief Massasoit and his people. It was a thoroughly secular affair, a continuation of the British Harvest Home feast; and apparently it was a thoroughly joyous affair as well. The menu for the first Thanksgiving still sounds scrumptuous: they had venison stew cooked over an outdoor fire; spit-roasted wild turkeys stuffed with corn bread; oysters baked in their shells; sweet corn baked in its husks; and pumpkin baked in a bag and flavored with maple syrup. The food was served on large wooden serving platters, and all ate their fill. After dinner, according to legend, Chief Massasoit’s brother disappeared into the woods and returned with a bushel of popped popcorn, which the Pilgrims had never tasted before.1

These are the bare bones of the story of the first Thanksgiving. We don’t know many other details. It was the story of a small group of people who seemed to have both the character and the courage necessary to transform hell into heaven. They had been dealt a mixed hand. They chose their freedom, knowing full well the cost of it. And then they chose life.

I can’t help comparing these pictures of the Pilgrims from nearly four centuries ago with some of the mood in our own society today, and the comparisons are sobering. We don’t seem to bear suffering well today. We sometimes act as if life weren’t supposed to have any suffering in it at all.

One researcher has written that if you add up all the groups that consider themselves to be oppressed minorities their number adds up to 374 percent of the population of the United States.2 And we continue to create new categories of victims. A CBS report of a few years ago breathlessly revealed the existence of what they called “the hidden homeless” – defined as people living with their relatives. As a reporter for The Washington Post pointed out, “Once we called these situations ‘families‘ …”3 Where are all these “victims” coming from?

The National Council on Compulsive Gamblers claims that 20 million Americans are addicted to gambling. Estimates for addicted shoppers and addicted debtors are not clear, though both groups have formed support networks, claiming to be the innocent victims of a disease beyond their control. Dysfunction is a growth industry, but what are we growing?

During the past decade, for instance, young people were ten times as likely to be depressed as their parents and grandparents were at their age.4 Just a couple years ago, one-eighth of the children in New York City public schools – about 119,000 children – were classified as “handicapped” at a cost of hundreds of millions of dollars to the struggling school district: one quarter of New York’s school budget was devoted to special education. Something here is being “defined down.”

Codependency is another growth industry, and sometimes it’s pronouncements are just funny. The cofounder of Minnesota’s Children Are People organization said that you do not “have to be the son or daughter of an alcoholic to be a co-dependent. Any critical parent will do.”5 So the “adult child of alcoholics” has become, simply, the “adult child,” a sweeping classification that includes everyone who was in any way traumatized by their parents’ inevitable shortcomings. One leader of the codependency movement puts the number of “adult children” at more than 230 million – higher than the nation’s actual total adult population.6

Pop psychology author and television personality John Bradshaw made this endlessly injured “inner child” a household word. He insisted, for example, that as many as 96 percent of American families were dysfunctional in one way or another.7 Ninety-six percent! At some point, you have to ask: Compared to what? When 96% of the families can be described as flawed in this way, don’t you need to stop calling it “dysfunctional” and begin calling it “normal”?

Sometimes, it seems like “the National Anthem has become The Whine.”8

This past summer at our annual General Assembly there was an instance of this that is still memorable. Several Unitarian Universalist ministers were sitting in a restaurant complaining about — well, nearly everything. A waiter kept walking past their table, and each time he noticed the whining was getting worse. Finally he stopped and said “Say, folks: is anything all right?”

It’s easy to find things in life to complain about. But when we let it become a habit, it cripples our spirit. Every time I catch myself whining about how something in life doesn’t please me, I try to remember that life isn’t supposed to please me. That isn’t the deal. The deal is, we have been given this gift of life, and our fundamental spiritual challenge is to learn how to see that it is a gift, and to respond appropriately. And the appropriate response to a great gift is gratitude. A medieval theologian named Meister Eckhart once said that if the only prayer we ever said was “Thank You,” it would be enough. I think he was right.

Thanksgiving isn’t as much a holiday as it is an achievement — an achievement of character and of spirit.

This isn’t to say there aren’t some real victims in the world, or that they don’t need our compassion and help. There are, and they do. But ironically, they are likely to become the real victims of this “victim culture” mentality. For when the society gets burned out or angered over all the bogus “victims” vying for attention and funding, the backlash will cut off both compassion and funding for the real victims. I think that’s already happening, and it is tragic.

But it’s tragic at another level, too. It’s a failure of spirit, and of character. If life were always fair, if bad things never happened to good people, life would be no more nuanced than a cartoon and we wouldn’t need churches for much more than ice cream socials.

Sometimes, life is hard. Suffering is an inevitable part of it, as the great religious figures have been saying for thousands of years. Your stepdaughter and your daughter-in-law are both battling cancer. It isn’t fair, and it hurts. A friend and colleague, a chaplain who has given so much to so many, is killed at the age of 53 when an oncoming driver crosses over the line and hits him. It isn’t fair. It hurts.9

We can’t control that. What we can control, however, are our reactions to life’s suffering, and the quality of the causes for which we suffer. We are often being taught to whine for the slightest reason, to whimper and look for someone to blame at life’s tiniest inconvenience, as though the only life we would accept would be a perfect one, in which we were healthy, beautiful, popular, powerful and rich. In that scene, “thanksgiving” would be little more than an untextured narcissism. There’s more to us. And the depth of our religion, and our spirit, is often measured not by putting on a happy face, but by looking at life in its depth and complexity, its eternal mixture of the good and bad, luck and misfortune, and still finding compelling reason to give thanks.

So as a background and preparation for Thanksgiving this week, I want to suggest that you make a list of your losses this year, the shadows in your life. What have you lost? What has hurt that you haven’t known how to deal with?

  • Perhaps you lost a parent, a partner, a child, a friend, or even a beloved pet.
  • Or maybe love turned sour. You fell in love with the wrong person, or fell out of love with someone you thought you’d be with forever.
  • Your job isn’t satisfying, you think it may not be where you belong after all.
  • Or maybe an illusion died this year. Some comfortable old hope or faith faltered, and you felt disillusioned. The Buddhists may be right when they say it’s better to be disillusioned than to be illusioned — but it seldom feels that way when it happens.

Make your list of the shadows in your life. They aren’t evil, the shadows give your life much of its texture, like shadows show the texture in a photograph, a landscape, or a face.

Then, against this list, look at what still remains. There is still this amazing gift of life, unearned and there for the living. The sun comes up, a new day begins, and with it new possibilities. There is the bad, and there’s the good, and there is us, needing to choose.

An ancient writer who believed he was speaking for God once wrote lines that have been quoted a million times since: “I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse; therefore choose life, that you and your descendants may live.” (Deuteronomy 30:19, RSV)

“Choose life, that you and your descendants may live.” That’s how Thanksgiving started: with some Pilgrims who were thrown into the midst of life and death, blessing and curse, and who chose life.

The first Thanksgiving in this country was for people who had suffered horrible losses thousands of miles away from homes they would never see again. Then after just one year in their new home, 47 of them had died, and 55 had lived. The first Thanksgiving was for the faithful remnant of a faithful few. They were the American patron saints, in a way, of all who have suffered deep and tragic losses but refused to be beaten by them; of all who have been crippled by life but who still found a way to hold their heads high.

By all rights, all 102 of them should have been dead by spring. But they were not dead, and they proved it in a way that still beckons us by its courage, its audacity, and its sheer magnificence of spirit. After the harvest, in the midst of a field dotted with the markers of forty-seven graves, graves of forty-seven wives, husbands, mothers, fathers, sons and daughters — in the midst of this field, they invited over some new friends, they put on a feast, they shared their food, they said some prayers to honor the still-warm memory of those they had lost, and then they did a simple thing so powerful that it freed them from despair. They gave thanks. They gave thanks.

And so how do you know when it’s Thanksgiving time? Perhaps you know it’s time for Thanksgiving when you are finally able to give thanks for a terribly imperfect life in a terribly imperfect world because it is, after all, life, and life is still the greatest miracle we know. Maybe Thanksgiving is a holiday most appreciated by those who have been through a hell of a year, who have lost something of great value during the past year, and have somehow survived, and are at last able to rise above their losses and go on — and go on in a spirit of hope, of some tempered optimism, and of gratitude.

Thanksgiving, then, would be a kind of spiritual victory over life; a decision that, as the Pilgrims might have counted it, even though there may be 47 good reasons to give up on life, there are at least 55 equally good reasons not to give up on it, and to count our blessings as greater than our woes. And it would be a spiritual victory because the only way really to feel the fullness of life is to greet it as a wondrous gift, and to greet it with joy.

The ability to give thanks for this mixed bag of blessings and woes that we call life is the mark of people who have risen to a considerable spiritual height.

May we all, this Thanksgiving, strive to find again that more adequate and more honest attitude toward life: that attitude that overwhelms us with the sheer miracle of it all. May we lay aside our habits of complaining that the gift is not perfect long enough to recognize that the gift is miraculous, and short, and passing. And may we not let this gift pass us by this year without stopping to give thanks.

 


Endnotes

 

  1. The People’s Almanac #2 (New York: William Morrow & Co., Inc., 1978, p. 947)
  2. Christopher Sykes, A Nation of Victims: The Decay of American Character, pp. 12-13.
  3. Sykes, 13.
  4. Sykes, 13.
  5. Sykes, 140.
  6. Sykes, 141.
  7. Sykes, 142.
  8. Sykes, 15.
  9. During the segment of the worship service called “We Remember in Prayer” this morning, I mentioned a church member whose stepdaughter had just had mastectomy surgery and would soon be starting chemotherapy, and whose daughter-in-law had been receiving treatment for pancreatic cancer for several months. I also mentioned a local Episcopal priest and chaplain who had been killed in a head-on car accident this week.

Why do Soldier's Die?

Davidson Loehr

November 11, 2000

Whenever war breaks out, the media treats it as an unexpected tragedy. When we look for the causes of a war, we tend to look at superficial things — as though each new war is a unique problem rather than an enduring and predictable part of who we are. As a veteran of our most unpopular war (so far anyway), it’s always been important to me to help us recognize the causes of war as lying in a place much closer to home.

 

(PLOT: Set a scene, maybe on a playground. The kids have played a game during a field trip. They visited a zoo, and two groups were taken into an elephant’s cage, blindfolded. The first group was taken to feel the elephant’s ear. The second group was taken to feel the elephant’s tail. That’s all that either group got to touch of the elephant: the first group touched the ear, and the second group touched the tail. And they weren’t told what kind of animal it was. When they returned to school, the two groups got into an argument about what this thing was that they had all felt. The first group said, “It was broad and flat, like a giant leaf.” The second group said “No it wasn’t! It was long and thin, like a rope. It was nothing like a leaf at all!” Then the kids in the first group started saying that the kids in the second group must all be stupid if they thought a broad flat leaf felt like a long thin rope, and the kids in the second group said the first kids must be stupid, if they thought a long thin rope felt like a big leaf. Before they knew what was happening, a fight broke out. Meanwhile, the adult playground supervisors are standing by watching, but do nothing to stop it. They weren’t at the zoo, and have no idea what on earth the two groups of kids are talking about. But they say that the kids obviously feel strongly, and kids who feel strongly about something should be able to act on it. So the two groups are beating each other silly. Now the Smart Patrol — the kids in church — have arrived, and it is up to them to figure out what caused this fight, and how it should be stopped.)

RESPONSIVE READING: #518

Grandfather, Look at our brokenness.

We know that in all creation

Only the human family

Has strayed from the sacred Way.

We know that we are the ones

Who are divided.

And we are the ones

Who must come back together

To walk in the Sacred Way.

Grandfather, Sacred One,

Teach us love, compassion, and honor.

That we may heal the earth

And heal each other.

— from the Ojibway Indians

SERMON: Why Do Soldiers Die?

This is an awkward Sunday to be preaching. I began with a sermon on Veterans’ Day. It’s an important day to me, and I wanted to ask what there is in us that keeps leading to social, political and military fighting. I wanted to explore why our soldiers die.

Then the presidential election began to unfold last Tuesday, and five days later it is still not unfolded. Here too we are dividing into warring camps, often very self-righteous about our candidate and that other idiot.

People are confused and restless. We are such a deeply hierarchical species that the lack of a clear leader drives us to the borders of our rationality. But this dividing into social and political camps looks a lot like enlisting soldiers for a battle.

So I will try the unlikely, by combining thoughts on Veterans’ Day, why we fight, our current post-election confusion, who we are, and what we are called to do in the coming years.

It’s so ambitious; I count on your forgiveness when I fail. I’ll start and end with stories.

There was a poignant story about a WWII veteran on the front page of yesterday’s “Life & Arts” section of the Austin American-Statesman. It was about a Texas man, now 80, who had to leave the one true love of his life in France in 1941, never to see her again. It was many years before he learned that she had died a few months later. He served in the war, came home, had some marriages but no lasting loves, and still dwells in memories of 59 years ago. He’s written a script about it which he’s trying to get turned into a movie, and it would probably make a good one. We love stories of thwarted love set in wartime — it’s the plot of “Casablanca,” maybe the greatest of all romantic war films.

The combination of war and love is the most powerful in our history. In Greek mythology Ares, the god of war, was the favorite consort of Aphrodite, the goddess of love, and their liaisons produced three children, named Fear, Terror and Harmony. Neither of these gods was ever considered wise by the Greeks, though they were powerful. But Aphrodite’s loves were too local, too limited, and Ares was all rage, no reason.

They were like the “ear” and “tail” people in this morning’s children’s story. Like the other gods, Love and War represented partial passions, too incomplete to be enough. The Greeks had such good insight here. For when incomplete but passionate visions clash, they might produce Harmony. But it is far more likely they will yield Terror and Fear.

War is a kind of mirror held up to let us see some turbulent parts of ourselves. Or it is those turbulences, projected outward from our psyches onto the stage of the world. But every clash of partial visions and half-truths seems to be an example of the same rule, a rule so deeply a part of us we have probably never been without it. The rule is simple:

We must enlarge either the size of our visions or the size of our armies.

Like the playground fight in this morning’s Children’s Moment, wars mostly occur between ear-people and tail-people. Wars happen because we are trying to defend what is right and good against those who stand up for what is wrong and bad. And on the other side, wars exist because those others are trying to defend what is right and good against we people who stand for what is wrong and bad.

There are those few precious times when we are convinced a war was really about right vs. wrong. WWII was probably the only such war in the last century, though. Since then, our wars haven’t been such proud affairs.

When I say “war” I don’t mean only the fights between armies with guns. I mean all of the fierce confrontations between people who see different little pieces of reality, and fight in their name.

There’s an old story about this. One day the Devil’s messengers — who must be very busy — reported to him that some people on earth had discovered pieces of Truth. They wondered if the Devil didn’t see this as a threat. “No,” he laughed, “they’re only tiny pieces of the truth, too small for wisdom. They’ll turn those little pieces into orthodoxies, dogmas, and ideologies. Then they’ll form armies to fight for their little pieces of truth. That’s how I will take over the world!”

Why do we fight? If this is a scientific question, it’s an easy one. Like a million other species, we are territorial animals. We identify with our territory and defend it against all outside threats. We wave our flags and parade our armies like other animals bare their fangs and arch their backs. Remember that a dog barks at you from behind its fence for the same reason that its owner built the fence.

We have expanded our notion of territory to include conceptual territory. We defend our ideas with the same kinds of attack and defense strategies that we and other animals use to defend physical territory. A lion may kill another lion for infringing on his hunting territory or putting the moves on his mate, but he won’t kill another lion for holding the wrong religious or political beliefs. That extension of territory to include intellectual territory seems to be ours alone. That’s what I mean by calling most of our fights a game of ear-people against tail-people. But there’s a catch. When we are willing to fight and kill for our notions of right and truth, then unless we really know what’s right and true, we become foolish and dangerous. And history shows us that we always seem to identify the Truth with what we happen to believe. It would be amazingly lucky for us if we were right. So, since we can’t enlarge our understanding, our vision, we have to enlarge our armies.

It seems the world has always been run by the outcomes of wars between one set of special interests against another set of special interests, won b y the side with the largest army. Then the strong demand what they will and the weak grant what they must, and time rolls on to the next act, which is much like the last act.

One reason that the religious teachings of thousands of years ago still survive while almost all the scientific teachings from ancient times have been forgotten is that we have solved most of the scientific problems. But the problems addressed by the great religions — these problems are as much with us today as they ever were.

And the religious answers have a striking similarity. They often speak of seeking a “God’s-eye view” of the world, kind of like that photograph of the earth taken from the surface of the moon, where all the boundaries vanish and the world is whole again:

Live in harmony with the Tao, said Lao-Tzu twenty-five centuries ago. The Way is a balance of light and dark, aggressive and receptive, sunlight and shadow, everything is part of the whole, live in a way that honors the whole rather than the isolated parts.

Seek first the Kingdom of God, Jesus taught two thousand years ago. And that Kingdom of God, he was clear, was not something magical or supernatural, no matter what the religion that followed him has taught. Jesus’ Kingdom of God was simply a world in which we treated each other as brothers and sisters, children of God, and refused to accept any smaller or more local identity.

“We are all limbs of the body of humanity,” said the Roman Seneca. And the task of trying to grow into our fullest humanity is the task of trying to identify with the whole body, rather than just our parts of it.

Perhaps the oldest of these teachings is still the ancient Hindu story of the blind people and the elephant, from which I adapted this morning’s children’s story. The “elephant” is life, and none of us can ever see the whole of it. We just see the parts we can touch or experience: an ear, a tail, a leg or a trunk, and we think it must be the whole thing.

But religious teachings often get a kind of glassy-eyed unreality about them. We listen to them as part of the Sunday ritual, but there’s a disconnect from the real world. So rather than milking these religious teachings further, I want to share an example of this same kind of thinking that solves problems by transcending and including their different aspects, taken from the real world.

This isn’t just abstract or irrelevant. If our current election is resolved as it seems it will be, with Governor Bush becoming our next president, we will almost certainly have several very important and very emotionally loaded social issues to examine or re-examine, from abortion, affirmative action and individual rights to restructuring of our environmental and tax laws. We could use a model that has actually worked somewhere.

To find this model, I’ll move from the contentious subject of war to the equally complex issue of abortion. About fourteen years ago, a Harvard law professor named Mary Ann Glendon did a comparative study of around twenty industrialized cultures, including ours and about nineteen European cultures, comparing their policies on, among other things, abortion. Our country came out worst. We had done the least to resolve these issues, for reasons she found easy to show.

Her argument is a simple one. Thirty five years ago, all over the world, industrialized cultures began discussing some of the variables involved in this issue of unwanted pregnancies. The discussions came about because, all over the world, birth control pills and condoms became more widely available, and abortions became more openly discussed as options. These discussions were going on across societies, in many social circles, at many levels. Religious beliefs, beliefs in individual rights, in a woman’s responsibility to the unborn life she carried, in a society’s responsibility to care for unwanted children, in the things that a child needs in order to have a shot at the kind of life we want to give our newborns. All of these issues and more were being discussed in the countries of Europe, as they were just beginning to be discussed here in the early 1960s.

Yet in Europe, abortion issues have never reached the intensity and hatred that they have here, because Europeans continued the public discussion until they reached a consensus. In this country, our Supreme Court short-circuited the process of public discussion with its Roe v. Wade decision. It created a law before the society had finished debating the issues, and so the law never settled the deep differences and angers that still torment women at abortion clinics or help murder physicians who provide abortions. Because we wrote our law before we had found common ground, our society has often been divided into the rigid ideological clans of “pro-life” or “pro-choice” platforms. This is the structure of ear-people against tail-people that leads to wars. And this has been the American path.

In European countries, on the other hand, people continued the open discussions until much more substantial compromises were reached. Now, most European societies have laws stating that the most important single consideration must always be the sanctity of life. But that concern for the sanctity of life, they say, must be placed in a realistic understanding of the conditions of life: the social, economic and psychological situation of the pregnant woman, the probabilities of that unborn child’s finding the quality of life that we in society want for the future of our species, and so on.

The result has been that women in many European countries have access to abortion at least as liberal as ours. In Catholic Spain, for example, the government pays for legal abortions. Yet we don’t hear of “right-to-life” people declaring war, barring the doors of abortion clinics, or murdering Spanish doctors who are providing abortions, because they got what they wanted: the admission that life really is sacred, and that the sensitivity to the sacrality of life comes first, before a woman’s right to choose. It hasn’t restricted the choices much, it’s mostly dissolved them within a larger moral and ethical picture.

It has avoided wars and murders in many European countries, has resulted in lower rates of unwanted pregnancies, fewer abortions, higher adoption rates, and greater roles for societies in caring for unwanted children. So you think they must be doing something right!

I’ll take only one case to make the point, though there are many. The case happened in Catholic Spain. It involved a single women who wanted an abortion during her eighth month of pregnancy. Under Spanish law, as also under American law, this woman had to get the court’s permission for such an abortion. Initially, she had wanted to keep the baby. Though she was a single woman, was not planning to marry the baby’s father or receive any support from him, and though she only worked at about minimum wage, she felt that she had no right to deny life to this baby just because it was inconvenient for her.

However, late in her pregnancy she had amniocentesis performed, and discovered that the baby she was carrying was severely deformed, both physically and mentally. It would cost a lot of money and take a lot of energy to care for such a baby, and she told the court that she wasn’t capable of caring for such a child. Therefore, she wanted the court’s permission to have the abortion.

The court agreed. She obtained the abortion, and the government of Spain paid for it, as they pay for all legal abortions in Spain. But the court’s reasoning showed a deeper and broader vision of life, pregnancy, and responsibility than we hardly ever hear in this country. The court noted that even though Spanish law insisted on the sanctity of life, Spanish society had not put its money where its mouth was. Spanish society did not have the ability to provide care for such a baby. They lacked the social services, the financial support, and the educational and nursing services to provide any decent quality of life for such a child. And if the government was unable or unwilling to commit the money and the resources to caring for such a child, they said, then it would be brutally unfair for them expect a single woman to do so. Therefore, they granted the abortion. They hoped, however, that some day Spain would be able to provide services for such children so that they could grow to live useful and happy lives.

What I want to suggest to you is that Spain, like most European countries, has avoided the wars we fight over abortions here in our country, because they were able to develop a more mature and responsible understanding of the many issues involved in unwanted pregnancies.

Instead of building armies, they increased the size of their vision. And this borrowing from Spain points to the kind of solution that could also help avoid social incivility in many areas here at home.

I don’t think that liberals have enough wisdom to guide our society adequately today. Nor do conservatives. The view of an ear plus the view of a tail still don’t do much justice to an elephant.

If we react ideologically during the coming social changes, liberal and conservative camps will just circle their wagons and try to keep short-circuiting the process by getting our kinds of laws passed.

Our instincts will push us to react like territorial animals, to defend our position harder and help create the conditions of social hatred and violence. But we have a chance, during the coming social changes, to try a different path. It is a path I want to recommend, especially to liberals, and most especially to religious liberals.

Soldiers die for our failures of vision. They die mostly because we are like the ear- and tail-people, who make big armies because we don’t know how to make bigger visions. We don’t want to see that those on the other side of almost all complex and powerful issues are our moral equals, our intellectual equals, our brothers and sisters. We think we’re right, they’re wrong, and that the important problems of life can somehow really be as simple as that kind of cartoon. And as long as our visions remain too small, we will have to create bigger armies. And then it starts all over, the next act looking much like all the last acts. And in every generation, people will find all the old religious teachings about peace rather than war, and wonder why they are still so apt. I went through a few of those visions earlier, in their Taoist, Hindu, Christian and Stoic versions. You may know of more.

But whether it is the Kingdom of God, the Way, the whole elephant or the body of humanity, the same message comes to us through all the ages of humanity, and it is a message we need now as much as at any time in memory.

We are still coming through a frustrating presidential election. By almost all accounts, these two men were not exciting candidates; half of our citizens didn’t even bother to vote. We were frustrated with the choices, and no matter how it turns out, at least half the country will be frustrated with the results. If governor Bush is finally elected, there may be some significant changes in our society, and in many areas.

We will be sorely tempted to circle the wagons around our own ideology as we feel it assaulted by its opposite. We are primed to play, once again, the parts of ear-people and tail-people, gearing up for warfare against those others who, we feel, must be wrong if they disagree so strongly with us.

I hope you and I will resist the downward pull of stunted visions, and seek instead to expand the horizons of discussion and debate:

  • On the subject of abortion rights versus rights to life, I hope we can work to frame the issue, instead, under the larger umbrella of how we can treat all these questions as moral issues whose roots go into the sanctity of life, as several European countries already have.
  • On the important issue of individual rights versus individual responsibilities, I hope we can insist that the two concerns be linked together, for neither one alone is sufficient.
  • On economic issues, I hope we can also find and articulate the bigger umbrella. There will always be inequalities in income and opportunity because there will always be inequalities between people. Greater gifts deserve, and will anyway get, greater rewards. But our laws and economic structures must be used to encourage and reward gifts and character wherever they are found, not merely wealth and privilege.
  • On issues of religion and education, I hope we can see past the separation of church and state far enough to realize that we must find a place in public education for the deeper questions of ethics, morality, and responsible living which have always been held as primary by the best religions.

And in all the other divisive issues which beg us to become small soldiers for limited visions, I hope we will resist. We come to, and from, the First Unitarian Universalist Church of Austin. We are the bearers of a proud, bright, deep religious tradition that has inspired the likes of Thomas Jefferson, Henry David Thoreau, Ralph Waldo Emerson and others, including you.

We are meant to be among the intellectual and moral leaders of our community and our world. It is our gift and our calling. I believe it is our duty. In all these areas and more, rather than enlarging our armies let us enlarge our visions. We can serve our exclusive territories or our inclusive humanity. We can define ourselves by our divisive differences, or by our inclusive commonalities. Let it be the latter.

There is an old Buddhist story that is on point here. A fierce soldier approached the Buddha, brandishing his long sharp sword. “I am a mighty warrior and I am going to kill you!” he shouted. “Well then,” replied the Buddha, “with that much power, you ought to grant me two final wishes.” “Very well,” bellowed the warrior, “but make it quick!” The Buddha pointed to a sapling tree nearby and said “Cut off a small branch from that tree.” With one stroke of his sword, the deed was done, and the warrior handed the severed branch to the Buddha. “And now?” he roared. The Buddha handed the little branch to the warrior and pointed to the tree: “Now make it whole again.”

It is reported that the warrior experienced enlightenment at that moment, and spent the remainder of his days working to heal rather than destroy, to make whole rather than cutting apart.

My friends, let us aspire to the same.

Spooks from the Depths

Davidson Loehr

October 29, 2000

Halloween is a holiday that comes to us in costume. It wears a mask, covering a much older, and much different, message. That older message is also deeper, and more valuable. But to find it, we must first unmask Halloween. And after we unmask Halloween, we will find some ancient symbols, parts of a very old myth, and some parts of ourselves.

 

SERMON: Spooks from the Depths

Halloween comes to us in costume. It wears a mask, covering a much older, and much different, mask. Under that mask, still another mask. And after we unmask Halloween, we will find some spooks from the depths of ourselves and our world. Since you have a lay service next Sunday that will also be dealing with symbols and myths connected to the concept of the Goddess, I’ve decided to take a slightly different approach here, using less myth and more history and social commentary, so you don’t get over-mythed.

Let’s start with recent history. In 1967, by Lyndon Johnson’s presidential decree, Halloween officially became UNICEF day, when little children, dressed as make-believe goblins, frighten you into making the sacrifice of some spare change.

Going back another century, Halloween first became a national event here after more than a million people from Ireland emigrated to the US after the Irish potato famine of 1848. At that time it was the adults rather than the children who dressed up in costumes, pretending to be all kinds of evil spirits and other supernatural beings. They visited homes where friends made offerings of food and drink to them. So it was partly a creative way to party. But that too was a caricature, a cartoon. Halloween itself is a kind of mask put on over something much older, more primitive, more powerful, and perhaps more healing.

The Christian church invented Halloween and All Saints Day in the 9th century, then added All Souls Day a century later. They were invented to “cover” an ancient Celtic festival known as Samhain (“Sow-en”), just as Christmas was moved to December 25th in the year 336 to “cover” the birthday of the solar deity Mithra, and Easter is a Christian “cover” over older festivals celebrating the vernal equinox. Our November first was the Celtic first day of winter, and first day of their new year. So Samhain was to the Celts something like Rosh Hashanah is to the Jews-a day of reckoning, a day of atonement.

Above all, Samhain was a time when the barriers between the human and supernatural worlds were broken – or as we might put it today, the barriers between the conscious and unconscious levels of our awareness. They believed that the whole spectrum of nonhuman forces roamed the earth to take revenge for human violations of sacred duties. To bribe the gods – always our first impulse, it seems – they offered animal and sometimes human sacrifices. So this beginning of the new year was a terrifying time of year in the old days. It is not surprising that they needed some relief from it. I would not be surprised if the custom of dressing up like goblins and bad spirits went back to the beginning.

This is such fantastic talk! Gods, demons, goblins. When we hear things put in such otherworldly, supernatural ways, we can be pretty sure we’re talking about something terribly primitive, something that has probably been part of our human psyches since we’ve had human psyches.

This business of supernatural powers and unseen forces sounds a little spooky nowadays. Most of us don’t like to think of invisible forces that direct our lives. But they are still present, still pulling our strings, and are often still fearful, though there isn’t anything otherworldly about them.

Let’s go to a different level of history to find a metaphor for exploring this subject of Halloween. Five or six centuries ago, before the Spanish and the English began sailing around the world, world maps looked very different than they do today. One of the most interesting things about those old maps is that in the unexplored areas, the mapmakers used to print “There be monsters here.” Once we had explored and incorporated the rest of the world into our maps, the monsters disappeared. But when those spaces were still unknown, we thought they must be filled with monsters, because we tend to think that everything unknown to us might be filled with monsters — as most of our science fiction movies still show.

Like unfinished maps, incomplete selves and uninformed worldviews are havens for the monsters of our imaginations. The unknown is usually fearful. To defend against it, we create tyrannies of partial visions, walls of our comfortable biases, to protect us from the monsters that always seem to lie just beyond the limits of the familiar. In that way, we’re still like the medieval mapmakers and sailors.

And Halloween, or Samhaim, is one of those special times of the year that open the door, that offer us another chance to incorporate the unknown, to dig deeper into ourselves and make our worlds bigger. When we can assimilate the unknown into ourselves, the monsters disappear. What we cannot assimilate haunts us like goblins and demons.

Another way of saying this is that life’s deepest problems can’t be solved; they have to be dissolved, by enlarging our maps, by incorporating the things that we fear. The solution of the world can’t be found on the surface. It’s not simple. It has to be complexified before it has enough nuance, enough room, to spread out the full-sized map and begin filling it in.

But we don’t tend to do this, do we? We tend to stick to a kind of comic-book simplicity. Our heroes are big bulky physical characters: big bodies, thin characters. Rambo was an angry adolescent who never did grow up. Professional boxing matches get millions of viewers at $50 each on pay-per-view television to watch a few exciting minutes of two guys beating each other senseless. Wrestling matches also earn big bucks, and feature cartoon-like characters with huge bodies and cave-man actions.

Preachers often seem to describe God as though he were just like a bigger version of Arnold Schwarzenneger, powerful and fearful, interested in obedience rather than in our ability to make subtle grown-up distinctions about morality and ethics. That does poor service to the concept of God! Movie superheroes, wrestling champions and even the sense of the heroic have become like brute versions of a social Darwinism, a kind of survival of the biggest and meanest.

Our heroes have become as simplistic as masked Halloween characters, and this simpleness does not serve us well. Religions have not helped this picture much, too often defining people’s refusal to believe in unbelievable gods as faithlessness. But that’s wrong. For the worst form of faithlessness is the fear that the truth will be bad. The worst kind of faithlessness is the belief that there be monsters here, when what there is instead is our failure to see, to understand, to assimilate the nuances of difference into ourselves and our world.

Sometimes I look at our world as a kind of masked ball. Or like playing ostrich, refusing to see beyond very simplistic terms, shrinking our world, and turning it into a fantastic video game between heroes and monsters, winners and losers.

Ostriches hide their heads in the sand, perhaps out of fear, perhaps out of denial. But when they do, they are vulnerable to everything they can’t see, and so are we. The “trick or treat” game of Halloween is like this too. The game was played most directly, perhaps by the Irish adults of 150 years ago. Their trick-or-treating was saying “Reward our masked, phony role or we’ll do terrible things.” This is the message of hate-groups, too, who are also playing masked roles. When a group like the KKK throws its costumed tantrums, it is saying “Support our rage, our non-integrated rage, or we’ll strike out at you.”

When we’re wearing the masks, we easily become the roles, and think that our simple certainties are letting us see more clearly. Really the masks are blinders, narrowing our field of vision, burying our heads deeper in the sand. And then everywhere we cast shadows by blocking the light, something deep inside of us whispers “There be monsters here!” But the monsters are the parts of ourselves and our world that we haven’t learned how to incorporate, how to include on our map. The monsters are not external dangers, but internal failures of integration.

There is a rule in religion, and the rule seems to be that either our world must get bigger, or our defenses must, to protect against the imagined monsters.

I’ll give you some examples of how we draw lines and create monsters to defend a world that is too small.

A few weeks ago I spoke about what I have called “the dark god of capitalism.” I tried to persuade you that putting profits ahead of people has unavoidable, and terrible, consequences. If we are measured by our financial success, if that’s a measure of our worth as people, then financial failure is a personal and moral failure. The poor people, the losers, are no longer our brothers and sisters, but failures, almost like India’s caste of Untouchables. Then we draw lines on our maps to keep them away. They vanish from TV commercials; they’ve almost vanished from TV and media coverage completely.

Not all the lines we draw are invisible. Some are built of reinforced concrete. In Austin, I-35 is one of those lines. We all know what it means to refer to “east of I-35” or “west of I-35.” There be monsters east of I-35 because we don’t know how to incorporate them into our world.

The more people there are without a realistic chance of making a decent living, the more people make indecent livings, and the more people we put into our growing number of prisons. There be monsters there, too: growing numbers of them.

Other unassimilated people may not be considered monsters, but they rarely appear on our maps. The more than 16% of children in Austin living below the poverty line; the roughly 40 million Americans without health insurance, the child mortality rate, the highest in the developed world, the so-called “working poor” who have jobs but are homeless because they can’t afford houses.

These are among the areas of our society that don’t make it onto our maps, that we don’t know how to incorporate into the body politic. We don’t know how to think of them, or treat them, as brothers and sisters, children of God, so we call them other things: the poor, the disadvantaged, the homeless, prisoners, outcasts, and sometimes monsters. And still the number of people from whom we distance ourselves, and of whom we are afraid, continues to grow, and we don’t see that our whole society is playing a masked role that is not worthy of us. Ostriches.

Our masks, are our blinders. They reduce the size of our world, draw the lines between our kind of people and those other kinds of people. Once the map is complete, it’s like a vicious circle of self-fulfilling prophecies.

Could it be different? Is it naive and foolish to hope for a change as fundamental as enlarging our world? Am I just spouting ignorant and childish preacher-talk? I don’t think so. I don’t think it’s either naive or foolish. We have done it many times in many ways, we just don’t seem to be doing it as well lately. 135 years ago black people were freed from slavery. Just over eighty years ago women were given the right to vote. Less than fifty years ago our public schools were ordered integrated, and less than forty years ago it happened in Texas, the last state to integrate its public schools. During the past thirty or forty years we have seen huge increases in the numbers of women graduating from colleges, law schools, medical schools. Women have gone into space, been nominated for Vice President, become presidents of prestigious schools. I think that the University of Chicago was the first such school to hire a woman as president. She had wanted the job at Yale, the university where she taught, but they would not hire a woman president. I served on a committee with president Hanna Gray at Chicago, and remember thinking on several occasions how foolish Yale University had been to lose such a woman.

The range of acceptable sexual identities has expanded within our memories, in ways no one would have imagined possible fifty years ago. And while some church leaders may still try to restrict options, the fact is that we are now beginning to accept as natural an immense range of religious options and styles. I will be offering one of the prayers at an ecumenical Thanksgiving service next month in which at least eight major religions are represented. This couldn’t have happened during the good old days of Ozzie and Harriet.

In all these ways — and in more ways that you can think of as well — we have enlarged ourselves, our maps, and our world. And with each enlargement, each new incorporation, more monsters vanish, and are replaced by fellow citizens, brothers and sisters. Don’t think we can’t change, don’t think we can’t become more whole, more inclusive, more noble. It’s a realistic hope. We’ve been doing it, and while we still have far to go, some of the strides we have taken seem gigantic.

Each time, in order to grow, we have to confront some more of our individual and societal biases, fears, bigotries. Each time, we must take off another mask. Each step of growth involves incorporating more former outsiders into the organism of the body politic, and expanding the membership of the human family. Each time we do it, we are reaching out to another group of people and saying “We welcome you. You are one of us.” Powerful, magical words.

It’s not hard to make monsters vanish. Sunlight kills mildew, and it does a good job on our demons and goblins too. But first, it takes being aware of them, and it takes the courage to confront them.

In the movie “The Wizard of Oz,” the monster is dissolved in an unusual way. The wicked witch of the West is finally destroyed — dissolved — when a determined girl throws water on her, and she melts. You know, I don’t think it was water that did it. I think the water was just stage business. What dissolved the witch was a girl having the courage to confront her face to face, without blinking. It took a girl who was not afraid of anything. The trick looks like outward magic. But it isn’t magic, it’s growing up.

Ambrose Pierce, in his Devil’s Dictionary, defines a ghost as “The outward and visible sign of an inward fear.” One lesson of Halloween is that all of our ghosts are outward and visible signs of our inward fears. Other lessons of Halloween are that ghosts vanish when enough light is shined upon them, and that fears, once faced, can be transformed into possibilities. On second thought, maybe that’s magic after all.