Religion is Like an Airplane

© Davidson Loehr

5 September 2004

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

Prayer

One of the most famous short prayers is ‘Lord, I believe – help my unbelief!’

That prayer speaks for more of us more of the time than we may like to admit. We do believe. We believe most of the important and necessary things: that life is good, people are fair and honest, and we matter. But when you listen to the news, or any political attack ads, it’s so easy to disbelieve.

We believe we are good people with a lot to offer. But let a relationship go sour or a close friend drift away, and how quickly unbelief comes. We trust in a basic humanity and compassion in everyone ‘ then we hear about the slaughters in the Russian school this week, and we wonder.

We think we’re smart enough for life, until someone calls us stupid. We remember that remark for years, even decades, and during our dark moments it makes us wonder.

We’ve got a good education and a good job where we know we are making an important contribution. We feel confident and secure – until we are laid off. Then Lord, I believe, but help my unbelief!

We have our guiding values and beliefs tied securely to our will and purpose, we have no serious doubts about them. Then something happens that our answers don’t fit, and again we doubt.

In a hundred ways, the old prayer is our prayer: Lord, I believe – but help my unbelief!

Sometimes we just need to remember some very basic things that we already believe; need to be assured they are really true, and that the most important ground beneath our feet is solid, rather than shifting.

So let us remember:

— Life is a gift, and it is good.

— We are precious parts of life, and the world needs the compassion and generosity of spirit we have to offer.

— We are never condemned by our mistakes. We’re not supposed to be perfect; we’re supposed to be more fully human. We’re supposed to be alive, aware, courageous and compassionate toward ourselves and others.

We believe these things. We know them to be true. But not always.

So if we would make life harder by trying to play God, let us at least try to play a God of love, understanding and forgiveness, rather than a mean little deity of anger and blame.

And let us always remember – in the words of another of history’s most famous short prayers – that all will be well, all will be well, all will be well.

Amen.

SERMON: Religion is like an airplane

Oh, there are lots of ways that religion is like an airplane. We’ve got an aisle and a choice of sitting beside or away from a window. We both have people making announcements before we start; once in awhile there’s food, though ours is better. Airplane passengers get a little bag of nuts, and churches usually have a few of those, too, on both sides of the pulpit. You generally trust the pilot to take you up and bring you down safely, though once in a while pilots crash, and so do preachers.

You have to leave a lot of your baggage behind when you fly. And you can’t bring some of your old baggage on spiritual journeys, either. Some churches even offer the theological equivalent of Frequent Flyer Miles, where those who attend regularly feel more sure they’ll get a free flight to the universe’s best vacation spot after they die. And like an airplane, we use religion to get someplace we weren’t before the trip, someplace higher, with a better view of life and everything ‘ though some religions, like some airplanes, don’t fly very high and the views aren’t always good.

And a sermon is like an airplane ride too: sometimes both of them seem to taxi around so long you wonder if they’ll ever take off. So let’s get up a little higher, and look at some other ways that religion is like an airplane.

Higher, more inclusive visions

An airplane ride can give us a broad, wide, inclusive view of things we just can’t get from the ground. And when religion is working, it too is about giving us a broad and inclusive view of ourselves, life and everything else. At its best, it is a vision of life reunited with its own depth and integrity. I’m not talking about religion in a narrow sense here; I’m talking about religion in a very broad sense. And some of the best insights are really quite spectacular in their simplicity, and their ability to see right to the heart of life itself.

– In the Old Testament, the ancient Hebrew sages wrote that all the commandments can be summed up in just two: Love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul, and love your neighbor as yourself. Love what is most high, most holy, most life-giving, with everything in you, and when you look at your neighbor, see yourself, and love accordingly. Spectacular!

– Jesus of Nazareth taught a Kingdom of God that’s still beyond apparent human achievement, but still dazzling in its simplicity. It isn’t anything supernatural, he said: it isn’t coming, isn’t something in the future. It’s potentially already here, within and among us, spread out on the earth. And it’s a simple thing. The Kingdom of God is the state of the world when we all learn to treat each other like brothers and sisters, like fellow children of God. Period. Amen. End of sermon, end of religion. I don’t know how it could be defined any better.

– The Hindus – who do ‘cosmic’ better than anyone – take their advanced students by the hand, and take them up in their Hindu version of the airplane. They point to everything that is, everything in the whole universe: all the dynamic forces that create, sustain and destroy the universe. Everything. Then they look at the student, point out to eternity and infinity, and they say ‘That art Thou.’ A whole graduate religious education in just three words.

– The great Chinese sage Lao Tsu lived five centuries before Jesus, and he really soared! There are so many treasures in the Tao te Ching it’s hard to choose: ounce for ounce, I think it’s the wisest book ever written. But one favorite would be his saying ‘What is a good man but a bad man’s teacher? What is a bad man but a good man’s job? If you don’t understand this, you will get lost, however intelligent you are. It is the great secret.’ Neither religion nor ethics get much better than that. That’s flying! These are simple, true, insights we almost never hear on the daily news or in schools, and they’re among the most important our species has ever produced.

– The Buddha told us – in his good-news/bad-news message – that both our comforts and our fears come from our own illusions, and that real freedom is growing beyond the need for our illusions. Hardly anyone is ever able really to do this, but it’s right. Buddha had another simple picture. In his most famous sermon, he simply picked up a lotus blossom and held it in his hand. Everything in life, everything you need to know, he said, is contained even in this simple and beautiful lotus blossom. Some of the most profound religious insights are condensed into such small statements that we can take them home, care for them for years, and they never stop opening up to reveal more and more, like a lotus blossom in bloom.

– Even the stories of great religions offer us views of ourselves and life that take us to dizzying heights. I’ve spoken before here of the ancient Greek story about Psyche and Eros, as one of these. Here, from over three thousand years ago, is the story of the soul’s search for divine love that lies at the heart of nearly all Western religious traditions.

– And you probably all know the story of the eagle raised by chickens, who spent his whole life thinking he was a chicken but feeling uncentered, disconnected from his true calling – until the day when eagles circling high overhead finally visited him to show him his true calling. Then he flew up above the sky where his true calling really was. That’s a religious story, too. It’s real message is that we’re all eagles, all capable of flying so much higher than we want to believe

– And one last story, of the thousands of high-flying myths and tales out there, comes from the Jews. Like many Jewish stories, it comes wrapped in wit. One day God, the story says, decided to play a trick on humans. So he went to his favorite rabbi to ask his advice. ‘I want to hide from people,’ God said, ‘and I’m not sure of the best place to hide. Should I hide on the dark side of the moon? at the edge of the galaxy? What do you think?’ To which the rabbi replied ‘You always make it too hard. Just hide in the human heart: it’s the last place they’ll think to look.’ And God has been hiding there ever since.

These are some of the sights seen on a good religious trip. Like an airplane ride, they are views of life from high above it. So high above it, in fact, that it’s almost impossible to identify with any of these people. That must have occurred to you, during the week when you’re remembering some teaching like these from one of religion’s great prophets and sages. That world they’re talking about seems a long way away from the kind of life we really live.

Prophets aren’t regular people

If the first lesson of religion is the wisdom and power of its most gifted prophets and sages, the second lesson is that these were pretty strange people, all of them. We don’t usually talk about them this way, but people who flew that high and offered such wonderful views to us during our little airplane rides weren’t much like us. They lived in rarefied air. In some ways, they could see our world so clearly because they really didn’t live in it.

One of the most popular themes in classic literature is that unbridgeable gap between humans and gods, the danger in wanting to fly too high, in taking that eagle-raised-by-chickens story too far.

In the Hebrew scriptures, as in most religious scriptures, it is taught that no one can look on the face of God and survive ‘ a theme turned into a movie, in Indiana Jones and the ‘Raiders of the Lost Ark.’ The Greeks told the story of young Icarus, whose father invented wings so he could fly, and attached them with wax, only warning his son not to fly too high. The youth did, flew too close to the realm of the gods, and the heat of the sun melted the wax and he plunged to his death. This has been a common theme of artists for two thousand years, the plunge of young Icarus into the sea. The Greeks retold the story in the tale of young Phaeton, who talked Zeus into letting him drive Apollo’s chariot through the sky. But he couldn’t handle the horses, pulled the sun too close to the earth, the earth caught fire from the heat, and he was finally thrown to his death. Again, the Greeks tell of the time Hera was jealous of Zeus’s affair with the human woman Semele, and tricked Semele into demanding that Zeus show himself to her without disguise. The undisguised sight of the god burned the human woman to ashes immediately.

And the sages and prophets who fly so high and seem almost to speak for the gods, they’re a strange bunch too, and not much like us.

A century ago, there was an Austrian journalist and social critic named Karl Kraus. His fame has dimmed a lot since then, but he was one of these people who always seemed to see things as though he were up in that airplane, and he knew it. He once wrote some lines that speak for all great sages and prophets who have ever lived:

‘I hear noises which others do not hear’

‘And they disturb for me the music of the spheres

‘ which others don’t hear either.’

I think that’s right. I think people like Jesus and Buddha and Lao Tsu and the rest of them were really disturbed by those ‘noises’ that most of us don’t hear. I also think they could hear, in the background, a kind of ‘music of the spheres’ that we don’t hear very clearly either.

My favorite philosopher, Ludwig Wittgenstein, was another of these. He was really fifty years, maybe a century, ahead of the other philosophers at Cambridge with him seventy years ago: Bertrand Russell, G.E. Moore, Alfred North Whitehead, John Maynard Keynes. No one understood him, and he never seemed to care. One of his admiring students once said that he too wanted to be a philosopher like Wittgenstein and try to deliver these great visions that others don’t understand. Wittgenstein said ‘No, you can’t do it.’ Then he added ‘I can only live here because I manufacture my own oxygen.’

All this is a variation on the old religious insight that we can take our chariot rides, or our airplane rides, but we have to come back down and land. We have to live down here on earth, not up there where we would have to make our own oxygen.

Coming back to earth

We go to church and listen to the Good Samaritan story, and fancy ourselves in the role. Then we go out into the street and play the roles of those who walked by because, after all, it isn’t safe out there and we might get hurt. We can’t fill our whole life with these noble causes, or we’ll have no time left for living down here on earth. Trying to be like Jesus or Buddha would be like young Icarus trying to fly too close to the sun.

We listen to stories about Jesus’ idea of the Kingdom of God, and we’re uplifted. We hear about the eagle raised by chickens, and we like the idea, though back home we’re not sure we really believe it.

Then we hear stories about some of the great martyrs in history: Jesus, St. Paul, many early Christian Church Fathers, or thousands of Tibetan Buddhists in our own time, who gave their lives for their beliefs. We’re not like that! We just don’t live at that level, the flame doesn’t burn that bright in us.

So religion is like an airplane because after the high-flying visions and insights of history’s great teachers, after being inspired on Sunday by stories of chicken-flavored eagles and the rest of it, we have to land. We have to come back to earth. We just don’t live lives that pure, and there’s wisdom in being able to admit it without feeling like a loser.

Some people dismiss the great religious figures because of this, asking what good it does to follow teachings so far above us we can never live up to them. But their teachings survive just because they are so high above the everydayness of our lives. I think of the millions of sailors who have steered at night by sighting on the North Star for more than three thousand years. You know, not a single one of them has ever reached it! Yet I suspect that without it to go by, their courses would not have been as true. High religious and ethical teachings are like that.

And I think of great religious figures like cathedrals: like the giant and elaborate cathedrals of medieval Christianity all over Europe and Mexico. It’s like all the really sacred and precious and rare stuff is concentrated in them, the way cathedrals are made of gold and marble and wonderful stained glass, surrounded by regular old villages of regular old folks like us. People go to the cathedrals to take a little airplane flight, to let their spirits soar, to rise above themselves for a bit, in that exquisite atmosphere. Religious giants like the Buddha, Jesus and the rest of them are like those cathedrals, too. There’s something precious concentrated in them, but in a form so strong, so all-consuming, they represent standards too high for regular people to live out.

Why is it worth the trip?

You might wonder why it’s worth taking these religious flights into the stratosphere, where we see cathedral-sized visions, hear stories with more promise and hope than we are likely to realize in our regular old down-to-earth human lives. I’ve certainly wondered, both as a preacher and as a person.

There are two reasons, I think.

First is the contrast between the high ideals of good religion, and the low ideals that seem to run so much of the real world. A Bible with the commandment ‘Thou shalt not kill’ in a religion where envy and greed are considered deadly sins, used to justify the invasion of Iraq and the slaughter of thousands of its women and children and the theft of its oil. A Jesus who said not to judge, and that God’s grace, like the sun, shines on all ‘ this Jesus is used as a blunt instrument to beat down ambitious women, gays, lesbians, and whole rafts of people who don’t fit simple cookie-cutter molds.

These examples could be multiplied a hundredfold, just making it even more clear why we so desperately need to keep in mind the higher visions, what Abraham Lincoln called ‘the better angels of our nature.’

There is something magical about these flights to the visions of our higher natures. There is something transformative. These stories – to use another kind of metaphor – are like little seeds that sometimes take root in us and grow to immense size. They’re like a little bit of yeast in a mound of dough, invisibly making the whole thing a lot bigger than it would have been otherwise. That was another of Jesus’ images for the Kingdom of God: yeast, that nearly invisible stuff that makes bread rise so high.

We take these flights, we hear these stories about the lotus blossom, about God hiding in the human heart, about the eagle among chickens, about that Hindu teaching that we are a part of everything alive and wondrous in the whole universe. We hear all these fantastic stories from a vantage point far above our own usual vision. Then we go home, go back to our down-to-earth lives, and it seems we’ve left the cathedral behind.

But we haven’t. When we go on vacations in airplanes, we return from our trips with pictures and memories. Our flights into the cathedrals of our souls to hear the angels of our better nature leave us with pictures and memories too ‘ and those amazing, magical stories.

And someday, in ways large and small, we will be at home in our world, and the seeds planted on our religious flights will begin to bloom. We’ll remember a story like the one about the eagle raised with chickens. We’ll smile to ourselves, and silently say ‘I wonder’.

Or we think of the whole infinite and eternal universe, remember the Hindu sages pointing to it, and to us, saying ‘That art Thou.’ And silently, we say to ourselves ‘I wonder’.

Then one day we become aware – I don’t know how it happens, but it does – that there is something hiding in our hearts, something we hadn’t been aware of before, and that Something hiding in our hearts is God.

And suddenly, like a holy ritual being enacted in a huge ancient cathedral built over the sacred depths of life, that lotus blossom finally begins to open.

And so do we.

Finding an adequate religion

Davidson Loehr

22 August 2004

The text of this sermon is not available but you can listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

Today I want to offer you some high expectations and a challenge.

A critique offered twenty years ago to UU seminary students from a very wise Lutheran minister, Joseph Sittler. At that time he was around 80 and nearly blind. He observed that Unitarians had many great qualities but we hadn’t yet found what we were seeking.

He said, “You have some deep hungers that haven’t been filled.” When asked how he could tell he said, “I know what happens when religious people find what they’re seeking.” “The best of them get filled to overflowing, and the world around them is nourished by the overflow.” “When that happens even an old blind man will be able to see it.”

If this church were accused of having a faith that made a positive difference in the larger world around us would there be enough evidence to convict us? I’m not sure there would.

 Davidson Loehr 2004

A Cross of Iron Revisited

© Martin Bryant

15 Aug 2004

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

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

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

I read from a recent translation by Stephen Mitchell

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– who were established holding that all are created equal

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On Being a Morning Person

Don Smith

July 18, 2004

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PRAYER

Let our prayer be a prayer for remembrance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

SERMON

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She said, “What is history?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A force for hope when others give up,

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

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

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

A force for hope when others give up,

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

I don’t know what else I could say.

Daily Practice Makes Perfect

© Jonobie Ford

27 June 2004

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PRAYER

Heaven is not reached in a single bound,

But we build the ladder by which we rise

From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,

And we mount to its summit round by round.

I count this thing to be grandly true:

That a noble deed is a step toward God –

Lifting the soul from the common clod

To a purer air and a broader view.

SERMON: Daily Practice Makes Perfect

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Tolerance – Annual Youth Service

© Davidson Loehr

Ian Reed

Will Boney

13 June 2004

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

CENTERING

Ian Reed

In the presence of the power of this congregation,

 In the presence of the warming chalice,

 We gather here to search and to reflect,

 On the beauty and power in this room.

HOMILY: Tolerance

Ian Reed

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

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

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

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

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

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

HOMILY: Tolerance

Will Boney

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

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

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

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

Religion 101

© Davidson Loehr

6 June 2004

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PRAYER:

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

The Young Dead Soldiers

by Archibald Macleish

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SERMON: Religion 101

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

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

Have I spoken this day of anything else?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Have I spoken this day of anything else?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thank You For Your Service

© Hannah Wells

May 30, 2004

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

PRAYER:

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

and for the soldiers who have already given their lives,

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

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

may we understand how deeply connected we all are.

May we remember how connected we are to generations past

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SERMON:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This song is called “Penny Evans.”

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

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

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

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

I remember I was 17 when I met young Bill.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 And like wives took no charity from any living man

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

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

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

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

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

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

– Steve Goodman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you for your service.”

The Four Faces of Jesus

© Davidson Loehr

23 May 2004

First UU Church of Austin

4700 Grover Ave., Austin, TX 78756

www.austinuu.org

Listen to the sermon by clicking the play button.

Prayer

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

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

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

We pray that we may live with honesty:

that we can accept who we are,

and admit who we are not;

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

that we ignore the still small voices within us,

that could lead us out of darkness.

We pray that we can live with trust and openness:

to those people, those experiences, and those transformations

that can save us from narrowness and despair.

And we pray on behalf of these hopes

with an open heart, an honest soul,

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

AMEN.

SERMON: “The Four Faces of Jesus”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The young magician, of course, was Jesus.

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

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

1. Jesus as an Itinerant Cynic Sage

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why should I?” asked Diogenes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

2. Jesus the Faith-Healer

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4. Subverter of Artificial Identities

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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