Now THIS is church

Rev. Meg Barnhouse, Rev. Marisol Caballero, Chris Jimmerson
October 12, 2014

Now THIS is Church! I have that feeling pretty often, and I wonder when you have it. Is it music? The candles? The faces of the people?


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Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.

Most sermons delivered at the First UU Church of Austin during the past 14 years are available online through this website. You will find links to them in the right sidebar menu labeled Sermons. The Indexes link leads to tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on the topic to go to a sermon.

 

Forgiveness and Repentance

Rev. Meg Barnhouse
October 5, 2014

As the Jews celebrate the Days of Awe, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, we reflect on when we’re not the people we know we are capable of being.


The music this morning was a Kol Nidre, which, in Hebrew, means: “All vows.” In the Jewish tradition, many of you know, it is a part of the ritual of the high holy days (which end this evening) to ask God to release us from all vows we were unable to keep. We acknowledge that, although we strive to be good people, smart people, nearly perfect people, we fall short. We fall down. Many of us have even sat at a healthy relations workshop and been tempted to get snappish with the other participants. The “All Vows” prayer says that we are people who fall down and get up, knowing we will fall again.

I was amazed the first time I heard about this tradition. To be released from vows I made in the past that I was unable to keep, vows that were unadvised, vows I made while still too young to have all the information. I was grateful to a people who had a different understanding of God from the one with which I’d been raised. The God of my childhood would have understood that you couldn’t keep your promise, of course. He never thought you could keep it in the first place. He would love you — in spite of your weakness and sin. But release you from your vows? No. You would have to carry them wrapped around your heart like barbed wire, just to remind you who and what you really were. A dumb sheep. A wretch. To include a prayer in worship in which you were released from your vows felt like mercy to me.

One of the traditional stories of the High Holy Days is about the half-brothers Isaac and Ishmael. Those of you who grew up in church or synagogue know the story. Abraham and Sarah had been promised that they would have many descendants, but the years were passing and they hadn’t had a child. Sara gave her Egyptian handmaiden Hagar to Abraham and she got pregnant. The book says then she began to despise Sara because she had a son and Sara didn’t. Sara complained to her husband and he told her to take care of it. She treated Hagar so badly that she ran away and nearly died, lost in the desert. Finally she found a spring of water. God spoke to her there, telling her to go back to living with Sara and Abraham, and telling her about her child, who was to be a father of nations. Hagar named that place “The Well of the Living One Who Sees Me.” When she was desperate, afraid and alone, God saw her and met her there. Tradition holds that Ishmael was the father of the Arab nations. Sara did have a son, Isaac, whom tradition holds to be the father of the Jewish people. To make a lengthy and confusing story simple, they never got along. When Abraham died, though, the scripture says they buried him together in the place with the well. Tradition has it that this was a reconciliation between the brothers. It is this theme of reconciliation that defines these holy days which we celebrate as the year enters into its season of gathering darkness.

Yom Kippur translated as “the day of judgment” with its rituals of repentance and reconciliation, takes place in the season of darkening time. Mystics of the northern hemisphere call us to reflection, to self-examination as the days grow shorter. In the natural world, when the nights grow longer, plants turn their energy to growing their root systems so they can be hardier and more stable when the time comes for all that greening and blossoming. For us, reflection, looking at our good deeds and our destructive ones, doing what the 12 step program calls “Taking your own inventory” is a way to become hardier and more stable, to get ready for whatever greening and blossoming we’re going to do. After the reflection, we take responsibility for who we are. We see ourselves clearly. We have qualitiesÉ. I won’t say “good” qualities or “bad” qualities, because most of the elements that go into who we are can go both ways. Seeing ourselves clearly means we don’t skitter around on the surface of our decisions yelping about what made us do it and why we didn’t have any choice. We stand our ground, take a deep breath and say “yes I did that.” “Yes, I’m like that. We make amends, show our understanding of the hurt we’ve caused and present our intention to do better.

The Holy Days are a time to begin again clean. the start of a new year. In these days we celebrate the beginning of the world. We remember the faith-story of the creation, where God made light and dark and called them both good. In the story, light is sacred, and the dark is too. At the celebration of the birthday of the world, can we say we are grateful for the light, and may we speak of the sacred dark? It’s hard, in our culture, to think about “sacred dark.” This culture is in the habit of using the image of darkness to speak of ignorance, wickedness, poverty and cruelty.

In the language of psychology, we talk about bringing unconscious contents into the light of consciousness. Dream symbols are analyzed, feelings are analyzed, behavior is analyzed. We place great faith in analyzing, in explaining things. In the Christian traditions, God is Light, and somehow, even though, in the book of Genesis God creates the day and the night and calls both good, the church has almost always talked about darkness as a way of speaking of evil and destruction. In the New Age traditions there is a lot of talk of the Light and surrounding people and things with light. There are beings of light and beings of darkness. I’m not saying I want everyone to let all of those ways of speaking go. I just want to wonder today. I want to wonder about the sacred dark. Can we reclaim the sacred darkness as an image for a time of reflection, going deep, for the nurture of our hearts and the return of our souls to health?

Most religions have a description of the sacred dark. In ancient traditions the dark is the womb of the Great Mother. You enter the darkness, the womb, when you die, and you come out reborn, reformed. In ancient temples and in some Cathedrals, mazes and labyrinths, spirals and tunnels take you into the center, and back out again. Celtic traditions talk about Cerridwen’s Cauldron. There is cooking that happens in the sacred dark. There are chemical changes in a soul, in a life, in a way of thinking when times of darkness arrive.

We enter a time of sacred dark when we lose part of our identity – we are no longer a day-to-day parent when our children grow up, or we are no longer able to be athletic when our bodies change, or we are no longer able to be the devil-may-care bad to the bone kid when we realize that the substances that have been our best friend are killing our lives. We enter a time of sacred dark when we, who are used to knowing things, don’t know anything that will help us in this situation In the Zen Buddhist tradition this place of sacred dark is encouraged. It is call “don’t know mind,” and it is the beginning of wisdom. Knowledge is one thing and wisdom is another, and the sacred darkness comes to help us make the transition. During the Days of Awe we are asked to see our lives. Not as we wish they were, but as they are. At first we see ourselves harshly. We wander in a panic in a desert of criticism and despair. Then the Mystery shows us a spring of water. Then we remember that we are loved. We remember that we are surrounded by people who can witness our lives. We are surrounded by the Spirit of Love that flows through us and through the world. We can be truly seen by the eyes of love, and they see us clearly, but with compassion and mercy. The eyes of love say “You can get up again. I will believe in you no matter how many times you fall.” Then we can begin to forgive those who have wronged us, knowing they also are people who fall short of what they would like to be. Then we can begin to forgive ourselves, and see even ourselves with the eyes of love.

Closing words

Because we spill not only milk
knocking it over with an elbow
when we reach to wipe a small face
but also spill seed on soil we
thought was fertile but isn’t
and also spill whole lives and only
later see in fading light how
much is gone and we hadn’t
intended it
Because we tear not only cloth
thinking to find a true edge and
instead making only a hole but
also tear friendships when we grow
and whole mountainsides
because we are so many and
we want to live right where black oaks
lived, once very quietly and still
Because we forget not only what
we are doing in the kitchen
and have to go back to the room we were in
before, remember why it was we left
but also forget entire lexicons of joy and
how we lost ourselves for hours
yet all that time were clearly
found and held and also forget
the hungry not at our table
Because we weep not only at jade
plants caught in a freeze and
precious papers left in the rain but
also at legs that no longer walk
or never did, although from the outside
they look like most others
and also weep at words said once as
though they might be rearranged but
which, once loose, refused to return
and we are helpless
Because we are imperfect and love so
deeply we will never have enough days
we need to gift of starting over, beginning
again: just this constant good, this
saving hope.
–Nancy Schaffer


Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.

Most sermons delivered at the First UU Church of Austin during the past 14 years are available online through this website. You will find links to them in the right sidebar menu labeled Sermons. The Indexes link leads to tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on the topic to go to a sermon.

 

Sexual Morality, Justice, and Healing

Rev. Meg Barnhouse
September 28, 2014

What does sexual integrity look like? What is the history of our sexual mores?


This morning I’m going to talk about the next Commandment in the sermon series, and I have to say I’ve gotten a lot of comments along the lines of “I can’t wait to hear what you’re going to say about this one!” I found myself saying “I can’t wait to see what I’m going to say too,” since it is one of those commandments that feels to me to be based on something we say we don’t believe any more, yet it also seems sensible. What am I saying? Here is the part that makes me mad about it, the part we say we don’t believe any more.

In those ancient times, a woman was the property of her father until she was married, then she became the property of her husband. It was important to the laws of inheritance that a man pass his property on to his own sons. Knowing whose children your wife was bearing was a matter of knowing whose blood lines were being perpetuated, knowing your family wealth was going to blood family. Punishments for sex outside of marriage were severe. In the laws set down in the first five books of the Bible, if a new bride were found not to be a virgin, she was dragged back to her father’s house and stoned to death by the men of the village. If she were raped, the man who raped her was forced to marry her. Having intercourse with your neighbor’s wife was an offense against your neighbor, a violation of his property rights. Married men could have sex with prostitutes; that was not considered adultery. The purpose of marriage was for rearing children. A man could marry more than one woman. King David had several wives. His son Solomon had thousands of wives and more concubines. Romantic love was not what it was about for most people. I’m sure there were many couples who loved one another, but that wasn’t the center around which the relationship turned.

From Jesus’ day we have the story of the woman taken in adultery.

But Jesus went to the Mount of Olives. At dawn he appeared again in the temple courts, where all the people gathered around him, and he sat down to teach them. The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery. They made her stand before the group and said to Jesus, “Teacher, this woman was caught in the act of adultery. In the Law Moses commanded us to stone such women. Now what do you say?” They were using this question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing him.

But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger. When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “If anyone of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.” Again he stooped down and wrote on the ground.

At this, those who heard began to go away one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there. Jesus straightened up and asked her, “Woman, where are they? Has no one condemned you?”

“No one, sir,” she said. “Then neither do I condemn you,” Jesus declared. “Go now and leave your life of sin.”

Was Jesus soft on adultery? He said

Matthew 5:28 But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart. and Matthew 5:32 But I tell you that anyone who divorces his wife, except for marital unfaithfulness, causes her to become an adulteress, and anyone who marries the divorced woman commits adultery.

Mostly what he seemed to try to do was to get people to look at themselves and their self-righteousness, to try to get the sinners to do better and the righteous folks to be kinder.

What might this Commandment have to say to people who don’t believe a wife is property?

In relatively recent history, romantic love became a reason for marriage. The ideal (at least here in the States) is that you will find someone with whom to be in love, and that you will love that person forever. People are expected to be faithful to their partners, and according to the studies about half of us are.

Most Americans, and most UUs, expect faithfulness of themselves and their partners as well. For some, there are other arrangements people make for marriage and partnership. Some have “open marriages” where both are allowed to have relationships outside the marriage, with the promise that there will be no deceit or lying about it. They say it’s the lying that adulterates, changes or destroys the relationship. The folks who name themselves polyamorists make committed relationships with more than one person at the same time. What is most important is that couples agree on what the situation is, and that it be fair to both parties.

It is not the Commandment that keeps most religious liberals faithful. It’s a sense that, if you have promised to be faithful you should keep that promise in order to honor and strengthen the trust you have with your partner. That trust is the surround within which vulnerability, intimacy and growth can take place. Also, having more than one sexual relationship at a time seems to most people to be spreading your energy too thin. One relationship of intimacy and engagement is demanding of time and energy.

An old Yiddish proverb says “You can’t ride two horses with one butt.” What makes sense in terms of ethical sexuality is what we talk about to our kids in the “Our Whole Lives (OWL) curriculum, and to ourselves.

Here is what I think:

I think there are many promises in a relationship that can be broken, and many things that, added to the chemical mix of an intimacy, can adulterate it, change it, or ruin it. For some couples, work is the adultery. Your partner’s energy, charm and good will are being spent elsewhere. You are not getting enough attention and all the work issues seem to take your partner farther away from you. For some couples, porn is the adultery. If one of you is spending more energy having sex solo with porn than you’re your primary person, something is wrong. Energy they could reasonably expect to be flowing toward them is flowing in another direction. You may find yourself comparing the real partner you have with an unreal dream, and reality may suffer. For some people, it feels like their partner is spending all their energy on their family of origin, or on an addiction that takes them away from the relationship. There are emotional ties outside of the relationship that hurt the relationship, there is emotional abandonment, when the person is there in body but not in other ways. There is sexual abandonment. Some people seem to believe that they can stop having sex with their partner and expect their partner not to look for sexual intimacy elsewhere. When I worked as a couples counselor, now and then I would run into people who had decided they didn’t want to have sex with their partner. Then they would be outraged and betrayed when s/he found sex elsewhere. The old rabbis had strict rules about what breaks the marriage covenant, and no sex was high on the list of things that killed the covenant. There are lots of ways to avoid showing up for your relationship. There are lots of ways to shred a covenant that has been made between two people.

I think couples should talk about their expectations of one another, about what arrangement they want for the relationship and not assume that there is only one way to go about things. If you make a covenant with a partner, try to keep it. If the covenant is broken, try to be engaged in renegotiating it so it is authentic again. In my opinion, if you are in a relationship where you would rather be alone than be with that person, then you should go on an end it. If you are in a relationship you wouldn’t want your children to be in as adults, YOU could change it. That’s a sermon about divorce, though, and that’s for another day. What matters is being loving to those you are with, as well as to yourself.

The UU stance toward sex is that it is healthy, healing, sacred, to be celebrated, but that its destructive side is equally powerful. The abuses of sexuality are hurtful. Several of my clergy colleagues have been removed from ministerial fellowship because of unethical sexual behavior within their congregations. One thing to know is that, in Texas, if a minister behaves sexually with a congregant, it is rape. Period.

I am one of the signers of an interfaith Religious Declaration on Sexual Morality, Justice, and Healing. Part of it says: Our culture needs a sexual ethic focused on personal relationships and social justice rather than particular sexual acts. All persons have the right and responsibility to lead sexual lives that express love, justice, mutuality, commitment, consent, and pleasure. Grounded in respect for the body and for the vulnerability that intimacy brings, this ethic fosters physical, emotional, and spiritual health. It accepts no double standards and applies to all persons, without regard to sex, gender, color, age, bodily condition, marital status, or sexual orientation.

We are fragile beings, my friends. Sometimes adultery is carelessness, sometimes it’s communication. Let’s love one another the best way we can.


Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.

Most sermons delivered at the First UU Church of Austin during the past 14 years are available online through this website. You will find links to them in the right sidebar menu labeled Sermons. The Indexes link leads to tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on the topic to go to a sermon.

 

Give Them Hope, Not Hell

Rev. Meg Barnhouse
September 21, 2014

John Murray’s rowing ashore in New Jersey in September of 1770 was the beginning of Universalism on this continent. What is the Universalist element in our faith? Our good news is that no one goes to hell.


Sermon: A UU faith story: John Murray

This morning I’m going to tell you about John Murray, who came to the New World in 1770, a defeated man, trying to start over again in a land where he could disappear. He was 29 years old, a widower. His wife Eliza and their one-year-old baby died in England, and medical bills had crushed him, landing him in debtor’s prison.

John Murray lost everything because he was converted to Universalism in England. He had been a lay preacher and Bible scholar with the Irish Methodists, and he loved good preaching. He visited every church in London, which is how he heard James Relly, a Universalist preacher. The idea that God was loving and that everyone would be saved in the end appealed to him and to his wife Eliza. Their friends begged them to come back to normal church. Their families cried. His business dried up. When he ended up bereaved, in prison, bailed out by Eliza’s brother, he just wanted to disappear, never preach again, never talk theology again, start all over with no history where no one knew him and he didn’t have to face either looks or words of loving concern or a self-righteous “I told you so.” He booked passage on the Hand In Hand, which was sailing for New York. The captain landed in Philadelphia instead, due to a miscalculation. Lots of the passengers got off. They sailed again for New York, but ran aground on a sand spit off the coast of New Jersey, at Good Luck Point.

Asked by the Captain to row ashore to look for food and water, came to a clearing in the pines and saw a large house and a trim looking church made of rough sawed lumber. A tall farmer stood in front of the house cleaning fish.

The following dialogue is imagined in the collected stories for UU children called “UU and Me.”

“Welcome” called out the farmer. “My name is Thomas Potter.”

“And I am John Murray, from the ship Hand in Hand.”

“Yes,” said Thomas, “I saw your ship in the bay, stuck on the sand bar, she is.”

“May I buy your fish to take back to the ship’s crew?” asked John.

“You can have them for the taking, and gladly:” answered Thomas, “and please come back to spend the night with my wife and me. I will tell you all about this little church and why it is here.”

John gratefully carried the fish to the sailors, and then returned to Thomas’ home for the night.

“Come, my friend, sit in front of our fire, this chilly fall evening,” said Thomas. “I’m so glad you have come. You may be the very person I’ve been waiting for.”

Potter told Murray that he had often heard the Bible read, and had thought a lot about God, coming up with ideas that made sense to him. He built the little church hoping for a preacher who would teach about things that made sense to him.

“Today, when I saw your ship in the bay,” he said to Murray, “a voice inside me seemed to say, “There, Potter, in that ship may be the preacher you have been so long expecting.”

John said quickly,” I am not a preacher.”

“But,” said Thomas Potter, leaning forward, “can you say that you have never preached?”

“I have preached,” answered John slowly,” and I believe, as you do, in a loving God.”

“I knew it! I knew it!” shouted Thomas.” You are the preacher for whom I have waited for so long! You’ve got to preach in my church on Sunday!”

“No,” replied John firmly. “I never want to preach again. Tomorrow, as soon as the wind changes, I will be on my way!”

After John went to bed, he couldn’t sleep. He wrote later that he thought to himself as he tossed and turned,” I just want to get away from everything…if I preach I know there will be trouble. Why start all of that over again? “By Saturday night the wind had still not changed, and John finally agreed to preach the next morning. Thomas Potter was happy. And so, on Sunday morning September 30, 1770, the first Universalist sermon was delivered in America. Thomas Potter, a Universalist before he even heard John Murray, heard a preacher talking about love instead of an angry God and a fiery hell.

I would say that John Murray is the patron saint of people who are stuck. Our life runs aground, and the way we get it going again is by doing what we were born to do. Circumstances may conspire like border collies nipping at your heels, driving you to the place where you realize what you need to do. May we all find a guide like Thomas Potter, who will give us the push we need in the right direction.

The Revolutionary War came, and John Murray worked as a chaplain to the troops, under the orders of General George Washington. When the war was over, and the new US was founded, in 1779, John Murray organized the first Universalist church in America in Gloucester, Mass.

(Owen-Towle, The Gospel of Universalism, Introduction, p.v). (Scott, These Live Tomorrow, pp.25-26)

Unfortunately, you still can hear a good many sermons preached by people who believe in hell. We are surrounded by people steeped in that belief, preachers who will use a funeral service to warn the grieving family and friends that they won’t see their loved one again if they don’t repent and believe in just the right way, so they will end up in heaven. Our UU children, along with the Presbyterian, Methodist and other more progressive denominations’ kids, hear from classmates at school about how they are doomed to eternal torment for not being the right kind of Christian. We call our movement Unitarian Universalism because we believe in Universal salvation. That means we believe a loving God would not send anyone to hell.

I think a belief in hell makes people dissociated – holding two deeply rooted opposite thoughts in their minds at the same time, not really able to look at either of them, not able to be a whole and integrated person because of that. I heard a songwriter from Lubbock on NPR years ago. He said “We learned two things in Sunday School. One, God loves you and he’ll send you straight to hell. Two, sex is dirty and dangerous and you should save it for the one you love.”

We prosecute parents who burn their children even once for disobeying. Do we believe we are more moral than God? Would anyone you know send one of their children to hell for eternity for any kind of misbehavior, much less for having the wrong thoughts or beliefs? No! Are we better parents than God is? To hold in your mind that God is love and that he will send you to hell requires a twisting of good sense and a good heart. To believe that we should be one way as humans, but worship a God who behaves in a less moral way doesn’t make sense. It would build your understanding on a deep fear and mistrust, and it would make you abandon trust in your own sense.

What about now? We are surrounded by people whose belief in Hell has death-dealing consequences.

Of the estimated 1.6 million homeless American youth, up to 42 percent identify as lesbian or gay, and a disproportionate number identify as bisexual or transgender. Why do LGBT youth become homeless? In one study, 26 percent of gay teens who came out to their parents/guardians were told they must leave home. LGBT youth also leave home due to physical, sexual and emotional abuse LGBT youth report they are threatened, belittled and abused at shelters by staff as well as other residents.Http://www.thetaskforce.org/downloads/reports/reports/HomelessYouth.pdf

LGBT youth are 4 times more likely to attempt suicide than their straight peers. Even teens who are questioning their sexuality are 3 times more likely to attempt suicide than their straight peers.

One prominent minister in California says if a member of his listening group finds their kid is gay and won’t repent of their “sin,” they need to shun them completely and “turn them over to Satan.”

Parents are desperate to show their kids that they have to change, and throwing them out of the house is seen as tough love. These kids are on our streets. They are suffering in our town. One of the reasons we participate in the pride parade is so that the kids can see that there is a church, an actual church that does not teach that they are sinners because of their sexual orientation.

“Hell” is a mistranslation of the Bible. Current views draw on Dante’s Inferno and Miltons “Paradise Lost.” There are levels of eternal torment supervised by the demonic lackeys. In Milton, Satan and his rebel angels are chained in a lake of fire. Dante has you descend through all the levels of hell, until you reach Satan, who is stuck waist-deep in ice.

Three words in the Jewish and Christian scriptures are translated “hell.”

Sheol: from the Hebrew, meaning the place for the dead.

Tartasus: a Greek word for a place where the dead were, now separated by a river, the good on one side and the bad on the other. Able to see one another. Rabbi Jesus cited this view in his re-telling of the Babylonian parable about Lazarus and the rich man.

Gehenna: The valley where the trash was burned. Outside, destruction. Sometimes in the Christian scripture, the writer wrote “sheol,” and translators wrote “hell.”

In the Jewish scriptures, the dead go to Sheol. It’s not a place of torment at all. You are there, watching your descendants live their lives. Then, the Greek idea of Hades began to be known in the area because it was all part of the Roman empire. Rabbi Jesus was referencing this idea now and then. In other passages, the reference is to the smoldering trash heap outside the city walls.

My friends, this knowledge is there for anyone to find if they study. No one has to believe in hell. Our forbear William Ellery Channing preached that.

We have good news. This is a hell-haunted society. It’s not just theoretical. People make hell for one another, sometimes because they believe in a literal hell. We are called to speak to the root cause of some of this wickedness.

Theodore Parker said, “I do not pretend to understand the moral universe; the arc is a long one, my eye reaches but little ways; I cannot calculate the curve and complete the figure by the experience of sight; I can divine it by conscience. And from what I see I am sure it bends towards justice.”

Where does the Universalist part of our faith lead us to stand? One, we believe that all will be well, in the end.


Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.

Most sermons delivered at the First UU Church of Austin during the past 14 years are available online through this website. You will find links to them in the right sidebar menu labeled Sermons. The Indexes link leads to tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on the topic to go to a sermon.

 

Sacred spaces

Rev. Meg Barnhouse
August 24, 2014

For every people on earth, there are places where power gathers. This mountain, this street, this tree. How can we participate in the recognition and creation of such places?


 

I watch the news and feel overwhelmed. Brutality in the Middle East, some of which we are enabling by sending arms which will be used against Palestinians. Some of the rebels we were talking about arming in Syria turn out to be part of a group even Al-Kaeda refuses to recognize. We remove a violent and remorseless dictator and it’s as if we’ve lit a match and burned the structures that were holding chaos at bay. When you find yourself wondering whether it takes a brutal dictator to keep other brutal ideologues from slaughtering more innocents than the dictator did, it’s time for some deep reflection and going back to basics. When you feel that you have worked for years to recognize and heal from your own inner racism, and you see other people still venomous with it, when you realize that, even if we all worked to get rid of our individual racism, it’s still there in our institutions: the media, the courts, the police, capitalism itself, and you just want either to start screaming, preaching, and prophesying about it or to lie down quietly and make Zen circles with a brush dipped in black ink, it’s time for some deep reflection and going back to basics.

When you see your government talking about defeating an ideology with air strikes, when everyone knows that this will add outrage and righteousness to the ideology and convert more people to its precepts, when you don’t really know how an ideology can be defeated, knowing that you can’t even argue with your own family and change their ideologies, it’s time for deep reflection and going back to basics. What are the basics?

Lao Tze says

“if there is to be peace in the world,
There must be peace in the nations.

If there is to be peace in the nations,
There must be peace in the cities.

If there is to be peace in the cities,
There must be peace between neighbors.

If there is to be peace between neighbors,
There must be peace in the home.

If there is to be peace in the home,
There must be peace in the heart.”

I want to talk to you this morning about creating sacred space, a place in your home, in your yard, that is especially for the life of your soul. People from ancient times have had altars in their homes. People from Lithuania to Nepal, from Congo to California have small tables, shelves, book cases where a small figure of one of the aspects of God sits, where there are photographs of ancestors, bits of stone and wood, feathers and berries and beads arranged. Offerings of fruit, flowers, or candles speak of gratitude and reverence. Sometimes these spaces are small. Sometimes they are large. In Scotland are ancient circles of standing stones. In many places, there are stacks of stones. Temples, gardens, shrines. One of the voices articulating the reasons people make sacred space is Tim Seal, in a book called “Roadside Religion.”

Tim Seal is a young man with the same hobby as mine: visiting and interviewing folks on the religious fringes. On the front cover of his book is a photograph of a structure of red-brown girders with a large blue and white sign in front of them:”Noah’s Ark Being Rebuilt Here!” Beal is a religious scholar married to a Presbyterian minister; they load up their two kids in the summer and go on road trips to see people’s expressions of their interaction with the Divine, expressions these folks invite the public to interact with by putting them right beside the road. The family visited Holy Land, USA, in Virginia; the Golgotha Fun Park and Biblical mini-golf in Kentucky; and Noah’s Ark of Safety in Maryland.

He writes: “These places are as deeply personal as they are public. At the creative heart and soul of each is a religious imagination trying to give outward form to inner experience.”

Yes, but what does “sacred” mean, you ask? You might be sorry you wanted to know. People have been thinking about it for a long time. Many First Nations writings say “everything is sacred,” yet there are still holy mountains, burial places, medicine wheels, and ritual areas.

From Roadside Religion:

“Drawn from the Latin sacer, the most basic meaning of “sacred” is “set apart.” But what sets it apart as such? Different theorists of religion find very different answers. For Emile Durkheim, the answer was sociological. The sacred is that which symbolizes and indeed creates the social and moral coherence of the community. It is … that which a social group (a clan, a church) sets apart to represent and create unity. For other [theorists], the answer is phenomenological, that is, it’s a matter of understanding how the sacred is perceived and experienced …. French philosopher Georges Bataille …. described the sacred as that which is experienced as radical otherness, representing a realm (real or imaginary,) of animal intimacy that threatens to annihilate the social and symbolic order of things. For historian of religion Mircea Eliade, too, the sacred is wholly other, but he focuses on the religious person’s experience of it as an experience of transcendence that serves to orient her within a sacred cosmic order. “The sacred is where you encounter God, The Holy, where you feel awe, where things have a flash of making sense to you, where you have a feeling of connection to that which is larger than yourself, where you suddenly have new information that makes a shift inside you and things are different now.

When you have that feeling is it inside you or in the place itself? Are there real sacred places, springs and mountains, coming together of ley lines or a vortex of energy or are there just places that have been invested with meaning by the people who carried within themselves a human urge to be part of something larger than themselves? I don’t know the answer to that. No one does.

Have you even been to a place you felt was sacred? There is a spring down the hill behind Nazareth Presbyterian Church that is sacred. I used to work there, and I would slip off down the hill and worship there when I could get away from church responsibilities. It drew me. It felt like a responsibility to myself to get there.

Sometimes objects feel sacred. I don’t know if they are sacred in themselves or because of energies invested in them by people. When you watch the opening credits of the movie “To Kill a Mockingbird” you hear a girl humming, and the camera pans over a harmonica, a pearl necklace, a carved doll, a whistle, a broken pocket watch. Some children collect feathers, stones, beads, berries strung together. Those objects are sacred if they have mana in them. “Mana” is an anthropological word for this buzz of holiness that seems to accrue to certain objects or places in human groups. Another word for that same buzz is “numinous.”

Making sacred space can be a large undertaking or a tiny one. Iwant to encourage you to think about making a place in your house or yard that is sacred space. How do you do that? Start by making an intention that this space be set apart from other spaces. Your ancient instincts will help you. Put a beautiful cloth there, some stones, pieces of wood, a pocket watch, some beads or berries, photographs of your family and friends, reminders of times you want to mark in your life, reminders of something you learned or something that changed you, then add flowers and light candles to give it freshness, to interact with the space.

Sometimes your altar will be just for honoring those changes, those people.

Sometimes your altar will be a thank you, for getting through and illness or a divorce, for getting though a difficult period with a child or a friend, maybe it will be a thank you for life being in a good place right now, or just for life. Being.

Your altar might be a prayer, a tangible, concrete prayer or wish or intention that you put out into the Universe, that you present to God, that you communicate with your Higher Power, or your deepest/best/highest self. Some say there are parts of your brain that think in images rather than concepts, If you are trying to make changes in your life, in your self, they say it is good to have all parts of your mind and heart with you in this undertaking. Making your prayers concrete, in images, helps all the parts of your mind understand what you are trying to ask for, what you are trying to invite in. A friend wanted clarity, so she put a pair of her grandmother’s glasses on her altar, as a tangible reminder of what she was asking for. If you are building something in your life, put some sticks on top of one another like a building, or if you are trying to get rid of something, write on a candle or scratch into the wax what you are wanting to melt away. Then burn the candle (never leave a burning candle unattended) and say to God, to the Universe, to your inner mind “As this candle burns away so let this habit or this person’s influence melt away from my life.” Then, every time you see that candle getting smaller, your deep mind, your whole conscious and unconscious, sees that and says, “Oh, I want that influence, that habit, that connection, to get smaller.”

A sacred space in your home reminds you that the Holy is in the dailiness of your life, not just in certain times and places. You can remind yourself that your home is a sacred place by having a mezuzah for the door of your house, in the Jewish tradition. That is a small container of a verse of scripture that you attach to the doorframe and you touch it when you come into your house. You can have a bowl of water by the door, if your pets won’t knock it over, and touch your hand to the water whenever you come in, like holy water. A sacred space reminds you that you are more than a work machine, a family caregiver, a lover, more than yourself. It reminds you that you are part of the Mystery, and that Mystery is close at hand. It reminds you that you are a partner with the Mystery in creating peace, which is a dynamic, hard working, soul growing enterprise.


 

 

Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.

 

Most sermons delivered at the First UU Church of Austin during the past 14 years are available online through this website. You will find links to them in the right sidebar menu labeled Sermons. The Indexes link leads to tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on the topic to go to a sermon.

 

 

Facing our fears: A spiritual practice

Erin Walter
August 17, 2014

What are you so afraid of? And what can you do about it?


 

READING: An excerpt from Freedom from Fear
by Rev. Forrest Church

“One indication of how prevalent a role fear plays in our lives is that there are almost as many synonyms for it as there are Aleut [uh-loot] words for snow: terror, horror, apprehension, trepidation, perturbation, foreboding, concern, angst, agitation, anxiety, consternation, dread, fright, worry, cowardice, faintheartedness, chickenheartedness, disquiet, guilt, temerity, dismay, and alarm.”

“Any fear that recurs or malingers is more likely to pose a danger than protect us from one. . . . One person can spend a year worrying about whether he has cancer before going to the doctor to find out that he doesn’t or, if he does, that it is now too late to do anything about it. Another person can worry so much about the telltale signs of aging that she fails to enjoy her youth. When fear misdirects us down long, unnecessary detours, detracting from our journey without making it any safer, the time has come to pull over and ask for directions.”


 

READING: An excerpt from I Don’t Know How to Talk to White People About Ferguson,
By Ali Barthwell, published 8.15.14 in the online magazine XOJane.

As a black woman in a mostly white social circle, I don’t know who to turn to and how to talk to them about Ferguson. I feel really vulnerable. I feel really scared…. I’ve noticed that white people often misinterpret my emotions about race when I express them…. I’ve noticed that my white friends don’t always understand when their words come from a place of privilege and might be a bit tone deaf considering the state of the world.

The Monday following Mike Brown’s death, I had an improv rehearsal with a team of women I regularly practice and perform with. I’m the only black woman on the team. Part of our improv form is telling personal stories. One woman took center stage to tell us a story about how she was wronged by the police and can’t trust them anymore. She was given a small ticket for riding her bike on the sidewalk that she felt she didn’t deserve and was chastised by the police for not remembering the license plate of a car that hit her.

Her story was over. That was it. That’s why she couldn’t trust the police.

It’s hard to bring up the incredible terror I feel when I’m stopped by the police. Or the white hot shame and violation I felt as an eight-year-old when a security guard grabbed my arm when I snuck a gummi bear from a bulk candy bin. Or that I began to cry so hard at the George Zimmerman acquittal that I had to leave work early.

It’s hard to bring up these feelings with my white friends as black people march in Ferguson against a white police force because I’m scared I’ll be let down again.

I was let down by my white boyfriend who wouldn’t tell off his roommate when his roommate told me I was an angry uneducated black woman.

I was let down by my online alumnae community when I was accused of censoring white people when I said it was “uncool” to treat black men and women as lustful and that’s why everyone should date one at least once.

I’m so afraid that I’ll be let down by white people when I speak up about how I see myself in the faces of the black people on the news in Ferguson, MO that I would rather suffer in silence.

Because I don’t know how to tell people that I’d rather be let down by white society than be let down by white individuals.

How do I begin that dialogue?


 

SERMON:

If you had told me years ago that I would someday consider “facing fear” to be one of my personal spiritual practices, I’m not sure I would have believed you. After all, I am a classic white-knuckle flier and I didn’t learn to ride a bike until my 19th birthday because I was afraid to fall over. I’ve been afraid to exit the ski lift, to get bangs, and just generally to go backwards — backdive, backwards roll, backing into a parking space? I won’t do it.

But I’ve also always been a little fascinated by fear. As a kid, I tore out an article of a women’s magazine with a list of fears I couldn’t believe other people had — fear of sitting down, fear of antique furniture, fear of string. I kept the list on my bulletin board for years.

So let me assure you, as we get started, that whatever your fears are, you’re not alone. Everyone is afraid– or as Forrest Church described in his list, chickenhearted– about something. Some fears are more pressing than others, and we’ll get to that.

In recent years, I’ve faced off with some of my deepest fears and anxieties Ð either by accident, by choice, or through loss, and in doing so, I’ve seen how fear can help us answer questions like:

What do I want most in life? What is my purpose here? If we listen to what’s behind our fears, there is much we can learn.

—–

Fear is a big topic, so we’re gonna start very small. With grapes.

All my life, I ate green grapes but would not be caught dead near red ones. I was a green grape person. Like being a Beatles person vs Stones person. Until one day, about 10 years ago, I was on an airplane (keeping it in the air with the power of my mind, as usual. I hear the Dalai Lama does this too). When my meal came, I offered the stranger next to me my red grapes.

“You don’t want them?” he said.
“No, I only eat the green ones.” I said, as if this were a sane thing.
“Why? … They taste the same.”
“WHAT?”
“Yeah… they’re all the same.”
“Are you serious? Why didn’t anybody tell me?!”

I paused–for the first time–and asked myself what I had against red grapes. The answer was: I had no idea. Zero. Maybe my mom usually bought green ones when I was kid, so that was what I was used to. But somehow what I was “used to” evolved into “Oh no! I hate that! Get it away from me! Ew!”

And that’s a lot like how other fears work. The unknown becomes the feared, and ugly habits develop.

So I looked at the airplane grapes. Really looked at them. I plopped one in my mouth and let it squish around. And you know what? It did taste just like a green one. It still blows my mind.

By this time in our lives, how often do our senses experience something totally new? What a gift. What a spiritual experience. That one stranger, that one grape, changed my life. If I was wrong about red grapes, what else had I been wrong about all those years? I started trying new things, one at a time–avocados, creme brule, writing a song something in Nicaragua called the Monster Swing. I got bangs.

And suddenly I was living out my Unitarian Universalist values in a way I never expected. I joined a Community Supported Agriculture organization with other members of my Chicago church. Every Friday I opened my box of local veggies and found at least one I’ve never seen, let alone tasted. Cooking became a thrill, and I found myself a part of the ethical eating movement in my own small way.

We have a lot of bigger fears to talk about than food, but it is clear to me that in facing fears as an spiritual practice, it is just fine to start small. Whatever is holding you back, you have to start somewhere. Thanks to the grapes, whenever I run up against a case of my own fear or stubbornness or prejudice, I know what to do now. You can do it to. Ask yourself: Why do I think this? How did I get here? Do I really have to say no this? What would happen if I said yes? What if I did something differently? These are very UU questions.

And in fact, church is a great place to tackle some fears that are as common as they are debilitating: the fear of intimacy, fear of asking for help, fear of change. From saying hi in coffee hour to seeking out the care team to getting involved with the Capitol Campaign, we have a way for you to conquer some interpersonal fears. And with the Standing of the Side of Love campaign, UUs are committed to getting our nation past its fear of marriage equality, immigration reform, and more.

—-

Now on behalf of the contrarians among us, before we go any further, I’ll pose another question: what is so wrong with being afraid? Well, nothing, in some cases. I’m petrified of my kids running into traffic or falling out a window, and that fear makes me a more diligent parent. But many fears are doing us no favors. Research from Stanford suggests that prolonged worry and anxiety may lead to memory loss and brain damage. It can also raise blood pressure and stress levels, shortening life expectancy. So, basically, fear causes the thing many of us fear most: death.

—-

For the longest time, my greatest fear was dying. I just didn’t want to do it. I don’t want my family members to go that route either. There is a scene in the mystery-comedy Clue where Professor Plum asks, “What are you afraid of, a fate worse than death?” And Mrs. Peacock responds, “No, just death, isn’t that enough?” That was me.

The thing about the fear of death though, is that sooner or later, we all have to face it. When I was 7 and my parents split up, I began worrying that something would happen to my dad when we were apart. When either of my parents was late to pick me up from school or a playdate, I panicked.

18 years later it did happen. This hilarious cowboy, in seemingly perfect health, suffered a sudden heart attack, was in a coma for five days, and died at age 55. Friend after friend stood up at my dad’s funeral and said, “David Walter was supposed to give my eulogy.”

My world ended, just like I had long feared it would. It will be 11 years this month.

But you learn something huge when you face your worst fear Ð the kind of fear that makes red grapes seem like, well, grapes. You learn you can live through it. That life goes on. Life can still be good.

—-

So, have you ever noticed how the very things that terrify some of us are the same things that thrill others? Bungee jumping, sushi, dancing, diversity, traveling, being alone, being in a crowd, falling in love, saying hi in coffee hour Ð this dichotomy tells us something. I’m not asking you to skydive if you don’t want to Ð I do NOT want to be that person on the front of your order of service and I’m cool with that Ð but I’m asking you to think of something you fear that secretly calls to you. Or a fear that speaks to a deeper need or concern.

You might start by digging around for fears that stand between you and your values. I’d argue fear is an obstacle to all of the UU principles, but there’s especially no question that fear stands in the way of the second: justice, equity and compassion in human relations; and the sixth: the goal of world community with peace, liberty and justice for all.

So give your own fears some thought this week. I’d love to know what you come up with.

—-

Now, another key thing about facing our fears is that it’s not a one-shot deal. You have to do it over and over again. That’s part of how it becomes a spiritual practice. Like prayer or meditation or loving kindness, you have to decide (and keep deciding) that you will choose courage over avoidance whenever you can.

One holiday break, I had to face my dad’s death again by going through his things in storage with my stepmom Ð his cowboy hats and boots, military medals, photographs and the corny stuff like a singing mounted fish.

I was afraid. Could I handle being in a cold storage room with all my father’s special things, things that didn’t even smell like him anymore, things I hated to admit he would never touch again? And what if my sisters Ð apparently braver, more dedicated daughters who had long since gone through all the boxes Ð what if they’d taken all the special things? What if I had waited too long, as Rev. Church described, and there was nothing left for me to treasure? Those fears ate at me.

As is usually the case, they were unfounded. The experience was almost entirely a joyful one. I felt close to my dad and to my stepmom, proud of all he accomplished, even if his life had been too short. And those nagging thoughts that had been in my mind for so long Ð “Donna is waiting for you! Everyone else has gone but you!” Ð have been replaced with the knowledge that I did my part, eventually, and tangible parts of my father are with me now.

For the many who share my fear of death, I should give the most important news wittoh you: that in the end, the moment of my father’s passing was peaceful and beautiful. And he is not gone. He is her. Always. With me. Love is so much stronger than fear.

—-

Now, I said some fears are more pressing than others. So, I want to talk to you about the role fear is playing in current events and what you can do about it. Because the sad fact is: not all deaths are peaceful and beautiful. And for many people, here and abroad, my dad’s “short” life of 55 years would be very long indeed.

I always come back to this quote from poet Robert Bly: “Wherever the wound appears in our psyche, that is precisely the place from which we will give our major gift to the community.” Please think about that. “Wherever the wound appears in our psyche, that is precisely the place from which we will give our major gift to the community.”

Do you feel wounded this week?
I do.
How can we make a gift of it?

I think about Robin Williams’ suicide and the need to better treat depression and mental illness. I think about the refugee children coming across U.S. borders, desperate for help. Mass incarceration. Conflicts abroad. Discrimination and abuse of transgender men and women. The needs in each community around the country.

The roots of the problems are deep and tangled. My greatest fear is no longer death, but that we will not make enough change in my lifetime.

To fulfill our mission–to transform lives and do justice– we have to look our fears in the eye — fear that we are too small, that the problems are too big, fear that there is nothing we can do, scientifically unfounded fears that refugee children are sicker than our own children and nonsense like that. Then summon our courage and get to work.

Get people registered to vote. VOTE. Volunteer with justice organizations in this church. Give money to organizations providing aid and working on legal challenges. Pressure your elected officials to change laws. There are easy forms and email addresses and good old-fashioned phone numbers on the internet. I urge you to start this week– and how about every week?– with half an hour of pestering people in power about the things that matter to you.

We cannot be too paralyzed by fear to take real actions.

We also cannot let fear stop us from talking, face to face, about Ferguson. About America. About Austin. About racism and injustice.

Ferguson, Missouri, United States of America,–where an unarmed black teenager, Mike Brown, was shot and killed by police and left in the street, bloody, uncovered, for hours for his family and neighbors to see. Where police met protesters with equipment far beyond that of even military infantry. Tear gas. Rubber bullets. Fear tactics. Terror.

Greg Howard wrote a powerful piece for the online magazine Deadspin this week, titled “America is Not for Black People.” I couldn’t bring myself to read this piece for a couple days. The headline alone was so painful. But I knew the fear of reading it meant I needed to read it. In the piece, Howard describes quote “a very real, very American fear” of black men.

“They-we-” he writes, “are inexplicably seen as a millions-strong army of potential killers, capable and cold enough that any single one could be a threat to a trained police officer in a bulletproof vest. There are reasons why white gun rights activists can walk into a Chipotle restaurant with assault rifles and be seen as gauche nuisances while unarmed black men are killed for reaching for their wallets or cell phones, or carrying children’s toys.”

Mike Brown’s death is a part of a very big, heartbreaking picture. How can we improve that picture — law, attitudes, accountability — if we are too scared to talk to each other about it? If we are scared of each other, period?

There is a fear of failure–a fear that we will say the wrong thing. A fear that everything will come out wrong and we will make it worse. I have this fear standing before you now. I can’t and I don’t pretend to have all the answers.

But the only way we can make racism and abuse of power and gross inequality worse right now is by giving up, by not caring, by putting a happy face on it, by looking away.

Earlier this year I attended Bahai Racial Unity Day at the San Marcos UU Fellowship. There, the lay leader read this unforgettable quote from Rev. Dr. Rebecca Parker, former president of Starr King School for the Ministry: “The inner journey of anti-racism for whites involves learning to withdraw our negative and positive projections from people of color. Whites must become relationally committed to meeting people of color as themselves, not as symbolic extensions of ourselves.”

Friends and church members of color, it is not your job to educate those of us who are white. But as a member of this congregation who wants it to be as welcoming and diverse and true to our mission as possible, I very much want to listen to what you have to say.

Those of us who are white — we must rise above the tendency to take things personally. We mus be present to hear and feel the individual experiences of people of color. When so many say, as Ali Barthwell wrote in XOJane, that they are terrified of police, we mustn’t try to debate those feelings. We must not equate loss of life and lifetimes of oppression to property damage.

It’s about understanding that current events do not happen in a vacuum. It’s about recognizing, as we say in the UU church, the inherent worth and dignity of our fellow Americans, so we can make very real change– in the systems, in ourselves, in our relationships.

—-

The tasks ahead for us– all of us — are daunting. They are scary. But my experience with the spiritual practice of facing fear, from now seemingly petty fears like foods and hairstyles to something as personal and profound as losing a loved one, is that we can tackle this. We can overcome our fears, even the biggest ones. We don’t have to be perfect, and we have what it takes.

When your own fear about saying the wrong thing is about to halt a conversation that needs to be had, be brave. Remember that there are others in this country who fear for their children walking down the street–who fear the dangers of a drug war they did not start, who live in unsafe conditions in part due to unjust laws and a lack of living wage. And there are even those with an equally tragic, but far more modern fear–that if I, for example, as a white mother, do not teach my son well–and maybe even if I do–he could end up as the shooter in a school or a movie theater or in SWAT gear in a racially charged tragedy like Ferguson.

I acknowledge those fears today so that we may know they are real AND so that we may start to overcome them. Let us not be downtrodden. Let us not borrow sorrow, as the saying goes, from the people of Ferguson. Instead, let’s be the ones who use our privileges — one of which is witnessing Ferguson’s plight from a physical distance — to do the work of racial reconciliation, social justice, and human rights. We must rest and work, pray and work, meditate and work, dance for joy and work. Let’s overcome our fears, shine our lights brightly, and be the change we want to see, for us all.

I invite you to a big, important anti-racism workshop hosted and led by this church, coming up on Sept 5-6. Please talk to Rev. Mari Caballero and Chris Jimmerson. I will be there. It is open to our youth, to our adults, to the public, to people of all backgrounds.

Thank you for listening with loving hearts. We will close today with the responsive reading that is an insert to your order of service. The Samuel DeWitt Proctor Conference, which represents a cross section of progressive African American faith leaders and their congregations, has asked churches like ours to join them in this litany today.


 

A Litany For Children Slain By Violence and Traumatized By Those Called to “Serve and Protect”

August 17, 2014 ©2014
by Samuel DeWitt Proctor Conference, adapted by Erin Walter

Leader: A sound is heard in Ramah, the sound of bitter weeping. Rachel is weeping for her children. She refuses to be comforted, for they are dead.

Congregation: We pray for the families of children who have been slain by gun violence, left to die on streets with less dignity than is given to animals.

Leader: A sound is heard in every city. Communities are weeping generationally for their children. Our sons, like Emmett Till, Trayvon Martin, Ezell Ford, Michael Brown and John Crawford. Our daughters, like Ayanna Jones, Miriam Carey, Malisa Williams and Tarika Wilson.

Congregation: As people of this loving community, we weep for the lives of all children who, instead of enjoying the sweetness of innocence, become victims of hate, victims of war, and victims of violence.

Leader: Now, let us rise up and interrupt these rushing waters of violence that leave children and communities wounded and paralyzed, traumatized by internal disintegration and state terror. Let us rise up and demand this nation abandon its affair with beliefs, practices and laws that are rooted in militarism, justified by racism and propped up by systemic inequities.

Congregation: We will rise up against laws that have no concern for life, nor any concern for love. We will rise up until justice rolls on like a river and righteousness like a never failing stream.

Leader: Spirit of life and love and all that is holy, we commit ourselves to seeing all children, no matter their age or race, as precious gifts, created with transformative purpose and unlimited promise.

Congregation: And for that cause, we pledge to be hedges of protection for their lives, we pledge to stand against anything that threatens their potential or promise.

All: We embody the universal spirit of Ubuntu, “I am because we are and because we are, I am.” We are all Rachel crying for the children! Therefore, we pledge to lock arms in solidarity with the families of the slain. We pledge to let our voices be heard all over this nation and the world, for we know we are called to do what is just and right.


 

Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.

Most sermons delivered at the First UU Church of Austin during the past 14 years are available online through this website. You will find links to them in the right sidebar menu labeled Sermons. The Indexes link leads to tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on the topic to go to a sermon.

 

When the method is the message

Chris Jimmerson
August 10, 2014

Unitarian Universalism is a religion without creed. We do not have a prescribed set of beliefs with which we must all express agreement. So how is it that we are bound together?


 

Reading: Grace

When she was a young girl, they told her that Grace was only available to her, the child of original sin, through the forgiveness and whim of a benevolent God. Then she sat with her Grandfather as he was dying. She held his hand, and she and the ones she loved stayed with him through his great passage, and she felt Grace arise among them.

Later, during her college years, she volunteered for the local refugee shelter. And one day she witnessed the counselor work with young children traumatized by war.

She heard the children begin to speak their truths with one another, in that language that is only fully understood by such children, and she watched the counselor put his plans aside and let the children heal one another, and she felt Grace radiate between them.

And as over and over again through her year, she witnessed this same emergence between and among people, she came to understand Grace as something we create, and, sometimes, something we allow to happen by simply getting out of the way.

Sermon:

I was standing on an outdoor train platform in Chicago, waiting for the train that would take me to my seminary class that morning. The platform was located under a street that ran across a bridge overhead, partially blocking the morning sun. Still, one, wide ray of sun was shining though, and it was snowing very, very lightly. Tiny, fragile snowflakes were being held aloft by a brisk wind, swirling in circles in the air. They danced through the bright ray of sunlight, reflecting it in dazzling patterns, as if thousands of miniature mirrors were whirling and casting their own small rays of light in almost infinite directions – tiny spirits dancing and floating and spreading light into their world.

Needless to say, I was captivated, standing transfixed until the sound of my train approaching drew my attention. I turned toward the sound of the train. As I did, I made eye contact with an elderly, a woman who was leaning on a carved wooden cane for support.

She smiled – a joyful glint in her eyes. I smiled back. Without even exchanging a word, we both knew that we had both been mesmerized by the beautiful ballet of sunlight and snowfall. We both knew that we had somehow been profoundly moved by and connected through the experience.

Riding in the train a few moments later, I could not help thinking that the potential for transformation exists within any moment, each encounter. In that small, fragmentary sliver of time on a cold train platform in Chicago, I understood that this person whose life experiences had no doubt been different than my own, this person I had never met and would likely never see again, was, none-the-less, like me, enmeshed in all the beauty and fragility and wonder and suffering and joy that life has to offer.

I had understood that we are connected in ways we only are rarely able to truly glimpse, and these experiences of the vastness and complexity of our interconnectedness are a source of empathy and compassion and love. And this idea, this experience of the possibility for transformation present within any moment, in each encounter, for me, is a key element of our Unitarian Universalist, covenantal tradition. It is part of what drew me to our faith and sustains me as I go about living it.

It is central to a worldview known as process-relational theology, from which I draw great meaning. Process-relational thought sees all of us as part of an interconnected web or matrix that is continually unfolding. It sees within that web of relationships the creative potential for transformation bursting forth in each new moment.

For me, this idea also grounds and sustains our anti-racism, anti-oppression and multi-cultural work, our work for justice, by insisting that to realize the greatest potential for us all, we must go beyond finding common ground to do the often more difficult and challenging work of embracing difference – encountering, experiencing and respecting difference.

For a religious movement without creed, without a statement of prescribed beliefs to which we all must agree – for such a religious movement, covenantal relationship forms the core for practicing our faith. The way that we are together becomes paramount. The how we interact takes precedence. The method is the message, as our great Unitarian Universalist forbearer in religious education, Angus McLean, so famously put it. And I think this idea can continuously inform the ways in which we think about and go about doing congregational and denominational life.

If there is transformative potential in every fragment of time, busting forth in every encounter – and if we also take the work of the church to be at least in part about spiritual or maturational growth for our members, then everything we do in our churches can be seen as faith development. Faith formation, spiritual transformation, is occurring not just in worship, not just in our religious education classrooms, but also throughout the life of the church. Every community or small group gathering, every committee meeting, every conversation during the fellowship hour has the potential to transform us, as well as to provide comfort in times of need and to sustain us through life’s difficult and challenging times.

I wonder, if we take this view, how might we approach each other differently? How much more bound by our covenants of right relations, the promises we make to one another, might we feel? In what ways might we become even more connected with our fellow Unitarian Universalist churches and our larger Unitarian Universalist movement?

I wonder if we might even more passionately strive for a pluralistic, multi-cultural faith – a people in deep relationship, a people emerging out of a full and vibrant matrix of cultures and identities, bound together in promises to both hold each other accountable to our greater ideals and at the same time hold each other in compassion, love, shared vulnerability and deep respect. The method is the message.

The very way we do church life begins to burst forth with new creative possibilities. Worshipped can be transformed when there are more and more styles and perspectives to be included. Congregational meetings and gatherings spend more and more time reflecting with each other on the world we dream about and how as a religious community we can work together to bring it into being! The method is the message.

Maybe our interfaith and social justice activities become a vital part of our spiritual practices throughout the religious community as a whole. Perhaps we stop during board meetings for a reflective period or to sing a hymn together that captures a vision for creating that better world. How about some time for liturgical dancing during that finance committee meeting! OK, maybe not. I got a little carried away.

Anyway, as another example, I think that the capital campaign in which we are currently engaged here at First Unitarian Universalist Church of Austin is likewise deeply rooted in this idea that positive change is possible through each encounter. Our building is part of our method, and it sends a message about our values and our desire to create a welcoming table and transformative experience for all who enter this holy place.

I’m told that members of this congregation have already pledged over two point one million dollars toward the campaign, and that demonstrates that this congregation walks in the ways of generosity and stewardship and commitment to the future of this beloved religious community.

Likewise, the fact that First Unitarian Universalist Church of Austin is a covenantal and mission-focused congregation greatly moves us into living out that vital religious faith I have been describing. The beautiful covenant we read together earlier describes a transformational way of being together: Welcome and serve. Nurture and protect. Sustain and build. Thus we do covenant with one another.

These are methods. They are ways of being together, and they emanate a strong message about who we are as a religious people.

The mission we have emblazoned onto our wall and into our memories and hearts compels us toward creative and transcendent possibilities.

Now, I know we just said it together a few minutes ago, but I am feeling a little low energy after all this talking I have been doing up here on my own, so I wonder if you might indulge me in reciting it together again? And, yes, a preacher is really going to encourage other people to talk during his sermon! At First Unitarian Universalist Church of Austin…

We gather in community to nourish souls, transform lives and do justice.

Thanks. I feel better now. I just love that!

Gather. Nourish. Transform. Do Justice.

These may imply goals and ends; however, first and foremost they are actions. They are verbs. They describe ways of doing and being together. They are each a method, and the method matters.

It matters because it help us maintain an awareness of that capacity to transform one another. It opens up a space for creative potentialities – what I like to call “Grace that we co-create” and it does so in sometimes surprising and unexpected ways. This happened during a powerful and moving experience at the church where I served as ministerial intern.

For the holidays in the first year of my internship, we had been putting together a multigenerational Christmas Pageant. The pageant was a Unitarian Universalist version of the biblical nativity story. Our cast and crew included folks ranging in age from four or five to this beautiful woman in her eighties who ran circles around me and kept our rehearsals on track.

Putting together a pageant, complete with costumes, props, songs, a little platform that served as our imaginary stable and children dressed up as the stable animals had been quite the challenge sometimes but lots of fun too. Alongside the human characters, we had camels, cows, a donkey, some doves and at least a couple of kitty cats. An ongoing challenge was helping the youngest of the children to remember that there were imaginary stable walls around the edges of our little platform. More than once during rehearsals, a cow or camel would walk right through one of the imaginary walls, and we would have to stop, go back and remind them not to do that!

On the Friday before we were to present the pageant, the news broke about the shootings at Sandy Hook Elementary.

I talked with my supervising minister. We had to decide whether to go forward with the pageant or whether it would be too light hearted given the circumstances. We decided to go forward. On Sunday morning though, we first stood together before the congregation, and she offered a prayer for the victims and their families.

There was a pervasive tone of grief among our church members that morning – a sense of shock and emotional paralysis. We started the pageant.

About halfway through it, one of the children costumed as an animal in our imaginary stable, one of our cats, I believe, got so wrapped up in the pageant song we were singing, that she stood up and started dancing. She pirouetted right through one of our imaginary stable walls, whirling and swirling in balletic circles in front of our carefully set up nativity scene. She was about the same age as the youngest children who had been killed at Sandy Hook.

The woman who had helped keep our rehearsals on track and I were sitting together, and we looked at each other, both wondering if we should get up and lead our little dancing cat back into the scene. As soon as our eyes met though, we both knew that we had to let her continue.

And she was dancing, and the music was playing and the congregation was singing. At one point the song almost faltered. The children were mesmerized by the little girl’s impromptu ballet and the adults were nearly overcome with emotion. I looked around the sanctuary, and the adult’s eyes were glistening, their tears reflecting tiny pinpoints of light in almost infinite directions. We kept on singing, and the little girl kept her ballet afloat, and our spirits were dancing through joy and sorrow and back again in small, fragmentary slivers of time. The music and the singing and the dancing were the method. That we must continue our part within the struggle and the creative co-telling of life’s ongoing pageant was the message. A young girl’s dancing had spread Grace throughout our sanctuary and transformed a congregation that morning.

A minister who I consider one of my mentors says that a key element of spiritual growth is to be always mindful of and open to this possibility of Grace. I learned that morning that she is right. And, I believe our faith and our churches can go even a step further – actively creating that potential for Grace through the ways in which we do congregational and denominational life – cultivating an ever-present awareness of our capacity to transform one another.

And speaking of grace, I am so blessed and so filled with gratitude that, with Meg’s wisdom and guidance, my ministry now involves walking with all of you, as we build beloved community, as we nourish and transform one another and our world, as we engage in the vital and life-giving work of doing justice. Together, may we reach for the transformative potential, bursting forth in each new moment.

So may we be. Amen.


 

Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.

Most sermons delivered at the First UU Church of Austin during the past 14 years are available online through this website. You will find links to them in the right sidebar menu labeled Sermons. The Indexes link leads to tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on the topic to go to a sermon.

 

The death penalty, reluctant soldiers, & Edward O. Wilson

Rev. Meg Barnhouse
July 13, 2014

They say “Thou Shalt Not Kill,” but we kill all the time: plants, animals, and other humans. What does our biology tell us? What do our ethics tell us?


 

Sermon: Thou Shalt Not Kill

Many people talk about the Ten Commandments with great passion and reverence. We have been talking about them for about six months now, once a month, bringing our free UU minds and hearts to this traditional moral code. Today we’re on the sixth Commandment, “Thou Shalt Not Kill.” This is one of those that people recite so piously and break so blatantly. We kill plants and animals for food, of course, but almost no one thinks this particular commandment is asking us not to kill for food. We kill in wars. We use the death penalty for certain criminals, usually the blacker, poorer ones. Texas accounts for 40 percent of the nation’s executions. These are the instances in which we ignore the Commandment most egregiously.

There are people who take it literally. Pacifists take it to mean that the ideal is not to kill anyone, at any time. When the Amish who suffered tragedy when a man with a gun ordered the boys and women out of a schoolhouse and shot the girls, they did not balance their hurt with hate. As a pacifist community, they publicly forgave the gunman, and they reached out to comfort his family as well as the families of the girls he killed and wounded.

The folks who are more passionate about the Commandments being displayed in courthouses and schools are the same ones, usually, who are in favor of the death penalty, against abortion, pro war. It’s an odd mix. People say it’s cheaper to kill criminals, that tax payers shouldn’t have to foot the bill for them, the rest of their lives — but the way our appeals system works, it’s actually less expensive to feed and house people for life than to execute them. If you do that, you also have the option to set a person free when new evidence, another confession, or DNA reveals their innocence.

In ethics classes at seminary I heard the argument that the Commandments are for individuals, that nations cannot be held to the same ethics. You can say “turn the other cheek,” and it might be a spiritually deepening idea for a person, but how can you turn someone else’s cheek? If you are a leader of a group, how do your ethics shift as you think about your responsibility for others?

Most of us are not pacifists. I would prefer not to kill, but if someone were doing active harm and I could stop them only by killing them, I might. I would prefer to stun them, tie them up, and take turns with some of the people in this congregation talking to them about how disappointed we were with what they had done. They might beg for death after a few days….

Most Biblical scholars say the Commandment isn’t a prohibition against all kinds of killing. Most of them now translate it “Thou shalt not murder.” That narrows it down, but then the high school debate team shows up and peppers us with questions: what is murder, and how is it different from killing? Is the death penalty murder? Is it murder when you kill someone in self-defense? What about killing in defense of another person?

What about killing in a war? Does it need to be a war that is a just war? Is there ever such a thing? When is war a just war? WWII, to stop the Nazis, has been called “the last good war.” We killed and were killed in Iraq for a purpose few people supported, and now we are taiking about how to get back in. Most ethicists will say that killing in a war, if done according to the rules of engagement, is not murder. Anyone who has been in a way knows, though, that the lines blur, and mistakes are made.

St. Augustine said you have to have soldiers, but they should be reluctant soldiers. I know we have a lot of soldiers who are reluctant to kill. That’s as it should be. It appears that the higher up in the military you go, into the halls of the Pentagon, the people who have actually been in wars are usually reluctant to go to war except as a last resort. That tells you something valuable right there.

Biblical scholarship tells us the commandment doesn’t baldly read: “thou shalt not kill,” it’s “thou shalt not murder.” One scholar even said it should be more accurately read: “Thou shalt not murder within thine own tribe.” Now we’re getting somewhere! That makes more sense, with all the murdering and mayhem that went on right after the Hebrew people were given that Commandment. The people to whom the Commandment was given wasted little time before they were killing the folks on the other side of the river, in the land they felt had been promised to them. The god they worshipped gave the Commandment and then, weeks later, was commanding them to kill all the residents of this town or that one, to kill people who had broken some of the other Commandments, to kill a child who wasn’t obedient enough. They were killing foreigners who were on land the Hebrew people felt they’d been promised by God.

“Thou shalt not murder,” or “Thou shalt not murder within thine own tribe” gets murkier as we go. Different cultures’ ideas of what kind of killing is justifiable seem to be evolving. Morality does seem to evolve. Child labor, enslaving people, domestic violence, all are less and less acceptable in our culture. Despite the fact that most people like to think that values are eternal and that without a god who tells us how to behave “anything goes” what we find in historical experience is that values are relative and are created by people.

We can usually tell when someone has a sense of right and wrong, and we are alarmed when we meet someone who doesn’t seem to have that sense.

Edward O. Wilson’s book “The Biological Basis of Morality.” Edward O. Wilson is currently the Pellegrino University Research Professor, Emeritus in Entomology for the Department of Organismic and Evolutionary Biology at Harvard University, a lecturer at Duke University and a Fellow of the Committee for Skeptical Inquiry. He is a Humanist Laureate of the International Academy of Humanism.

He says “Moral values come from human beings, whether or not God exists… ethical codes have arisen by evolution through the interplay of biology and culture.”

Wilson says that there came a point in human evolution when the earliest humans realized that our survival depended upon our willingness to band together and cooperate rather than each trying to survive alone.

The down side of our inborn propensity to moral behavior is xenophobia. What he means is that cooperation mostly occurs within groups, tribes, or nationalities who define themselves and their well-being often in opposition to other groups, tribes, and nationalities. “Thou shalt not commit murder within thine own tribe,” remember. This is part of the human dilemma: We are predisposed both to cooperate on the one hand, and to assert our personhood or grouphood on the other.”

When we make someone “other,” or “less than,” then it’s easier literally to kill them. What we have to watch out for is thinking that a certain kind of person is not like us inside. We are called to look at any human and think “my family.” It’s fascinating to watch some people react to the unaccompanied children on the border, seeing them as they would see their own children, and see other people view the children as germ-ridden invaders, coming to ruin our lives. Some of us live in South America and have a problem with gang violence. Some of us live safer lives. Some of us live with gangs here in Chicago or LA or Austin. Some of us have the resources to help.

Edward Wilson says the more we learn about our common origins, the more we will realize that we are related with a common origin and a shared future. The Bryan Sykes book “The Seven Daughters of Eve” uses mitochondrial DNA, only passed on through the mother, to trace the seven “clan-mothers” of western European people. Apparently there are nine clan mothers for the Japanese, possible only 29 genetic mutations on the primal mtDNA of the first “Eve.” Race, then, is not a scientific way to categorize people, even though skin coloration does have a tremendous effect on people’s lives, in this culture and most others. We could find out which clan mother we were related to, and then we’d be surprised at the colors of our relatives. We could probably all go back five or six generations and be surprised by that, though! Perhaps if we all get our mtDNA checked, we will wear t-shirts with our clan number on it, or the name of our clan mother. We will greet relatives with a shout. We wouldn’t shoot a #12 if they had their #12 t-shirt on over their army uniform…. That’s a cousin. Then again, maybe we won’t use it to feel like kin, we’ll use it to say “clan 26 RULES and clan 14 DROOLS!”: then start wars over that.

I don’t know how to change my own nature, much less human nature in other people. I don’t know what to do about immigration and the violence faced by many children like our own children. I don’t think that it is possible to come up with the single, final answer forever and ever amen. I also give up on the conceit that there is no truth, and that no one can know anything. Be responsible for what you know. Practice seeing all humans as your sisters and brothers. Let’s figure out how to be a voice that will help humanity evolve into a group that sees killing one another as unthinkable.

I love the poem by the Unitarian e.e. cummings:

“may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

“may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it’s Sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young


 

Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.

Most sermons delivered at the First UU Church of Austin during the past 14 years are available online through this website. You will find links to them in the right sidebar menu labeled Sermons. The Indexes link leads to tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on the topic to go to a sermon.

 

Spiritual Growth

Rev. Meg Barnhouse
June 29, 2014

Spiritual growth: this is more important for First UU than numerical growth. What might that look like for UUs? How do we know if it’s happening?


 

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Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.

Most sermons delivered at the First UU Church of Austin during the past 14 years are available online through this website. You will find links to them in the right sidebar menu labeled Sermons. The Indexes link leads to tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on the topic to go to a sermon.

 

Honor Your Father

Rev. Meg Barnhouse
June 15, 2014

The Fifth Commandment talks about honoring our parents. What does that mean? We reflect on the things we were taught that we should hold fast, and the things we were taught that we should let go.


 

TEN COMMANDMENTS “Honor Your Father and Mother”

We’ve been studying the Ten Commandments together for six months now, and today we are looking at number five: Honor your mother and father, so your days may be long in the land.”

Everyone has parents. Some grow up with the parents they were born with, and some grow up with people who chose them to love. Some in this room had parents that fit the picture we have when we hear that word: people who stay by our side as we grow, who give us the benefit of their resources, their advice, their experience so we can become useful in the world, joyful and brave and compassionate and good at relationships. Some in this room had parents who were somewhat like that, with some rough spots. Some had nothing but rough spots.

Some parents can stay for your whole growing up process, and some leave, or are taken from you. Lots of folks are raised by other family members, who act more like parents. Some parents do a good job, some do badly. Some do real harm. Some of our parents are still living; some have gone on into the mystery.

How might we think about honoring all of our parents? The Hebrew word used in the Exodus passage is kabed. It has to do with giving weight to something, knowing it’s heavy, that it matters.

Honoring means helping someone, to bring them joy, improve their lives, to respect someone, esteem them, have concern for them, affection for them, consideration, appreciation for them, nurturing, forgiveness.

The way most of us were taught about this commandment, it sounded like “honor your mother and father” had mostly to do with obeying what they said to do, living up to who they wanted you to be, making them happy at the expense of your independence and your individuality. It set you up for either keeping this commandment or growing into your own adult with your own sense of truth and place and who you should be in the world. The Westminster Larger Catechism (the list of answers Presbyterians point to, written in the 1648) expands this this commandment enormously to include all older people, people who are “superiors in gifts,” supervisors, managers, clergy, legislators, police, etc. It seems as if you were a really good person, according to that system, you would be over obedient.

Most of us learned in college about the psychological experiment conducted in the 60’s by Stanley Milgram. A researcher in a white coat asked participants to press a button to shock a person in the booth in front of them. They would administer a mild shock, then a stronger one. The white coat would say, “again,” and look like he was turning up the strength of the shock. As the experiment proceeded, the person in the booth would act more and more distressed, then in agony. Finally he was begging for mercy. It surprised researchers how long most students would keep pressing the button, believing it was shocking this person in front of them, if the white coat said to. It was this kind of experiment, certain orders being obeyed in Nazi Germany and in Vietnam, that turned the spotlight on the dangers of teaching people to obey in this religiously connected, unquestioning way. We began to use bumper stickers that said “Question Authority” and started to raise our children to learn to negotiate and to trust their inner voice.

In our free faith, we can know that we will not be asked to do something that doesn’t make sense, something that is bad for us or others. Honoring our parents has to do with making their lives better, respecting them, allowing them to be who they are, as we would want them to allow us to be who we are. Sometimes there are specific things we can honor and some things we can’t. I think this Commandment has to do with honoring those who have raised and taught us, who have sacrificed for us and loved us. Maybe that is your biological parents, and maybe it includes other people too. Maybe there are some teachers or preachers or friends who need to be honored in that role as well. Maybe they need a note to be sent to them, or at least to be written – if they are dead or if you can’t find them for some other reason. The thanks is something that will be good for you to do, their role will be something good to acknowledge. It is good to acknowledge those who have given you gifts. Your parents are where you come from. It does a person no good to be ashamed of where they come from. Raise your head and find a way to honor it. It is part of you. You have some of each parent in you, whether in your biology or in your raising, and it would be good to know that’s there. You may have some of their good qualities and some that weren’t’ so good. Even if it’s not one of their best qualities that you have, maybe you can turn it to better use. If you got your dad’s comfort with risk-taking, maybe he was a compulsive gambler, but maybe you can use that quality to a better purpose. If you got your mom’s picky negativity, maybe you can use it to become a systems analyst who finds the flaws in a system in order to make it better for everyone.

Honoring who they are, who they were. Knowing that doesn’t mean obeying them, knowing that, in fact, the best way to honor them is to become a fully functioning, sane and joyful human individual in right relationship with a community, whether that is what they seem to want for you or not. Forgiving them, and forgiving ourselves as parents. Horrifyingly, we make mistakes as parents. Sometimes our children will talk to us about that and sometimes they won’t. My mother, as she was in the last part of her life, said “We told you ‘no’ too much….” I think that was adorable, that this was her biggest regret. She was a wonderful mom. Parenting is hard, and there has to be a lot of forgiveness about it.

“I seek your forgiveness for all the times I talked when I should have listened; got angry when I should have been patient; acted when I should have waited; feared when I should have been delighted; scolded when I should have encouraged; criticized when I should have complimented; said no when I should have said yes and said yes when I should have said no… I often tried too hard and wanted and demanded so much, and mistakenly sometimes tried to mold you into my image of what I wanted you to be rather than discovering and nourishing you as you emerged and grew.”

Honor them in who they are and honor them as they are in you. We get so afraid that we will turn into our parents. Our free faith encourages us to seek our own truth. To become an independent sane useful person IS a way of honoring your parents.

Part of this mutuality is implicit in the notion of honoring: ” ‘Honor’ is a more delicate, transitive maneuver, whereby both parties grow in dignity through the process” (Brueggemann)


 

Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.

Most sermons delivered at the First UU Church of Austin during the past 14 years are available online through this website. You will find links to them in the right sidebar menu labeled Sermons. The Indexes link leads to tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on the topic to go to a sermon.

 

The Cherokee Removal

Rev. Meg Barnhouse
June 8, 2014

Did you know that the man who was chief of the Cherokee during the Trail of Tears was a Harvard graduate? Did you know there were missionaries living in Georgia amongst the Cherokee who vigorously protested their removal? Did you know what natural resource was at the root of the removal? This week we learn about justice and politics in the nineteenth century.


 

The early 1800’s were when Beethoven was writing music, when Napoleon was being triumphant, when the telegraph was being used for communication over distances. In the early 1800’s, the Cherokee were living in a swath of land that went from north Georgia through Tennessee and western South Carolina and western North Carolina, with hunting lands in Kentucky. 100,000 sq miles.

The Cherokee were divided about how to best survive the encroachment of white settlers. Some wanted to continue to live in a more traditional way, with the traditional form of government they’d had for hundreds of years. This group signed a treaty with the US giving up title to the lands they held in the southeast in exchange for lands they chose in Arkansas and Oklahoma. They called themselves the Old Settlers, and established a traditional life with traditional governance in the west. They are known also as the Ketoowah tribe of the Cherokee.

Most of the rest of the Cherokee in the east wanted to survive by becoming as European as possible. Their houses looked like the white settler’s houses. They wore more European style dress. Some were country folks and others were more sophisticated and progressive. Some were in business, some in farming, some lawyers, doctors and ministers. Most converted to Christianity. Their Principle chief, John Ross, who was part Scottish and part Cherokee, was a graduate of Harvard, and he drew up a constitution for the tribe and made the governance more like that of the US. It was actually more like the Iroquois Great Law of Peace, which Thomas Jefferson had modeled the US Constitution. Many families were of mixed blood, as the Irish (who were not seen by the settlers as quite “white,” even though that term didn’t really exist at the time) intermarried with the Cherokee, as did the Scots-Irish. Many Cherokee were wealthy, and some owned large plantations in Georgia. Native tribes had enslaved one another for centuries, so the idea of owning enslaved Africans was comfortable. The labor of these enslaved men and women added to the wealth of many Cherokee families, who are said to have had around 25 slaves each. A Cherokee named George Gist, also called Sequoyah, developed a way to write the language that was also fairly simple to print. Between 1809 and 1820, most Cherokee learned to read and write, and their newspaper, “The Phoenix” was established.

There had been talk of removal since the beginning of the 1800’s. The communal way in which the tribe held land didn’t match with the way the Europeans saw land ownership. Then gold was discovered in the hills of North Georgia, and outsiders moved in in droves, trampling Cherokee land, trespassing, resenting the Cherokee sovereignty over the creeks and hills where the gold was. Pressure for removal increased.

Missionaries who lived amongst the Cherokee were expected by the state of GA to be on the side of voluntary removal, or at the very least hold a neutral attitude. Some of the missionaries agreed to that, but not the Methodist missionary Samuel Worcester. He noisily protested that “establishment of the jurisdiction of the State of Georgia over the Cherokee people against their will would be an immense and irreparable injury.” The publisher of The Phoenix took up the anti-removal cause, and the case went to court. Was the Cherokee nation a sovereign nation, or was it like a ward of the State of Georgia? A case on this matter had gone to the Supreme Court two years earlier, but the court declined to hear the case, saying in that instance that the Cherokee nation was not a separate nation, so it couldn’t sue Georgia. Worcester’s lawsuit went all the way to the US Supreme Court, which ruled for Cherokee sovereignty. President Andrew Jackson said he would not enforce that ruling, so it was ignored. The debate within the Cherokee tribe was whether they should remove themselves voluntarily to Indian Territory, or should they hold out to see if there would be a reprieve. A small group of Cherokee met with US officials and signed a treaty at New Echota agreeing to exchange their land for tools, money, equipment, land, livestock and other valuables in Indian Territory. Chief Ross and his people and their lawyers objected that these folks did not have the power to sign any treaty. In fact, the Cherokee governing council had passed a law a few years earlier that said no one could sign away Cherokee land upon pain of death.

Georgia passed laws that no missionaries could live amongst the Cherokee without special permits, none of which were given. When Worcester refused to leave, he and one other missionary were sent to prison. Others in opposition to the removal were Senators Daniel Webster (a Unitarian) and Henry Clay. The signers of the New Echota Treaty left to join the other Cherokee who had settled in Indian Territory. The rest continued to fight removal in the courts, the newspapers, by sending delegations to Washington to speak with President Jackson.

In May of 1838, the terror began. Soldiers came to every village and rousted the Cherokee, rich and poor, sophisticated, educated, farmers, landowners, doctors, business people, mothers with young children, grandmothers from their homes at bayonet point. They were walked, just with the clothes on their backs, to stockades, internment camps. 16,000 Cherokee, 1500 enslaved Africans, penned up that summer. Many died of dysentery. Soldiers took about 4,000 in steamships down the drought-stricken rivers. The slaves had to work at clearing obstacles from the path of the boats. So many people deserted along the way, so many died, that the government signed a contract with Chief Ross to arrange for the transport of the rest of the tribe when the weather got cooler. With government money he hired wagons, and organized the people into cohorts, each with a doctor, some grave diggers, and a seaso was madened leader. The weather quickly grew freakishly cold, and the thousand-mile journey killed the old and the very young. The people slept on the ground or in the wagons without a warming fire, still in the clothes they’d left home in. There wasn’t enough food. People along the route would come out of their homes and stand while the people trudged by, weeping and begging the soldiers not to keep them marching this way. No one was allowed to stop during the day to bury the dead, so they had to be carried until night fall, when the sounds of shovels in the dirt and wailing would haunt people’s dreams.

Even though John Ross and his wife Quatie were on a steamship having a more comfortable trip, she died of pneumonia near Little Rock and is buried there. Our own forbear, Ralph Waldo Emerson, wrote a letter to the President when word reached MA of the removal.

“We only state the fact that a crime is projected that confounds our understandings by its magnitude, -a crime that really deprives us as well as the Cherokees of a country, for how could we call the conspiracy that should crush these poor Indians our government, or the land that was cursed by their parting and dying imprecations our country, any more? You, sir, will bring down that renowned chair in which you sit into infamy if your seal is set to this instrument of perfidy; and the name of this nation, hitherto the sweet omen of religion and liberty, will stink to the world.”

When the Cherokee got to Indian Territory, there were the Ketoowah tribe, living traditionally, matrilinealy, where the clan mothers chose the chiefs, and there were the hated group who had signed the treaty at New Echota. The leaders of that group were soon assassinated, as the penalty for what they had done was death.

About a thousand Cherokee stayed in the Southeast. They had melted into the hills, living on squirrels and acorns, or they had passed for white. A few hundred were living on the private land of a farmer in NC who had been adopted into the tribe as a boy, and if you were living on private land you didn’t have to be removed. This is now called the Eastern Band of the Cherokees, and the Cherokee in OK are called the Western Band. The divisions amongst the groups still gives rise to tensions. Appalachian culture, with its tradition of feuding, is rooted in Cherokee culture, so the feuds persist and it’s easy to step on toes. The Cherokee were not the only people who had to walk the Trail of Tears. Choctaw, Muskogee/Creek and Seminole were also stripped of their land and shoved out to Indian Territory. Then, when the European settlers wanted that land, the reservations were set up. Greed always pushes for more. We have to stand up to it, first in our own hearts, then out in the world.

Whenever I tell you stories from history, one of my purposes is to remind you that things are always as complicated in the past as they are in the present. Injustice has a similar shape wherever it moves. The laws are ignored. Differences are demonized. Horrors are minimized, dismissed. The oppressed turn on one another. infighting and self-hatred does the job of the oppressor for them. The people who do the very worst things are just following orders. Good people speak up. Sometimes we succeed in making a change. Imagine how different our US would be had we been able to envision a future including the First Nations people as neighbors and friends.


 

Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.

Most sermons delivered at the First UU Church of Austin during the past 14 years are available online through this website. You will find links to them in the right sidebar menu labeled Sermons. The Indexes link leads to tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on the topic to go to a sermon.

 

Rilke’s Swan

Rev. Meg Barnhouse
June 1, 2014

The Fourth Commandment is to rest. What do you do to rest? What might a “sabbath” be in your life?


 

I have been tired lately. It’s been May, when we all have all of our end of school year festivities, field days, picnics, lots of weddings, papers to write, exams to take or grade. Lots of us have been tired. You know it’s bad when the doves in the tree outside sound like they’re saying “File folder. File folder.” Last week I was what I call “stretcher tired.” I wrote a piece about it. Here’s how it goes:

The Stretcher and the Swan

I came up on an accident the other day. Emergency Services people were putting a woman on a stretcher. They were tender, attentive, capable. She was being taken care of. Traffic was being directed competently around the wreck. It would be cleaned up, hauled away. Taken care of. A fire truck was pulled up beside the ambulance, its chunky lights flashing. Standing by, just in case a fire happened. So they could take care of it. That was one well-taken-car-of situation. I wanted to be on that stretcher. I wanted calm and capable people to be taking care of everything. It looked restful. I was tired. I was the kind of tired you get at the end of a month-long project. I had pushed through to the finish and I’d make seven mistakes along the way but the thing was done. I was the kind of tired you get when you have ten different people feeling in their heart that you should have done it differently. Their way. I was the kind of tired you get when your house is messy, your grass is too long, your car is cluttered and there is a dent in the door and your gas tank is empty, along with your bank account. A tiny piece of me thought it would be restful to be lying down on clean sheets, fussed over in a clean hospital room, brought jello and chicken broth and straws that bend, have people worry about me.

Usually I think it’s a good day when you don’t have to take a ride in an ambulance, and I got back to that state of mind pretty fast. Anyway, I talked to a friend of mine who used to work in an emergency room and she said what happens when you come in is that fast moving people with big scissors cut off all your clothes. That didn’t sound restful at all. She suggested I pay for a day at a spa where helpful, calm people fuss over you all day long, and you get to rest, but no one cuts off your clothes with scissors. It’s cheaper than a hospital stay, when everything is all added up, and you can drive your car home afterward.

I know now that when I have a “stretcher day,” when being helpless looks good to me, that I just need to rest. How did I get to be a grown up and not know that I need to rest sometimes? I think I used to eat instead of resting. That doesn’t work any more. Resting used to sound weak to me. I used to work sick. Well, I still do that. I used to have two speeds, a hundred miles an hour and full stop. Crash. I thought you were supposed to go and go at full speed until you couldn’t go any longer, then you sleep. Then you wake up and start again. As I get older I’m adding more gears. I have “slow” now. Some days.

The poet Rilke wrote about a swan, how awkwardly he moves on the ground, but, lowering himself into the water, allowing himself to be carried, “wave after wave,” he writes, while the swan, unmoving and marvelously calm, is pleased to be carried, each moment more fully grown, more like a king, further and further on.”

The wisdom of one of my holy books, the I Ching, talks about the wisdom of not doing. I get tired when I forget and start to act like I’m the source of my energy, my love, my creativity, like I’m the one who works things out, who sustains my friends, who gets things done. I’m learning to begin to experiment with letting go, with allowing wave after wave to hold me up and move me along. May I be granted the wisdom to know when to paddle my feet now and then.

Connecting with the deep power in which we live in the way to rest. It’s a way to let go of trying to fix things that are not our business. It’s a way to let go of trying to control things that cannot be controlled. We, like the swan, have to move into our element, stop doing the things we’re not built to do.

Finding our element, finding what we were designed to do, moving in the deep power that our forbears the Transcendentalists called “The Oversoul,” is one way to rest from the frantic and awkward efforts we make to do and be what we think is necessary. Another way to rest is, as my therapist/trainer would say: “Don’t just do something, stand there!”

This is where the fourth commandment leads, I think. This is the commandment that tells us to rest, to keep the Sabbath Day holy. We were tortured with this as children. On Sabbath, we were only allowed to go to church, read the Bible, memorize the Bible, eat or nap. When we would watch other families headed to the lake on Sunday, we’d say “They’re going to the lake!” and mama would say “Honey, they’re Catholics.” I always wanted to be Catholic. Mama would let us play sometimes on Sunday, but she kept it between the lines. Instead of playing “Battleship,” where you divide a paper into a grid of squares, within some of which your battleships lurk, we’d play “Going to Jerusalem.” We had donkeys in the grid, and your opponents were the thieves trying to set upon your donkeys as you made the treacherous climb up through the gorges to Jerusalem.

The Ten Commandments were given to a group of people who had been enslaved, and whose ancestors had been enslaved, back through 400 years of generations. It’s easy to imagine that they could have used some instructions relative to work. Rest was demanded. There were lists, eventually, about what constitutes work on the Sabbath. No planting, no gathering, no threshing, no grinding, no sorting. None of these is simple, as thousands of years of thought has gone into their meanings.

Take sorting, for example, which is defined as separating the desirable from the undesirable. Sorting or selecting is permitted when three conditions are fulfilled simultaneously. It is absolutely imperative that all three conditions be present at the time of the sorting.

1. B’yad (By hand): The selection must be done by hand and not a utensil that aids in the selection.

2. Ochel Mitoch Psolet (Good from the bad): The desired objects must be selected from the undesired, and not the reverse.

3. Miyad (Immediate use): The selection must be done immediately before the time of use and not for later use. There is no precise amount of time indicated by the concept of “immediate use” (“miyad”). The criteria used to define “immediate use” relate to the circumstances. For instance if a particular individual prepares food for a meal rather slowly, that individual may allow a more liberal amount of time in which to do so without having transgressed “borer.”

Examples of Permissible and Prohibited Types of Borer:

1. Peeling fruits: Peeling fruits is permissible with the understanding that the fruit will be eaten right away.

2. Sorting silverware: Sorting silverware is permitted when the sorter intends to eat the Shabbat meal immediately. Alternatively, if the sorter intends to set up the meal for a later point, it is prohibited.

3. Removing items from a mixture: If the desired item is being removed from the mix then this is permissible. If the non-desired item is being removed, the person removing is committing a serious transgression according to the laws of Shabbat.

So if you are making beans, you may sort the beans from the small stones that are in there

Trust human beings to take a rule which says you must rest one day out of seven, as God did when creating the earth, and make it so complicated that you need to call your lawyer before you do something on Sabbath to make sure you’re not breaking the law.

We need to rest. What’s so hard about that? It’s hard for us. “I work hard and I play hard,” our TV heroes say. We answer “how’ve you been?” With “Oh, busy. Crazy busy.” It’s true too. Crazy busy.

“Work is not always required… there is such a thing as sacred idleness, the cultivation of which is now fearfully neglected.”

– George MacDonald

A study by neuroscientists at the University of California says that there are complimentary brain networks that toggle back and forth. One is used for times in which we are paying attention, focused, trying to get things done. The other, which they call the Default Mode, is activated during times of rest, daydreaming, and other non attentive but awake times.” DM brain systems activated during rest are also important for active, internally focused psychosocial mental processing, for example, when recalling personal memories, imagining the future, and feeling social emotions with moral connotations.”

Rest Is Not Idleness: Implications of the Brain’s Default Mode for Human Development and Education

Mary Helen Immordino-Yang, Joanna A. Christodoulou, and Vanessa Singh

Educational theorists are now trying to figure out how to balance attention demanding situations with time for internal reflection, daydreaming and doing nothing.

It’s okay to rest. In fact, the neuroscientists say that activating the DM network is good for recalling our past, processing our present, planning our future. Writers know it’s good for creativity. Artists of all kinds know if they don’t spend enough “do nothing” time, the brain lies down in the road like a tired mule and no amount of shouting and jumping up and down will make it move. Rest instead. Take a Sabbath. The DM network is activated when one is not focusing on external stimuli. It doesn’t toggle over when you’re paying attention to video games, a book, TV, although all of those are restful activities. Meandering. Sitting in the back yard staring at nothing. Ruminating. These are ways we connect with the part of us that balances our sometimes frantic activity. When we are rested we think and remember, plan and process better. Imagine someone was going to pay you a thousand dollars to figure out how to create a Sabbath in your day, or in your week. See what solutions occur.

The Summer Day

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean– the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

Mary Oliver, The House Light Beacon Press Boston, 1990.


 

Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.

Most sermons delivered at the First UU Church of Austin during the past 14 years are available online through this website. You will find links to them in the right sidebar menu labeled Sermons. The Indexes link leads to tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on the topic to go to a sermon.

 

A Juicy Slice of UU History – Servetus

Rev. Meg Barnhouse
May 11, 2014

Michael Servetus was one of the martyrs of our faith. He lived during the Reformation and wrote a pamphlet called “On the Errors of the Trinity.”


 

This is a story of the birth pains of free religion. It is a story of dangerous ideas, the clash of politics and passion. It is the story of how hard it is to control people, how impossible it is to control ideas, even when you are trying to control them in yourself.

Michael Servetus was born in Spain to a family of minor nobility. He was a prodigy, speaking French, Greek, and Latin by the time he was 13. (1524)

This was a time of religious evolution on the Continent. In 1517, when Servetus was 8, Martin Luther wrote a protest about the Rome raising funds for war and renovations by selling indulgences. Those were like an investment in your heavenly future — if you bought a small one you would be forgiven for a small sin, a large one forgave a large sin. You could buy relatives out of Purgatory where they were living in torment. It was big business in the Middle Ages. Martin Luther, a monk in Wittenberg, wrote 95 points of disagreement about how sins were forgiven, and nailed them to the door of the church. This wouldn’t have been so effective if another element had not been thrown into the mix: the printing press.

Before the 1500’s, a book had to be hand copied. Only the very rich could afford one or two of them. Most people couldn’t read anyway. After it was invented, print shops were set up all over the place, looking for things to publish. Luther’s theses were copied and they sold out immediately. He began to write more. Erasmus, the famous humanist wit, was being read widely. Universities were springing up everywhere, as every Prince now wanted to set up a center of learning in his province.

The Church was losing control. In Spain, it had become overwhelmed with the number of Jews and Muslims that had poured into the country. When they wouldn’t convert to Christianity, they were exiled or slaughtered. The Spanish Inquisition is famous for its vicious horrors.

It was against this background that Servetus, at fourteen, was sent to the University of Toulouse to be secretary to a famous scholar. Toulouse was a conservative town, so his parents felt safe sending him there, but, unbeknownst to them, the U. was a hotbed of radical thought. Michael essentially was given a private course with his boss, reading Erasmus, reading Luther. Printed Bibles were also to be had, which the students were not supposed to read, so they read them in secret. Somehow Servetus had picked up enough Hebrew to discuss the meaning of the Jewish Scriptures. Hebrew had been a forbidden language because the church wanted people to read the Bible only in its approved translation. There is even speculation that he learned Arabic, as he made several references to the Koran in his writing.

Servetus knew that not long before he was born, 800,000 Jews had been banished from Spain, and thousands of Muslims had been burned at the stake in Spain, because they would not accept the Trinity. He reasoned that if Christianity could correct that doctrine, then great numbers of Jews and Muslims, who already believed in one God, would be more inclined to convert. In reading the Bible, he was struck by the absence pf any mention of this thing that had caused so much strife and pain. When he was 20, he published a piece called “One the Errors of the Trinity.” It was printed to be small, about 3×6, so it could be stashed away fast if it had to be. A thousand copies sold out immediately. In it he said that God had created Jesus and that Jesus had become divine through his actions on earth. He thought you shouldn’t be baptized as an infant, as if the priest’s actions had the power to save your soul. He thought you should have to wait until you were twenty (the age he was then) and had some moral sense. He wrote that the Holy Spirit was the divine part of the human being. The Spanish Inquisition wanted their young man home for trial. He headed up to Switzerland, where the Protestants were establishing power in the towns of Basel and Geneva. Invited to live with a powerful leader, he argued with him about the trinity so rudely, so insistently, insulting and calling names, that after 10 months he was thrown out of that house and that town had to move on

He moved to Lyons to work for a printer, and worked on printing Ptolemy’s Geography. With his great scholarship, he actually improved this book. He couldn’t help adding his own opinions to the book. He wrote, “The English are brave, the Scots fearless, the Italians vulgar, the Irish rude, inhospitable, barbarous and cruel. On the map of Germany, he wrote ‘É all Germany are gluttons and drunkards.” (p.105, Wilbur) He was greatly admired in Lyon but he got into trouble again when he began discussing religion. And so he fled to Paris in 1536, changed his name to Villeneuve, and attended the University to study medicine. What was happening in the world then? Henry the 8th was founding the Church of England because Rome wouldn’t grant him the divorce he wanted. Meanwhile, Michael Servetus, putting himself through school lecturing on geography, astronomy and mathematics, became a respected doctor living as a good son of the Catholic Church (except for the time when he was censured by the Inquisition in France for using astrology with his medicine). He edited a new Latin translation of the Bible, and became the famous Dr. Villeneuve, consulted by nobles and potentates of the Church.

He couldn’t leave theology alone, though, when the reformer John Calvin began publishing his Institutes of the Christian religion (which we had to read in seminary). Dr. Villeneuve began writing to Calvin, arrogantly, with the same style that had gotten him in trouble as Servetus in his twenties. As in the past, he was not so much interested in hearing what Calvin had to say as he was in correcting Calvin’s errors, and he used terribly impolite language. By then, Calvin had gained considerable power as the leader of Geneva. Switzerland. Calvin wrote to a third party in 1547 that if this Servetus came his way, “he would never let him get away alive.” (Wilbur)

People who held different beliefs concerning the Christian religion faced overwhelming dangers. Unitarian scholar Earl Morse Wilbur notes that by the year 1546, 30,000 Anabaptists had been put to death in Holland and Friesland alone, because of their faith. (A History of Unitarianism: Socinianism and its Antecedents)

Servetus broke off this correspondence with Calvin for four years, during which he revised and prepared for the press his final work, The Restitution of Christianity, which was printed anonymously in 1552. Within the body of his new book, Servetus made a major contribution to the study of medicine. In illustrating a theological point, he described the pulmonary circulation of the blood from the right chamber of the heart to the lungs. He is given credit as possibly the first to discover, and definitely the first to publish this piece of medical knowledge..

No one noticed the medicine as it was surrounded by shocking and dangerous theological ideas. Then as now, the churches who are all about control worried about his soul and those of the readers he would influence. Then, as now, dangerous ideas get you consigned to the flames. Actual ones in those days, eternal flames of hellfire in these days. Servetus was a wanted man.

Communications between Protestant Geneva and the Catholic Inquisition in France–then deadly enemies– eventually led to the arrest, examination, and incarceration of Servetus/Villeneuve in France. Realizing his great peril, Servetus managed to escape from prison, and to disappear from sight. His French trial went on without him for the next ten weeks. The errors of his work were duly noted, and sentence was pronounced: that he should be burned alive by slow fire. Since he wasn’t available, this sentence was carried out on his effigy.

That summer Michael Servetus was keeping out of sight, moving slowly towards Italy, where he might have been safe. There weren’t many countries where he wasn’t being hunted. He made the choice to pass through Switzerland. Who knows why he stopped in Geneva. On a Sunday, when everyone, including strangers, was required to go to church. Someone reported his presence to Calvin, who had him thrown in jail.

There was a trial, examining Servetus’ heresies, and it appears Servetus thought he might win out or at least receive some minor punishment such as a fine or banishment. Finally, after much debate, Servetus was found guilty. Calvin himself pushed for a more merciful beheading, but his Council insisted on the fire. On Oct 27th, the sentence was carried out, Servetus was burned with his book chained to his ankle.

Widespread repulsion at the way he had died gave more energy to the movement of free religion — free from the control of any church. The man could be killed, but his ideas could not. The books were destroyed, all but three copies, which managed to survive and now exist in translation. Ideas have power, and your truth has power. How can we stay silent when we feel the Spirit call us to speak our free religion?

Three hundred years after his death, Unitarian minister William Ellery Channing could and did speak openly: “I call that mind free which jealously guards its intellectual rights and powers, which does not content itself with a passive or hereditary faith.” We sometimes forget how much blood was shed before such freedom was possible. Let us not forget. That is our heritage.


 

Podcasts of sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.

Most sermons delivered at the First UU Church of Austin during the past 14 years are available online through this website. You will find links to them in the right sidebar menu labeled Sermons. The Indexes link leads to tables of all sermons for each year listed by date (newest to oldest) with topic and speaker. Click on the topic to go to a sermon.

 

The banality of indifference

Rev. Marisol Caballero
April 27, 2014

The phrase “the banality of evil” refers to how evil can often wear a fairly “normal” exterior. On this Holocaust Remembrance Day, we’ll explore the concepts of “evil,” “good,” and all of the gray area in between.


 

Tonight, at sundown, until sundown tomorrow, marks International Holocaust Remembrance Day, known as Yom HaShoah, or day of destruction. The well-known slogans remind us to, “Never forget.” And to, “Never let it happen again.”

Recently, I began studying philosophy professor, Hannah Arendt’s 1963 book, “Eichmann in Jerusalem, a Report on the Banality of Evil” and the controversy that has surrounded it since its publication. I remembered the phrase, “the banality of evil” one day when I was listening to NPR and heard the account of yet another school shooting. For a split second, I was filled with grief and sympathy, but then was aware of the fact that my mind naturally drifted, quite quickly, to thinking about the song that was in my head. The fact that, a second after hearing of such tragedy, I was cheerfully humming along to whatever annoying pop song was plaguing me was more jarring to me than the shooting, itself. This upset me.

After a brief moment of self-judgment, I began to mourn the fact that things like safety in schools can no longer be taken for granted and that mass-murderers choosing schoolchildren as their targets has become so commonplace that a relatively sensitive and genuinely caring person, such as I like to think of myself, is able to go on, relatively unaffected by such news. I checked and, in the year and some odd months since the tragedy in Newtown, CT, there have been 44 school shootings in the U.S., 13 of them within the first six weeks of 2014, alone.

So, I looked up the phrase and rediscovered Hannah Arendt’s book. I even watched the lackluster 2012 movie, Hannah Arendt, about her life before, during, and after the book’s publication. I’m not sure that I buy her argument that Nazi Adolf Eichmann, the man who was in charge of arranging the transportation of several million Jews to their death in packed train cars, was simply a puny, boring bureaucrat, unable to think for himself; that he was just following orders. She was surprised to find that, as she puts it, “Everybody could see that this man was not a “monster,” but it was difficult indeed not to suspect that he was a clown,” that his, “lack of imagination” and “sheer thoughtlessness” allowed him to “never realize what he was doing.”

No, I’m not sure that I buy any of that. It seems a weak defense. But of course, I wasn’t there. Still, what’s difficult to wrap one’s brain around is that anyone could ever so abandon their conscience or divorce themselves from empathy so entirely as to compartmentalize in that way. Eichmann’s greatest aspiration, it seems, was to rise in the Nazi ranks and to be somebody, having been a disappointment to his father, his community, and been looked down upon by the middle class of his upbringing. He wanted to please the big man in charge, at all costs, even swearing that he had never held any anti-Semitic beliefs, himself.

In truth, there could never be an adequate motive offered by a mass-murderer. We hope, in many contemporary cases, such as mass public shootings, for a mental illness diagnosis to surface. In our efforts to understand horrendous acts of evil, we prefer to remove as much personal agency and responsibility from the perpetrator as possible. We would rather believe that a glitch in the wiring of the brain would provoke such atrocities, rather than believe that someone could, willingly and without remorse, choose to hurt or kill another. If there is an explanation of mental illness, we think, then we may have hope of preventing future tragedies, of curing the sickness.

In an article in The Guardian, entitled, “From, Adam Lanza: The Medicalication of Evil,” Lindsey Fitzharris, a British medical student, warns us that to over-pathologize examples of evil will remove personal accountability from the equation, “While I do believe it is important to determine what factors may have led Lanza to open fire on Sandy Hook Elementary School- and whether this tragic event could have been prevented- I want to remind the U.S. and the world of one thing: evil is about choice. Sickness is about the absence of choice.”

Not only should be careful about pathologizing mass murderers so as to avoid further stigmatization of mental illness, but in doing so, we not only let the perpetrator off the hook, we also avoid confronting the possibility of seeing ourselves in those who are able to choose evil over good. Sure, some who commit evil acts truly may be beyond rehabilitation, unable to feel a shred of empathy for another. Psychosis is real. But, although we may view ourselves as genuinely compassionate, good-natured people, I would reckon that empathy most often lies somewhere on a spectrum between saintly and intrinsically evil. We can’t all be Mother Theresa just as we (thank goodness) aren’t all Hitler. I am sure that we’d rather think of ourselves as closer to the Mother Theresa end of that spectrum, as I believe we tend to be, but the fact still remains that empathic concern is a fluid characteristic.

Our 1st Principle, as Unitarian Universalists, states that, “we affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person.” The drafters of that principle, delegates gathered from UU congregations throughout out movement, were careful not to state a belief in the inherent goodness of every person. Rather, we are concerned with the possibility of goodness in people and strive to treat them accordingly.

Last year, professor Steve Taylor wrote in Psychology Today, “empathy or lack of empathy aren’t fixed. Although people with a psychopathic personality appear to be unable to develop empathy, for most of us, empathy- or goodness- is a quality that can be cultivated. This is recognized by Buddhism, and most other spiritual traditions… As we become more open and more connected, [we become] more selfless and altruistic.” This is evident in Tibetan Buddhism’s idea of recognizing that every human was, at some point in time, your mother, and treating them as such. We are aware of the Golden Rule. The Platinum Rule goes one step further, “Do unto others as they would have you do unto them.”

It is within human nature to desire to think of ourselves as “the good guys.” As liberals, progressive folk, we like to think of ourselves as standing “on the right side of history.” Hopefully, with dedication, our legacies may prove this to be the case. But, because we believe ourselves to be good, does this prevent us from perpetrating or being complicit in evil? If we can so easily dismiss horrors of the nightly news as ordinary, commonplace occurrences, how far removed are we from the ability to set aside conscience, altogether? What makes otherwise “normal” people commit acts of evil?

This was a major question in the recent television series, Breaking Bad. The lead character could have been a modern day Eichmann- a boring, dweeby high school chemistry teacher who, upon being diagnosed with terminal lung cancer, begins to manufacture “crystal meth.” For several seasons, the audience bears witness to Walter White’s moral degradation, as he, little-by-little, goes from dull family man to ruthless, amoral drug lord, by looking past one scruple after another.

It’s amazing how people can transform. We don’t often think about the fact that Hitler was once a giggling baby that someone cherished. I saw a photograph of a young, teenage Osama Bin Laden this week. He and over a dozen siblings and cousins were posing in front of a pink Cadillac while on vacation in Europe in the ’70’s. They were all dressed in the styles of the day, both women and men. No hint of radical Islam. And there he stood, laughing and young, big hair and sideburns, dressed like J.J. from “Good Times.” I couldn’t look away.

These days, most accept that evil is not a metaphysical force. “The Devil made me do it” doesn’t hold much weight anymore. But, I wonder if we have not adopted a seeping, dangerous cultural denial of evil’s existence as a systemic reality. We take cultural ills and reduce them to interpersonal incidents before we then reduce them to background noise on the nightly news. It’s someone else’s loss, someone else’s kid, someone else’s town.

Instead of stepping back to recognize the living system at play, we zoom in so closely that we no longer have to focus at all. Epidemic gun violence becomes to us unrelated cases of mental illness, or neglectful parents, or the product of violent video games. Racism becomes individual prejudice, mere name-calling, men in white sheets, rather than the very foundation that our society was built upon that was never fully reconciled and still affords great privilege to those born with white skin. Genocide becomes an egregious terror that lesser civilized nations carry out, rather than our nation’s own shameful history. Misogyny becomes cat-calls and ditsy blond stereotypes, rather than the worldwide actuality of the continued mistreatment of women and girls. And, anti-Semitism becomes the painful memories of far-away Europe, rather than the continued presence of Neo-Nazi hate groups within our own communities. And so on…

Ignoring our own nation’s atrocities, choosing the privilege of being able to not have to think about evil in terms of systems in which we live our lives, creates of us a chilling similarity to the many nameless, ordinary accomplices to historical events such as the Holocaust. Before the world wars, Germany was widely respected, thought of the world over as a center of culture, science, intellect, and art. Flunkies “following orders,” bystanders, and other banal people helped the evil cause in their action and inaction.

It would be maddening to fully empathize with each and every story of evil, day in, day out. The anger and grief would eventually deaden our ability to experience joy. We can, however, choose not to outright ignore. Together, we can choose not to accept hopelessness, not to choose personal insignificance, but to be part of the collective response. We can choose to work toward repairing the evil present in our world with good. And, we can begin within ourselves. Systems are not always easy to notice, especially because we are busy playing our parts within them.

So, how not to feel like any problem, any evil is too big to care about? How do we battle the urge toward indifference? Where do we find the middle ground between a depressing, bleak outlook and total moral blindness and lack of concern? Longtime Buddhist scholar and activist, Joanna Macy, tells us that we find it in community. She says that, “[this work] needs to be done in groups so we can hear it from each other. Then you realize that it gives a lie to the isolation we have been conditioned to experience in recent centuries… And because the truth is speaking in the work, it unlocks the heart… there comes a time when the little band of heroes feels totally outnumbered and bleak, like Frodo in Lord of the Rings or Pilgrim in Pilgrim’s Progress. You learn to say, “It looks bleak. Big deal, it looks bleak.”

Archbishop Desmond Tutu speaks to this in his book, “No Future Without Forgiveness.” After apartheid, South Africa sought to find a middle ground of moving forward. Somewhere between the Nuremburg Trials after WWII and the national amnesia that continues to take place in the United States’ attitude toward our own history of genocide and slavery. Post-apartheid South Africa was too complex for either option. Both sides were still living side by side, both had committed atrocities, and all wounds were still fresh. The middle way, the extremely difficult path toward forgiveness was chosen and the Truth and Reconciliation Commission was established.

Tutu said, “It was pointed out that we none of us posses a kind of fiat by which we can say, “Let bygones be bygones” and hey presto, they become bygones. Our common experience is in fact the opposite- that the past, far from disappearing or lying down and being quiet, has an embarrassing and persistent way of returning and haunting us unless it has in fact been dealt with adequately.”

On my fridge is a magnetic quote by Gloria Steinem, “The truth shall set you free, but first it will piss you off.” I’ll add that it will also make you cry and fill you with grief, but we shall be free.

Never forget. And, never let it happen again.


 

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God wants you to be rich!

Rev. Meg Barnhouse
April 6, 2014

The Third Commandment forbids taking God’s name in vain. So many people say “God bless you!” to the poor but do not help to change the situation. So many politicians say “God bless America” at the end of their speeches, but what do they mean by that? Might using God’s name for ulterior motives be taking that name in vain?


 

Sermon:

Hypocrisy and the Third Commandment

In the summers we used to go up to Roaring River, my Uncle David’s farm near Daniel’s Pass, NC. I remember riding in the back seat of his old Jeep and being reprimanded sternly. This was unusual for him – he wasn’t a stern person. He was the second youngest of thirteen children, and he had been always in trouble. What had I done? I had said “Gah ….. ” about something. I have no idea how to spell that. It’s a Southern child’s word. “Golly,” I knew, was forbidden, as it was a way to not say “God,” which was really really forbidden, since it was taking the Lord’s name in vain. Which brings us to the Third Commandment, the next in this year’s series:

“You shall not misuse the name of the LORD your God, for the LORD will not hold anyone guiltless who misuses his name.

The original Hebrew says, “La Tisah Ess Shaim Adoshem L’shav.” The key word is “Tisah” which does not mean “to take” or “to say” God’s name. Tisah is Hebrew for “to carry,” which means the commandment is telling us, “Do not CARRY God’s name in vain.” This word implies lifting up, carrying like a banner or a flag. “In vain” means uselessly, or in an empty way. It’s the only one of the Commandments that is tagged with this “The Lord will not hold anyone guiltless (literally will not cleanse) someone who does that. Is it possible that the scriptures mean to condemn little kids who say “Golly” or even “My God, that’s an ugly dog” more than murderers? No, it is not possible.

Ancient Jews avoided saying the name of God altogether. They used four letters YOD-HE-VAV-HE without vowels. These four letters are called the Tetragrammaton Instead of making the sounds ‘Yuh” “huh” Wuh” “huh” they say “Adonai,” which is translated “the Lord,” or just “ha-shem,” which means “the name.” This way they will avoid taking God’s name in vain. In English you sometimes see the word “God” written “G-d.”

Later on, Christian scholars added the vowels from the word “Adonai” to the Tetragrammaton, and pronounced it “Jehovah.”

When Moses was talking to God in the burning bush, he asks God’s name. “I am who I am,” is what the translation says. It would better say “I will be who I will be.” I remember one preacher saying that was God saying that he would be the same yesterday, today, and forever. It doesn’t sound like that to me. If a person said to you “I will be who I will be, “would you think that meant they were unchanging? I think that preacher was seeing what he already believed. That happens all the time in life. We see what supports the things we already think. To me, “I will be who I will be” implies that God is changing. I could be reading into the text what I already believe as well, though there is a little more evidence in the rest of the Exodus story. When God leads the people in the wilderness, he forms a pillar of smoke by day and fire by night. Smoke, fire. Those are constantly changing forms. I just think that is interesting. He wasn’t a hawk or a dragonfly. Those are also changeable, but in smoke and in fire you can see shapes, different people see different shapes. You can’t grab hold of either one, no matter how close you get.

Also, when Moses asks to see God, he is allowed to, but he only sees the back of God as God passes by. Some scholars say this means we never see God, we just see where God has been. I like that thought.

The Divine Force is always changing, and we only see where it has been. Even that is open to question and interpretation.

So “God” isn’t really the name of God, it’s just a human word in English to describe the concept of the Divine One. In other languages the concept is called “Deus, Dio, Dios, Zeus, Allah, then there are lots of particular names for particular gods or aspects of the one god: Krishna, Shiva, Yemaya, Oshun, Morrigan, Nana. Thousands of names.

Lao-Tse, the father of Taoism, writes in the Tao te Ching, “The Tao that can be named is not the Tao.” The nameless is the origin of heaven and earth.

While naming is the origin of the myriad things.” In naming you begin to separate, you begin particularity; you begin to limit the One.

That’s a lot about the name of God. From those who won’t name the Divine at all, to those who hint at a name but refuse to pronounce it. These are folks who want to be very careful not to misuse the name. It’s not crystal clear what the misuse of the name is. If it’s not likely to be cussing that is going to cause God to be more displeased with you than if you had stolen or killed, what is it?

Then there are those who pronounce it all the time. “God bless you,” “God told me to talk to you,” “God has a wonderful plan for your life.” A lot of these people are kind hearted and good folks. They are sincere believers. Then there are those who use it thoughtlessly. Then there are those who use it for power or greed. Pat Robertson said we had hurricane Sandy because God was angry with America and had withdrawn his protection from the country because of the pagans, feminists, abortionists and gay people. There is the Phelps family who pickets the funerals of American soldiers with big posters that read “God hates fags.” There are those, like Ted Haggart, President of the American Association of Evangelicals, representing about 30 million people, who lift high the banner of the name of God to wade into the fray against gay and lesbian American citizens. A few days ago he was accused by a gay escort of hiring him once a month and asking him to buy crystal meth so they could get high together. There are those like Jimmy Swaggart, who raised millions as a televangelist, then was caught, twice, with prostitutes. Once DUI. Of course, those things could happen to anyone, I guess. But not everyone makes money making people feel guilty, then feel like there is hope for them if they send money in to support the television ministry.

Some preachers regularly ask for donations, claiming that those that give will reap the benefit of God’s blessing. People are told if they give enough, even if they are in debt, God will erase their debt. And if God doesn’t ease their financial troubles, then they aren’t giving enough. This principle is known as the “prosperity gospel.”

A person who used to work for Robert Tilton’s ministries said they were given bundles of envelopes and a letter opener. They were to take out the cash and toss the letters. They pulled in nearly $1,000 an hour.

The problem came when the televangelist watchdog group, The Trinity Foundation, founded by a man named Ole Anthony, sent a squad of detectives to Tilton’s office. They went through the dumpster and found piles of letters that were still folded in their envelopes, which had been slit to extract the money. One of the detectives, who earns a salary of $80.00 a week at the Foundation, carries a letter from that dumpster in his wallet. A worried mother was writing for prayers for her son, who was suicidal. “This reminds me why we do this,” he said. They leaked the story to Diane Sawyer and Prime Time, and Tilton went down.

Politicians who cloak their ambition in God talk are breaking the Third Commandment by introducing legislation to keep the Ten Commandments in the courthouses, but not knowing what they are, sponsoring anti-gay legislation when your numbers sink in the polls, hammering at folks about family values while cheating on their spouses, stealing money or beating their children. Those who say God is punishing homosexuals by sending AIDS. Those people are carrying the name of God in an empty way, pretending to know the mind of God.

These commandments are binding for Jews and Muslims as well, and those who break them are those who say God is punishing the US for its foreign policies with hurricanes and floods, those who say “In the name of God” before they blow someone up or cut off someone’s head.

It seems this commandment is about religious hypocrisy and violence, about claiming that you know something about what God thinks, who God would bomb, what God would drive.

Do UUs fall short of our ideals of behavior and right relationship? Yes. All the time. We are short with one another when we should be kind. We male-bash, or we get ugly about our differences of opinion, or we denigrate one another, or ignore the stranger in our midst because it’s uncomfortable to talk to someone new or because we just don’t have energy for a conversation that day. Or we don’t go to the polls and vote our principles. Do we carry the banner or our principles cynically, for power or money? Maybe. I can’t really figure out how to do that, but maybe during the discussion you can help me. There is good religion and bad religion. Most of it is mixed. Only a little religion has to do with God, I think. No one really knows, even though most people speak like they do. Our task is to clean up our own hearts and minds, and to name hypocrisy as breaking the Third Commandment.


 

Podcasts of this and other sermons are also available for free on iTunes. You can find them here.

http://itunes.apple.com/podcast/first-unitarian-universalist/id372427776