Sermons at First UU Youngstown

Heart of Humanism

2010-07-25T15:41:00.002-04:00

Some time ago, a good friend and mentor of mine gave me this piece of advice, a quote from George Burns: The secret of a good sermon is to have a good beginning and a good ending, then having the two of them as close together as possible!

I try to follow Burn's practice, especially the last part, but today will be hard because this is a huge and complicated topic.

How many of you identify as humanist? (hands)

Some of you might not be sure what a humanist is, so let me make it more plain. How many of you would say that ours is "a religious movement that emphasized human capabilities, especially the human capacity to reason; that adopted the scientific method to search for truth; and that promoted the right of all humans to develop to their full potential."[1] Those are the words of Bill Schultz, a former UUA president and writer on humanism. Hands?

I'm not surprised. In a survey of this church a few years ago, over 80% of respondents agreed that they ‘feel that goodness and meaning in our lives are a result of our interactions with each other and the natural world’[2]. Sounds like humanism to me.

Humanism is about knowing, how we know and what we can know. The free and responsible search for truth and meaning is a central principle of our religious humanism.

Rev. Kenneth Patton, one of our great humanist ministers, wrote,
If there are any secrets in the world, they are not hidden.
They are everywhere.
If there is any reason why the universe is,
why it is the kind of universe it is,
why there is this strange eruption of life,
that reason can be found anywhere,
as soon in sand as in a galaxy,
as loud in a leaf-tip as in a forest.[3]

Religious humanism has long been a central part of Unitarian Universalism. As Unitarians became more religiously diverse in the 19th century, many began to move the locus of religion from god in heaven to god all around us and then to us as humans. This led to controversy and nearly to schism, in the post-Civil War era, as the conservative east-coast Unitarians took on the more liberal Westerners. But things eventually settled down into just low level disagreement. In the 1930’s new energy flowed into the religious humanist movement, and several Unitarian ministers and philosophers issued a document called “The Humanist Manifesto”, delineating key points of humanism. Here are some of statements in that manifesto (and I quote):

'man is a part of nature, and ... he has emerged as a part of a continuous process';

'Religious Humanism considers realization of human personality the end of man’s life'; and

'the time has passed for theism, deism, modernism, and the several varieties of "new thought".'[4]

I left the masculine language as it was -- we’ll return to that.

Humanism became ascendant in both the Unitarian and Universalist strands of our movement, to the point that today nearly half of UUs identify as humanist. The tension between humanists and others in the movement has heated up in the past few years in some of our churches. Ministers often groused about having to be careful about using the ‘g-word’ -- God -- lest they be accosted at coffee hour. On the other hand, some, including ministers I respect, respond with derision, lashing out at what they call ‘flat earth humanists’.

It seemed to me like a no-win kind of argument, one that could just go on and on as each side was assured of its own "rightness." I began to wonder if there might be a third way.
As I was preparing this sermon, I had a chance to talk with Rev. Roger Brewin, who is editor of the magazine Religious Humanism. He steered me directly to the work of William Murry, who was president of Meadville Lombard Theological School in Chicago. Murry is the author of the book Reason and Reverence. Murry extends religious humanism into what he calls humanistic religious naturalism, (which I know is a bit of a mouthful). Let’s explore a few of the concerns he has had with religious humanism and how he addresses these with humanistic religious naturalism.
In distinguishing a new form of humanism from its precedents, Murry points to the study of religion, where a distinction is made between mythos and logos. Logos is rational, factual religion, which Murry suggests is today based on a scientific-empirical worldview. Mythos is religion based on myths, which, Murry tells us, ‘are stories with meanings.’[5] He continues,

I believe that myths were never meant to be taken literally but were probably understood even by a pre-scientific people as metaphorical attempts to describe a reality that was too complex and mysterious to comprehend in any other way. It is only in a scientific age, with its emphasis on factual knowledge, that myths have come to be understood as facts. By taking myths literally, fundamentalist religion transforms mythos into logos.[6]

Murry notes that modern science has its own mythos, stories with meaning. These stories are not wrong, but they may not tell the whole truth. For example, we understand the universe began some 14 billion years ago in the Big Bang. We visualize that creation event as best we can, perhaps as a flash, after which the universe immediately began to cool into the various fundamental forces and then matter and then leading to the formation of stars and galaxies. But of course that Big Bang understanding is complicated by ideas of cosmic inflation and the possibility that universe creation is ongoing. Such theoretical ideas fit some of our observations, but they haven't become part of our common story or mythos, for they are too new and difficult to grasp.

What I find lacking in our more traditional religious humanism is the lack of emphasis on mythos, on the importance of stories with meaning. Stories can have multiple interpretations; they are by nature unresolved. When we emphasize logos, we emphasize the truth, and have a tendency to claim prematurely that we have found the one truth. We can become, in a word, fundamentalists.
So mythos, stories, are important. Our task is to update the stories to fit today’s reality. Ursula Goodenough, a biologist, reminds us:

Humans need stories -- grand, compelling stories -- that help to orient us in our lives and in the cosmos. The Epic of Evolution is such a story, beautifully suited to anchor our search for planetary consensus, telling us of our nature, our place, our context. Moreover, responses to this story -- what we are calling religious naturalism -- can yield deep and abiding spiritual experiences. And then, after that, we need other stories as well, human-centered stories, a mythos that embodies our ideals and our passions.[7]

Murry makes the point that humanism is strongly rooted into the modern age, and it has yet to take the leap into the postmodern age. The worldview of modernity suggests that we can understand everything through scientific rationalism, that we can apply logic and reason to solve any problem. Post-modernity suggests that there are things that we cannot know, and that the knowledge we have is incomplete and provisional. Because we have incomplete knowledge, the knowledge we do have is filtered through lenses of our culture and ethnicity and other identity groupings. Humanism is modern, using logic, but not yet post modern enough to realize logic isn’t the whole answer.

Let me give you an example. All thirty-four persons who signed the Humanist Manifesto were male.[8] I bet they didn’t even notice the use of male-gendered language in that document. As far as I know, all are white. A third were university professors, and half were Unitarians. Postmodern critique would suggest that these identities would lead to unconscious bias, if not in the language itself, then in what was included and what was left out.

So if humanism is to be fit for a post-modern age, it needs to be willing to listen to more voices. It needs to be more tolerant of uncertainty, of provisional views, and of the possibility that our very rational efforts, even our careful use of the scientific method, may not save us from unconscious bias.

As Sarah reminded us in the chalice lighting this morning, “we sure make a living hell for ourselves when we generate assumptions, harbor prejudice and play at ignorance.” In short, we need to be more humble about what we know and how we know it.

We Unitarian Universalists and religious humanists sometimes focus over-much on nature as a source of inspiration. Nature is not always inspirational, but it is often instructive. A recent New Scientist article described a ‘bloody ten-year [chimpanzee] dispute in the Ugandan jungle [that] ended in mid-2009 with the victors seizing territory held by the vanquished. The episode represents the first solid evidence that chimpanzees kill their rivals to acquire land’.[9] While some of the on-line commentators were unwilling to use the word ‘war’, it’s hard to see how this organized and murderous conflict should not be labeled ‘war’. And yet there is much emerging evidence that altruistic behavior is innate in many animals including humans, for it conveys evolutionary benefit. Even these primate wars may foster a sort of comradeship and altruism that benefits the group at a cost to the individual.[10]

On the other hand, ethologists in Guinea have observed the evolution of a new cultural grief practice among a group of chimpanzees. ‘In 1992, [one of the researchers] reported the death of a 2.5-year-old chimpanzee (Jokro) at Bossou from a respiratory illness. The infant's mother (Jire) carried the corpse, mummified in the weeks following death, for at least 27 days. She exhibited extensive care of the body, grooming it regularly, sharing her day- and night-nests with it, and showing distress whenever they became separated.’[11] ‘Corpse-carrying may have become something of a Bossou "tradition"’, according to the lead researcher.[12] In these examples, we are reminded that we are not all that special in the natural scheme of things.

Understanding the natural world also may offer some answers to other big questions that have normally been outside the realm of science. Just this week, an article by David Brooks in the New York Times noted recent research into the evolutionary origin of morality.[13] It seems that moral understanding is innate. Babies just six months old understand, at a basic level, right and wrong as well as punishment. Perhaps we can build on this innate emotional response to morality with our intellectual understanding of morality and ethics; certainly we should not ignore the fact that we do have this innate emotional response.

Part of finding the heart in humanism is broadening the emotional experiences that we enjoy in life. Humanism’s long suit has been the recognition of a sense of awe and wonder at the universe and the natural world. Who among us hasn't experienced some depth of feeling on looking up at a dark sky full of thousands of stars. As we learn more about the night sky, our wonder just increases, as we begin to identify the faint smudges as distant galaxies.

Can we extend that wonder into a place of humility, a sense of smallness and relative powerlessness before the universe? How about praise? We do not have to respond by offering praise, for many of us doubt that there is anyone or anything out there listening for our praise, but if praise makes us feel whole, then let us praise this wondrous creation.

When we walk in the woods or on a beach, do we feel like we truly belong in this world, that we are created from it and are a part of it? Do we love it? This love invites us into a caring relationship with the natural world, rather than dominance and separation.

I’m reading Bill McKibben’s recent book, Eaarth, spelled E-A-A-R-T-H. He suggests that with global climate change, we have already created a planet that is no longer the Earth, but something different. Although the global ecosystem will survive, it will be transformed into something far less hospitable for humanity. It will be less hospitable for other existing species, too, but that’s a different story.

Perhaps if we respect our deep interconnectedness with the natural world we inhabit, and learn to accept the limitations that this interconnectedness brings, perhaps then we can then find ways to tread more lightly on this world, for our sake as well as for the sake of the planet.

Finally, what emotions does humanism encourage in our relationship with one another? How do we respond to injustice? For many of us, a righteous anger drives us to act to protest injustice and to fight for social change. In the coming years, even more may be asked of us. We need to respond to those who suffer injustice not only with righteous anger but with compassion, so that we open up and share their pain as we attempt to understand their situation.

In the end, the presence or absence of god is not a critical question to humanistic religious naturalism. If there is a god, that god seems not to be the micromanaging kind, always messing with our lives and demanding constant ego-stroking.

Perhaps, as our Jesus Seminar translation of John 1 offers, there is a god that is wisdom. In it is life, that is the light of humanity. If we accept this as mythos, then perhaps wisdom, and creativity is our light.

If there is no god, may we rejoice in our improbable good fortune in living in a universe and on a planet like ours, so finely tuned to support sentient life. Earth teach me that we are blessed, and we do well to respond with care for each other and this planet. Earth teach me that we live in a holy place, and our heaven is what we create here on earth.

As in the Ute blessing, earth teach me suffering, earth teach me resignation, earth teach me limitation, but earth also teach me courage, and caring, and kindness. May a new humanism allow us to learn these things, may a new humanism allow us to know our hearts.

References

1 William Schultz, "Our humanist legacy", http://www.uuworld.org/ideas/articles/27168.shtml
2 UUYO Survey Summary, undated, probably 2008.
3 Kenneth L. Patton, "All Blessedness", 1975, p. 20.
4 "Humanist Manifesto I" http://www.americanhumanist.org/Who_We_Are/About_Humanism/Humanist_Manifesto_I
5 William Murry, "Reason and reverence", http://www.uuworld.org/ideas/articles/6558.shtml
6 ibid.
7 Ursula Goodenough, "The Sacred Depths of Nature", 1998, p. 174.
8 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Humanist_Manifesto_I
9 "Chimpanzees kill to win new territory", New Scientist, http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn19064-chimpanzees-kill-to-win-new-territory.html
10 "Why altruism paid off for our ancestors", New Scientist, http://www.newscientist.com/article/dn10750-why-altruism-paid-off-for-our-ancestors.html
11 Current Biology,"Chimpanzee mothers at Bossou, Guinea carry the mummified remains of their dead infants", http://www.cell.com/current-biology/abstract/S0960-9822(10)00218-6
12 Christian Sheppard, "Ape Pieta", http://divinity.uchicago.edu/martycenter/publications/sightings/archive_2010/0513.shtml
13 David Brooks, "The Moral Naturalists", http://www.nytimes.com/2010/07/23/opinion/23brooks.html?_r=1&th&emc=th

The God of Serendip

2010-06-20T20:44:00.004-04:00

Reading: The Three Princes of Serendip

The story has become known in the English speaking world as the source of the word serendipity, coined by Horace Walpole because of his recollection of the part of the "silly fairy tale" where the three princes by "accidents and sagacity" discern the nature of a lost camel. The fairy tale The Three Princes of Serendip is based upon the life of Persian King Bahram V, who ruled the Sassanid Empire (420–440). Stories of his rule are told in epic poetry of the region (Firdausi's Shahnameh of 1010, Nizami's Haft Paykar of 1197, Khusrau's Hasht Bihisht of 1302), parts of which are based upon historical facts with embellishments derived from folklore going back hundreds of years to oral traditions in India and The Book of One Thousand and One Nights. With the exception of the well-known camel story, English translations are very hard to come by.

Talmudic version

The fable of a camel blind in one eye is included in the Talmud, attributed to Rabbi Yochanan:
Rava relates the following in the name of Rabbi Yochanan:—“Two Jewish slaves were one day walking along, when their master, who was following, overheard the one saying to the other, ‘There is a camel ahead of us, as I judge—for I have not seen—that is blind of one eye and laden with two skin-bottles, one of which contains wine and the other oil, while two drivers attend it, one of them an Israelite, and the other a Gentile.’ ‘You perverse men,’ said their master, ‘how can you fabricate such a story as that?’ The slave answered, and gave this as his reason, ‘The grass is cropped only on one side of the track, the wine, that must have dripped, has soaked into the earth on the right, and the oil has trickled down, and may be seen on the left; while one of the drivers turned aside from the track to ease himself, but the other has not even left the road for the purpose.’ Upon this the master stepped on before them in order to verify the correctness of their inferences, and found the conclusion true in every particular. He then turned back, and…after complimenting the two slaves for their shrewdness, he at once gave them their liberty.”
Sanhedrin, fol. 104, col. 2.[6]

SERMONETTE

There is an old joke that “Unitarian believe in One God – at most.” Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way helped me to give my own personal God a name.
As I mentioned, Serendipity is part of the process that Julia Cameron sees happening with greater and greater opening of one’s self to one’s innate creativity – the way in which we become co-creators of our universe. As I thought about the elements necessary to turn my “sermonette” into a full-fledged service, the first words that popped into my head were from the musical dialogue between Noah and his sons from “Two By Two” –“ if God had wanted a rudder, God would have said, make a rudder.” These words were indelibly inscribed in my memory by virtue of the fact that, some thirty years ago, my father sang the role of Noah in an amateur theater production in Wayland, Massachusetts. The God of Serendipity clearly dictated that this should be my choice of music for a church service on Father’s Day, so I could honor my father across the miles.
In “Two By Two,”the author’s conceit was that Noah was a fundamentalist in his faith. When the storm hits, however, the almighty seemingly lacked the foresight that Noah’s sons, with their worldly experience, could provide. Noah’s faith is shaken. By the end of the play, however, Noah has had to accept the reality of human suffering and death, but nevertheless challenges the almighty to respect his offsprings’ foibles and the limitations of the human condition. God, therefore, moderates his wrath, and covenants to limit his destructive powers.
Since I was diagnosed with MS (in January 1994), I have become more and more conscious of how “I get by with a little help from my friends.” While I rejoice in the increased awareness of “the interconnected web of existence of which we are a part,” my ever-increasing level of dependence on others does not necessarily do much to feed my self-esteem. Members of UUYO have been ever obliging, and with the ironic sense of humor which has become more acute with study of Russian culture and my own existence over the passing years, I try to come up with various new takes on what I can offer in return. Our last interim minister, Martha Munson, dubbed me a “Wordsmith,” and indeed language tends to be the vehicle through which I try to make my contribution. But sometimes, the God of Serendipity is operating to connect our needs with the needs of family, friends, and even strangers. And when this happens, a deep sense of gratitude for the mysterious forces in the universe wells up in me.
This past spring, I participated in Matt Alspaugh in his workshop on “Crafting the Sermon Within You,” and challenged us to take a small incident, describe it in at much detail as possible, and then examine it anew for its potential to teach a more universal truth. I discovered, through successive attempts to find an appropriate incident, that the more seemingly insignificant the detail, the more poignant the process of dis-covery. It was not a narrow escape from a catastrophic auto accident that yielded the most successful results, but an un-covering of the wonders of everyday survival.
Indeed, just getting out of my house in time to teach a class at YSU has become a miracle in my world. The summer course I teach, “Foreign Film” meets for over three hours twice a week and involves a large amount of “show and tell” materials (DVDs, VHS tapes, books, handouts, and notes on multifarious internet links), preparation is nearly equivalent to packing for a short trip abroad. The first day of the summer term, I had made arrangements for a student who worked at the LLRC, Molly, to come by my house at 9:30 to help me get into my car to make sure I got to YSU in time for my 11 a.m. class. Molly had had an 11 a.m. class last fall that corresponded to my schedule, so when I had run into her in the LLRC two days before and said she had to be at YSU on Tuesdays and Thursdays at 10 a.m., I asked her to stop by my house on her way to YSU at 9:30 during the summer term. Since I live less than two miles from campus, I felt comfortable making such a request, and was planning to propose that I compensate her for an hour of her time at $10 per hour.
At 9:30, when Molly had yet to appear, I managed to take care of a few of the tasks I would have handled at the office on my home computer. By 9:45, however, I sensed something was amiss and decided to face the tasks of putting on footwear, setting the house alarm, locking the door behind me, loading stuff in the car, and making sure I had my leg lifter to assist in hoisting my recalcitrant right leg into the driver’s seat on my own. Just as I had assumed my “bag lady” persona, laden with 2-3 canvas bags and two purses (one with cell phone from which I would call the YSU escort service to unload my mobility scooter once I got to campus) and was about to open the back door leading to the garage, the phone rang. It was NOT Molly, however, but UUYO member-neighbor-friend Eugenia Pierce, inquiring whether my offer of space in my basement for some of her collectibles inventory was still extant. I said of course and, ascertaining her immediate availability, I suggested that we continue our negotiations while she “spot” me during my home-evacuation exercise. Gina came over, and helped me load my stuff (and self) into the car. When Molly called from the office at 10:15 with abject apologies for having forgotten me, I could truthfully report that I was in capable hands.
So, I get by with A LOT of help from my friends. But many times, I find this a BLESSING rather than an imposition.
The time I have spent in Russia, where virtually NOTHING can be accomplished without a personal network of support, has moderated my native American individualism so that I can trade a modicum of my independence for the humbling experience of having to ask for help at nearly every (physical) turn. Indeed, I think that the plethora of resources we Americans have at our disposal leads to a loneliness that we can only assuage by gluing our cell-phones to our ears and “friending” people on Facebook. This virtual community, supported by our access to advanced technology, is no doubt a virtue of our American economic superiority in the world. But sometimes the warmth of a flesh-and-blood “helping hand” is what REALLY the highest expression of what makes us human.

RESPONSIVE READING: THE ARTIST’S WAY – BASIC PRINCIPLES BY (JULIA CAMERON)

Creativity is the natural order of life. Life is energy: pure creative energy.
There is an underlying, in-dwelling creative force infusing all of life—including ourselves.
When we open ourselves to our creativity, we open ourselves to the creator’s creativity within us and our lives.
We are, ourselves, creations. And we, in turn, are meant to continue creativity by being creative ourselves.
Creativity is God’s gift to us. Using our creativity is our gift back to God.
The refusal to be creative is self-will and is counter to our true nature.
When we open ourselves to exploring our creativity, we open ourselves to God: Good, Orderly Direction.
As we open our creativity channel to the creator, many gentle but powerful changes are to be expected.
It is safe to open ourselves up to greater and greater creativity.
Our creative dreams and yearnings come from a divine source. As we move toward our dreams, we move toward our divinity.

Julia Cameron

Being in Nature

2010-06-13T15:59:00.001-04:00

I’m glad we’re off to Mill Creek Park for our picnic today! That park is one of the things that I really love about Youngstown. It has become part of my spiritual practice, to go over there two or three times a week, if possible, and walk the paths.

Being outdoors, in nature, has been shown to be helpful for one’s mental health. A study in the UK showed that taking walks in woodlands reduced depression in nearly three quarters of participants. In the control group, which walked in indoor shopping malls, fewer participants had reduced depression, and some found their level of depression increased.[1] As a man who hates shopping malls, this is not one bit surprising.

Even a window on nature is helpful. Studies in hospitals have found that patients who are in rooms with windows looking out on natural scenes need less pain medication, are more cooperative with staff, and are discharged more quickly than those who see something unnatural like a brick wall.[2] In the hospital where I worked as a chaplain, we even considered putting photographs of nature scenes in patient rooms, which we learned has a similar effect. We were warned that paintings or watercolors (as opposed to photos) apparently don’t work.

Our Unitarian ancestors did not have access to this kind of science but they did have religion! Unitarian Universalism is made up of numerous intertwined theological strands, including Unitarian Christianity, Humanism, Paganism, Process Theology, among others. Of these, one I find most attractive is the Transcendentalist movement, that radical offshoot of Unitarian Christianity. The Transcendentalist movement got its start with Emerson’s publication of his essay Nature, from which we quoted earlier. Much of what we hold dear in our UU movement we owe to Transcendentalists: our attention to social justice, our belief in the primacy of each individual’s own search for meaning, and particularly the respect for nature as a source of spiritual inspiration. As religious movement, we have inherited the Transcendentalists’ high reverence for the natural world. We tend to respect the world more than many other faiths, which see the world is merely the stage on which humans and god or the gods play out their various roles. God, for UUs who seek god, is found in nature, among the rocks and trees, and in the ecological interrelationships among the organic beings within an ecosystem. For the Transcendentalists, that god is one, that god is everywhere, and that god is within everyone.

It’s been hard to watch the unfolding of the oil spill that continues in the Gulf, after the explosion of the Deepwater Horizon platform, as pictures roll in of birds covered thick in oil, beaches ruined with slick, and satellite images of the blackened gyre that continues to form and spin, difficult to stop after repeated attempts. Carol Howard Merritt, a friend who once served a church in Louisiana, says that when she saw those pictures, she “felt that the soul of our nation was drowning in the muck, along with our precious wildlife. … Looking at those white graceful egrets covered in slick, black oil reminds me of what we have done. There is something majestic hidden in that marshland, something that we have destroyed. In many ways, our soul lives there, and it is irreparably damaged.”

I feel a strong sense of personal remorse about this incident, since many in my family work in the ‘oil bidness’ as they say in Texas. I did too, briefly, in college, where on a co-op job, I helped design oil refineries for one of the big Houston firms. I don’t think any of my family truly believes in the ‘drill baby drill’ craziness of Palin and the Tea Party crowd, but there is a confidence among many in that business that oil extraction can be done safely, responsibly, and in an environmentally sound manner -- until this.

But even now, at a distance from the oil business, it would be easy to be contrite; as I drive my second-hand Prius and buy locally grown produce through the CSA. But I know better. We are all deeply intertwined in this, we all contribute to these problems by virtue of being alive in this country, with its addiction to oil. Even though most of us work for a better world, we are complicit.

Thich Nhat Hahn tells us:

"I am the forest that is being cut down.
I am the rivers and the air that are being polluted,
and I am also the person who cuts down the forest
and pollutes the rivers and the air.
I see myself in all species,
and I see all species in me. [4]

Last Sunday we had a little musical revue here, “Progress might have been alright once, but it has gone on too long”, based on some of Ogden Nash’s writing from the early nineteen sixties. Some of his poetry almost makes me nostalgic. Bacteriological warfare. Conquering space. Intercontinental ballistic missiles blasting the air with roars and whistles. Nuclear fallout. Bacteria issuing forth to prowl.

A half century ago, and our problems seemed so easy then!

Our world is more complicated now. It seems that as we solve one of those old problems, two new more intractable problems take its place. Bacteriological warfare may be banned by treaty, but genetic modification of living organisms can be done in a well equipped high-school.[5] The threat of full scale nuclear war between superpowers may be decreased, but the new danger is a small-scale nuclear exchange launched between small nations with deep grudges. Even a relatively small war involving primitive nukes has the potential to create a nuclear winter that would starve much of the human race and perhaps end civilization as we know it.[6] And I haven’t even started to consider the problem of global climate change.

Underneath all of these problems is the problem of greed. We want too much, more than the earth can deliver. According to a research organization called the Global Footprint Network, we’ve been running a deficit with the earth since 1986. As they put it, “Today humanity uses the equivalent of 1.4 planets to provide the resources we use and absorb our waste. This means it now takes the Earth one year and five months to regenerate what we use in a year.”[7]

Population is a big part of this problem, certainly. We’ve grown from about 3 billion people in the good old days of Ogden Nash’s poem, to nearly 7 billion now. Projections suggest we’ll reach over 9 billion by 2050.

Bad enough, but things used to look more dour. The amazing thing that has happened is that birthrates have dropped from almost five children per woman in the middle of the last century to about two and a half children per woman, with trends continuing down. Often this is the result of women simply having more control of their lives, and being allowed to make their own choices. Programs such as microloans so they can start small businesses and achieve some financial independence help. Better access to contraceptives helps, too. Slowing population growth is great news, but it has national economists in many countries apoplectic because how can you have GDP growth without population growth? Some are even pushing policies to increase birthrates.

The other half of the problem is increasing desire for material wealth worldwide. One interesting comparison is made by Oregon State University statistician Paul Murtaugh, who studied the carbon footprint of having babies in different parts of the world. He concludes that today, one American baby with its descendants will have the same carbon footprint as fifty-five babies with their progeny in India.[8] Fifty five! That’s a huge difference!

But the more pernicious problem is that these consumption patterns are changing. As the head of one non-governmental organization put it, in a Mother Jones article: "The irony is that just as some Americans are starting to learn to live more like traditional Indians—becoming vegetarian, buying locally, eating organic—aspiring middle-class Indians are trying to live more like over-consuming Americans. The question really is, which kind of people do we want less of?"[9]

And the related question is, can we decrease our overconsumption faster than our population growth, so that we are able to reach a sustainable state? Because if we don’t do it, the earth will do it for us, and it will not be pretty. As Tony Barnosky, a paleontologist at UC Berkeley put it, "A lot of things have to die, and a lot of those things are going to be people."

Environmental sustainability is a difficult problem that will require great creativity and courage of thought as well as concerted action if we are to resolve it. When we face difficult problems we are wise to turn to the wisdom of those who preceded us and the lessons of past experience for guidance. In particular, we might look to our own Unitarian history.

The Transcendentalists were able to take on some difficult problems in their time. They opposed slavery in a time when slavery was almost universally accepted. They opposed American wars of expansion, in particular the war which acquired Texas from Mexico. They worked for women’s rights, at a time when women had no vote or property rights.

I have no doubt that the Transcendentalists would be at the forefront of modern eco-justice work. They understood innately the interconnection of all life, and would see that our actions here could cause harm to others elsewhere.

We are part of life and it is part of us. This is, I think, the essence of the spiritual intuition of many of the Transcendentalists. This sense of loss of ego or of false separateness, of being connected with the all, is a strong strand that runs through Unitarianism and reaches down to us today and has become a core theology for many of us.

So today is the last worship service of our regular church year.

I ask you to do two things this summer, that are really two forms of the same thing. The first is to come to Sunday worship here at UUYO this summer. We are changing what we do in our summer services, and holding worship, rather than talks. Worship is attending to things of worth, and we hope to have Sunday morning experiences that are worthy of your presence. This is experimental, and I know we will have successes and make mistakes. Help us as we explore this new way of doing things, help us to make it better, to make it more worthy.

The second thing is to take yourself out into nature, when you can. Even on some Sunday mornings, if you must (I can’t believe I’m suggesting this) take yourself out, and attend to things of worth, by being in nature.

The Indian poet Rabindranath Tagore speaks from joyful experience, “The stream of life that runs through my veins … is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks in tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.”[10]

It is not just that we are interconnected, as our seventh principle suggests, we are embedded in life. Being in nature reminds us of this deep connection, this unity of life, that the Eastern mystics knew and the Transcendentalists came to understand.

Seek your own interior spiritual understanding, follow your own intuition about the nature of things. Follow Thoreau’s lead, and “Make time for intelligence with the earth”. Perhaps from the earth you will learn what you are called to do, to preserve all of us, to save our unified soul, and to create a sustainable world. May it be so.

Notes:

1 “Ecotherapy – the green agenda for mental health” http://www.mind.org.uk/assets/0000/2138/ecotherapy_report.pdf
2 Research on the importance of nature to well-being and functioning
http://www.centreforconfidence.co.uk/flourishing-lives.php?p=cGlkPTE3MiZpZD02Njk=
3 http://tribalchurch.org/?p=1618
4 Thich Nhat Hahn, Plum Village Chanting and Recitation Book, 2000, p. 33
5 “Do-It-Yourself Genetic Engineering” NY Times, Feb. 10, 2010,
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/02/14/magazine/14Biology-t.html
6 “South Asian Threat? Local Nuclear War = Global Suffering?” Scientific American Jan. 2010,
http://www.scientificamerican.com/article.cfm?id=local-nuclear-war
7 Global Footprint Network http://www.footprintnetwork.org/en/index.php/GFN/page/world_footprint/
8 “Population: The Last Taboo” Mother Jones, http://motherjones.com/environment/2010/05/population-growth-india-vatican?page=3
9 http://motherjones.com/environment/2010/05/population-growth-india-vatican?page=3
10 Rabindranith Tagore, "Stream of Life", Gitangali, verse 69.

State of the Church

2010-05-16T13:44:00.002-04:00

I’m teaching a class now, “Crafting the Sermon Within You” on Tuesday nights -- you’re welcome to join us. Last Tuesday, we were learning about types of sermons. There’s the ‘no no no yes’ form where you reject a number of alternatives, the ‘oops ugh aha whee yeah’ form [1] where you lead the listener on a journey down into a problem and then out again, the ‘plot and moves’ form [2] where ideas just line up as stories and points leading hopefully to a conclusion. I use that form a lot. Then there’s the traditional deductive form where you announce your thesis, make some supporting points, then summarize in a conclusion. Matt Latimer, one of George W. Bush’s speechwriters, tells us in his book Speech-less, that the former president insisted his speeches use this introduction, three points, and conclusion form, which is why his speeches were usually boring.[3]

So allow me to be boring today -- and give you my conclusion, about the state of the church, first. I think the state of the church is pretty darn good. I think this church is doing better than a great many other Unitarian Universalist churches. For one thing, we’ve grown in numbers, from about 105 members last year, to 122 now, which bucks a declining trend in the Unitarian Universalist denomination at large. Our finances are in good shape, primarily because our gas bill has declined significantly this year. Yes, it’s true that some of that savings is because we’ve had the heat shut off for the remodel, but most of that decline is actually due to competitive gas pricing in this region.

On the qualitative side, I think the church is doing splendidly, too. Now I need to admit I’m a little weak at qualitative evaluation and judgment. I tend to see things through rose-colored glasses, maybe a bit too optimistically. But I’d like to support this conclusion by appealing to our mission statement.

I think the mission statement is the guide-star for this church, or any church, for that matter. UUYO’s mission statement is a good one. Let’s read it together, it’s on the back of your order of service:

"Our Mission is to build a diverse and transformative spiritual community, help people live lives of wholeness, and promote justice, peace, and religious freedom."
Let’s take these three phrases as our three talking points, and see how we are doing and where we need to go on each of them.

The first phrase is “to build a diverse and transformative religious community.” Certainly we are becoming more diverse, and that is exciting. It is also challenging for we are not all alike: we come from different backgrounds, jobs, ethnicities, classes, and faith traditions. But we transform ourselves by living with and loving that diversity.

I think of our reading from Ibn Arabi, a medieval Spanish Sufi mystic and philosopher. His words talk of a kind of spiritual transformation:

"There was a time I would reject those
who were not of my faith...
But now my heart has grown capable
of taking on all forms.
My religion is love.

And he tells us, “whichever path love takes, is the path of my faith".

I see this here! I see people changing in a way that moves from skepticism and rejection, to listening, to finding and following the path of optimism and love. We realize that this is a journey that love’s caravan takes, and we are on that journey. It is a transformative journey that brings us into greater understanding and compassion for one another.

So how is this manifesting? I’m really impressed at the energy level in the congregation. People love to be here. You know it when you come in: people are talking, connecting, reconnecting. There is hope in the air, new possibility, opportunity. We’re being more intentional in how we welcome and include visitors and newcomers, which ranges from things like Marcia Malmer’s new nametag board to improved contact with newcomers by Betsy Johnquest and others. All of us are -- or can be-- part of this transformation.

The second part of our mission statement is “help people live lives of wholeness”.
I struggled when I chose the opening hymn this morning, or rather, when it chose us. It is a favorite hymn of mine, and brings back fond memories of my early days, just joining a UU church. But it suggests something that I’m not sure I completely agree with today. ‘May nothing evil cross this door’ implies that evil, ill fortune, hatred and raucous shout are always out there, outside us. That all we need to do is create a place that is free of all these things, and every casual corner will become a shrine.
If we don’t acknowledge the possibility that these negative things, these shadows are also within us, then we fail to do the work to integrate them, to convert them into something useful, to create wholeness. We need to confront the possibility that we all slip, that we all are unskillful at times, and we address this by providing ways that we can recover gracefully when we do slip. We need to be ready to counter thoughtless but unkind remarks, and to support those who need help responding or reframing what they mean. We need to practice ways of directly addressing people who upset us, rather than complaining about them to others.

The good news is I see this happening all the time. I see people with vastly different working styles coming together on projects, taking the time to smooth out the difficult parts in their work. I see people standing up for others, often for new people, when thoughtless or categorizing comments are made. I see covenants, agreements on how we want to interact and be with each other, being used in groups and meetings. I see people making room for others, realizing that while the contributions of some may appear to be the Squirrel’s pebbles, and not the Monkeys’ stones, those contributions are still needed and valued.[4]
I’m very gratified that so many people have explored their own growth and wholeness through some of the adult education programs we’ve been able to offer. The eight-week Building Your Own Theology class was fully subscribed, and attendance was typically twelve people -- which is phenomenal. Our Adult Forums have been a solid part of our life together here this year, organized primarily by Lowell Satre. I’m hoping that in the future other classes and ongoing programs will be created by energetic and passionate participants here at UUYO.

At the same time, I hope we can devote more energy to helping our young people live lives of wholeness through our Religious Education program. First a shout-out to Laura Goist, who has provided needed stability and leadership to our RE program for nearly a decade as its director. She is stepping down at the end of this church year and we are searching for a new Director for our RE program in the next few weeks. We will need to be very mindful in supporting and growing our RE program and supporting its new leadership, since we will have both a new Director and a new RE committee. Let’s remember that children and youth are an important part of our diversity. They provide a sense of continuity to our movement that those of us who come out of other faiths may not bring, and they will carry that into our future.

Finally, our mission statement calls us to “promote justice, peace and religious freedom”. I’m sure many of us would consider this third area as our greatest strength, for this is where we are out in the world.

Our Board of Trustees has been reading Mike Durall’s book The Almost Church Revisited. I have some extra copies for those who’d like to read it. One of the points that has energized the board is the idea of a ‘public’ versus a ‘private’ church [5]. A public church is out in the world, doing things. It has a reputation for serving the community and seeking change. It spends a significant part of its resources including money outside of itself.

I hope that our All Church Social Justice Project will be the start of a more organized and clearer public face for UUYO. Special thanks to Susie Beiersdorfer and Steve Oravecz for beginning the process of creating this project. We are at the place in the process where you can suggest project ideas and areas. If you are interested, talk to me or to Steve.

But whatever project we choose to do, and that choice will be made next year, remember that there is a place for you. Remember these words from Howard Thurman: “Do not ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and then go and do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”

What the world needs-- what we in this church need -- is for you to come alive. Whether coming alive means working on an All Church project, or working in a social justice area around your own passion… Whether coming alive is ushering or planting hostas or leading a group… Whether coming alive just being part of the church community by taking classes, coming to worship, or forum… We need you to come alive, by being with us.

So here’s the conclusion. I think we’re doing great. But I also am aware that our work continues, and that we will continue to work on some of our current goals and create new goals as we begin our next church year in September.

I remember visiting a small church in Houston many years ago. They had just bought a building and were very proud. It was strip-mall space that had formerly been a gym and aerobics studio. The sanctuary still had mirrors on one wall, which they covered with paper and cloth on Sunday mornings. I was impressed with this high-energy bunch and struck up a conversation with the finance person at coffee hour. We compared notes, for I was the finance chair at a much larger church. She said, “Do you still have to run stewardship campaigns, even at your size?” I said, “Yes, and it requires quite a bit of organization with all the people involved.” She said, “So it doesn’t get easier, then?” She seemed crestfallen, that growth wouldn’t automatically solve their financial problems.

We don’t grow to make things easier. We grow because we are responding to a need in our community for liberal religion. We grow because people need us, and they come, and they find a spiritual home with us. Our growth is a byproduct of doing good work, of responding to our mission, and serving people that we know and people that we don’t know yet -- people who may not have even heard of us, but who yearn for what we have to offer.

Marge Piercy [6] reminds us that connections sometimes grow underground, that more than half a tree is in the soil, that we too, make connections slowly. The work is done in the dark, or in the background, it is not obvious. What looks like a thicket and bramble is interconnected with our equivalent of runs and burrows and lairs. Of course part of transformation is coming to know, and helping others know that the wilderness of this world is full of what we need, that we need only keep reaching out and keep bringing in.

She reminds us that after all the work, digging, planting, tending and growth, the harvest does come. And of course, after the harvest, there will be another season, and another year, and more work and more harvest. Many of you know this, you who’ve been here two or three or four decades, you know this cycle well. You, we, all of us show up for the planting, and the tending, and the harvest. We acknowledge the fruits of our work here, we are grateful for its transformative power, and in its season we look forward to a fruitful harvest.

1 Eugene Pier, The Homiletical Plot, 2001.
2 Ronald Allen, Patterns of Preaching, 1998, p. 87-89.
3 Latimer, Speech-less: Tales of a White-house Survivor, 2009, p. 182.
4 “How Squirrel Got It’s Stripes” (used as Story for All Ages) http://www.healingstory.org/crisis/squirrel/how_squirrel_got_stripes.html
5 Michael Durall, The Almost Church Revisited, 2009, p. 3.
6 Marge Piercy, “Connections Are Made Slowly”, SLT #568

Mother’s Day for Peace

2010-05-09T14:08:00.008-04:00

My mother was not a sentimental woman, so Mother’s Day was not a big deal in our house. As a family, we probably celebrated Mother’s Day more after she passed away, as a day to visit the place where her ashes were scattered and to remember her, than we ever did when she was alive.

I think my mother objected to the Mother’s Day focus on motherhood as the primary identity for a woman. She she found that identity limiting and life-denying. She was one of those closet feminists of the 60s and 70s, active in many related organizations like League of Women Voters and Planned Parenthood, reluctantly active in the Methodist Church, and then only to run the food pantry and occasionally to stir up trouble in their version of Adult Forum. Toward the end of her life, she admitted to me that if she had her druthers, she would have joined the Unitarian Church.

So Mother’s Day was a perfunctory holiday in my house, growing up. I think my mother would have been far happier with Mother’s Day if she’d known a bit about the real history of the day. If she had been aware of that history, she would have known a kindred spirit, another strong woman, an icon, a predecessor in women’s rights and justice work. This woman was Julia Ward Howe, the founder of the original Mother’s Day holiday, then called Mother’s Day for Peace.

Julia Ward Howe was born in New York in 1819, to a wealthy banker. She had family in Boston, and through them encountered Unitarianism, reading and hearing and meeting William Ellery Channing, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Margaret Fuller. She married Samuel Howe, who worked as an educator of children with multiple handicaps. She switched from the Episcopal religion of her youth to Unitarianism, attending Theodore Parker’s church, which was the nexus of the radical anti-slavery movement.

She began a career as a writer, and published anonymously, for her work was opposed by her husband. Marriage troubles continued. They disagreed about attending Theodore Parker’s church, which Samuel considered too informal -- he complained that people read newspapers during the service, and some got up and left during the sermon[1] -- so the family instead began to attend Rev. James Freeman Clarke’s Church of the Disciples. Clarke, a Unitarian minister, became a close friend of the Howes.

As our closing hymn, we’ll sing Battle Hymn of the Republic, written by Julia Ward Howe. This hymn was included in the 30’s era Unitarian hymnal “Hymns of the Spirit.”

This hymn was published in the Atlantic Magazine in 1862, and increased Julia Ward Howe’s prominence as a writer and speaker, so it’s important to this story. She tells about writing this hymn in her autobiography.

We were invited, one day, to attend a review of troops at some distance from the town. My dear minister was in the carriage with me, as were several other friends. To beguile the rather tedious drive, we sang from time to time snatches of the army songs so popular at that time, concluding, I think, with
"John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the ground;
His soul is marching on."
The soldiers seemed to like this, and answered back, "Good for you!" Mr. Clarke said, "Mrs. Howe, why do you not write some good words for that stirring tune ?" ...

I went to bed that night as usual, and slept, according to my wont, quite soundly. I awoke in the gray of the morning twilight; and as I lay waiting for the dawn, the long lines of the desired poem began to twine themselves in my mind. Having thought out all the stanzas, I said to myself, " I must get up and write these verses down, lest I fall asleep again and forget them." So, with a sudden effort, I sprang out of bed, and found in the dimness an old stump of a pen which I remembered to have used the day before. I scrawled the verses almost without looking at the paper. I had learned to do this when, on previous occasions, attacks of versification had visited me in the night, and I feared to have recourse to a light lest I should wake the baby, who slept near me. I was always obliged to decipher my scrawl before another night should intervene, as it was only legible while the matter was fresh in my mind. At this time, having completed my writing, I returned to bed and fell asleep, saying to myself, "I like this better than most things that I have written."[2]

Her story is just another reminder that the middle of the night is good for more than merely sleeping!

We also heard earlier Julia Ward Howe’s own reflection on her work creating the Mother’s Day Proclamation. Howe, with her husband and many other Unitarians, was involved in the Sanitary Commission, the predecessor to the Red Cross, so they were well acquainted with the horrors of the Civil War. So for Howe to see another war developing in Europe, in countries she had visited and loved, pushed her to agitate in opposition to that war, and to all war. She went to work, writing to prominent women around the world, even traveling to Europe, to promote her peace crusade. She initiated a Mother’s Peace Day observance the second Sunday in June, which was held for a number of years.

This Mother’s Day for Peace died out, but the idea of a Mother’s Day was resurrected by Anna Jarvis in West Virginia in 1907 as a memorial day for women. This gradually spread and became a national holiday in 1914.[3]

After the Civil War, Julia Ward Howe became increasingly involved in the work for women’s suffrage and larger issues of women’s rights. She noted in her autobiography, “During the first two thirds of my life I looked to the masculine ideal of character as the only true one. ... In an unexpected hour a new light came to me, showing me a world of thought and of character quite beyond the limits within which I had hitherto been content to abide. The new domain now made clear to me was that of true womanhood, -- woman no longer in her ancillary relation to her opposite, man, but in her direct relation to the divine plan and purpose, as a free agent, fully sharing with man every human right and every human responsibility. This discovery was like the addition of a new continent to the map of the world, or of a new testament to the old ordinances.”[4] Howe cofounded the New England Woman’s Club, and was founder or president of several suffrage organizations, and founded a suffrage newspaper, the “Woman’s Journal.”[5]

As Howe gained greater prominence as a writer, she began to speak publicly, and even preached on occasion, in churches of various denominations when she traveled. She received much encouragement in this work from her minister, James Freeman Clarke.

At a Unitarian denominational meeting in 1875, she organized a gathering of women ministers, which she held at her home church, the Church of the Disciples. This became an ongoing organization, the Women’s Ministerial Conference.[6] Realize that women in the pulpit were a relatively new phenomenon in this era, so these conventions were an innovation.

Howe’s minister, James Freeman Clarke coined a phrase that, good or bad, became a kind of slogan for Unitarianism. This phrase, “the progress of mankind onward and upward forever”, was the last of Clarke’s “Five Points of a New Theology”[7], and it became an epithet for the kind of rosy optimism that our tradition sometimes still struggles with. I don’t want to suggest that progress toward a better world is not possible, but I think most of us would agree that it is not steady and certain, and that the cost of progress is occasional regress.

Howe did not live to see the fruits of her work for suffrage and women’s rights -- she died a full decade before the Nineteenth Amendment was passed and ratified. In her autobiography, she laments the loss of energy and vitality in the women’s movement as younger women failed to take up the cause, and as she put it, “Death had done his usual work on our number.”[8]

The Mother’s Day for Peace project also faltered, in part because so many potential women supporters became focused on the suffrage movement.

Howe’s relationship with her husband had always been strained, because of his lack of respect for her talents. Toward the end of his life, he softened his attitude toward her work and apologized for his transgressions, and the marriage became more harmonious.

Unfortunately, Howe’s finances, never fully in her control, were mismanaged by her husband until his death and then by a cousin, to the point that she had to go on the lecture circuit to make ends meet.

Howe died in 1910. Her eulogy was given by Samuel Atkins Eliot II, then the president of the American Unitarian Association.[9] There is a sad irony here. Eliot is now seen as a misogynist, and one consequence of his leadership was that women were driven out of the Unitarian ministry. As one UUA description put it: “Eliot's ... gender discrimination effectively weeded out Unitarian women ministers for the next 50 years.”[10]

I feel a great personal sympathy for Howe’s story, for there are a few parallels in my own mother’s far more ordinary life. My mother was trained as a nurse, but after she married she was discouraged from working outside of the home, in an era when many women found careers and life choices narrowed. She found some outlets in church work and school, but even these were limited. Finances were a source of friction.

I’m sure her story was repeated by many women in her era. I think my mother could easily have quoted the poet and said,

“ever since I was small like you
I wanted to be myself -- and for a woman that's hard”[11]

I think Julia Ward Howe could have said that too.

I think all of us as woman or as man or claiming both or neither identities, come to realize that progress in our lives is not onward and upward forever. Rather, as Zamora tells us,

Often I lose my way
and my life has been a painful crossing
navigating reefs, in and out of storms,
refusing to listen to the ghostly sirens
who invite me into the past,
neither compass nor binnacle to show me the way.[12]

Can we find solace in this crossing, even as we suffer to be driven from our charted course again and again? Perhaps we can, whether with our own children or with the children of those we love:

go forward, holding to the hope
of some distant port
where you, my children -- I'm sure --
will pull in one day
after I've been lost at sea.[13]

And so may it be --
May each of us abide,
in brief living instantiation,
part of that long line of creation,
mother to child, and father too,
that carries us all,
in fits and starts,
through storms and torments,
gradually, generation by generation,
onward and upward, in hopeful progress,
toward that long future destination,
that lives only in our dreams.

Notes:
1 Julia Ward Howe, Reminiscences, 1899, p. 244.
2 ibid., p. 273-275.
3 http://womenshistory.about.com/od/howejuliaward/a/julia_ward_howe_4_mothers_day.htm
4 Reminiscences, p. 372-373.
5 http://www.juliawardhowe.org/timeline.htm
6 http://www25.uua.org/uuhs/duub/articles/marybillings.html
7 http://www25.uua.org/uuhs/duub/articles/jamesfreemanclarke.html
8 Reminiscences, p. 393.
9 http://www.newworldencyclopedia.org/entry/Julia_Ward_Howe
10 http://www25.uua.org/uuhs/duub/articles/samuelatkinseliotii.html
11 Daisy Zamora, “Mother's Day”
12 ibid.
13 ibid.

Everyday Meditation

2010-05-02T16:08:00.001-04:00

So there’s an old joke that goes:

Two men meet on the street.
One asks the other: "Hi, how are you?"
The other one replies: "I'm fine, thanks."
"And how's your son? Is he still unemployed?"
"Yes, he is. But he is meditating now."
"Meditating? What's that?"
"I don't know. But it's better than sitting around and doing nothing!"

I’m pretty good at sitting around doing nothing, but meditation is something else entirely. I've attempted to practice meditation since college. My early attempts were unsuccessful -- they were a lot like what Philip Simmons described. Go find a beautiful or meaningful spot and then expect something miraculous to happen. I was always disappointed. I don’t believe I am the only one who has had this experience with meditation.

But about ten years ago, I found myself in a stressful, stagnant job situation, with a long and painful commute. At a church retreat, I encountered meditation again. I learned a technique, and began a practice, and have meditated most every morning since then. I'll talk about this technique, called passage meditation, later on.

My key learning is not that Passage Meditation is the right technique for everyone. A few years ago, that is what I might have told you. My key learning is that I now accept the ordinariness of meditation. If I am in an ordinary spot, like my chair at home, I close my eyes and meditate for my half hour in the morning, and it is ordinary. If I'm in a beautiful spot -- like last week on the balcony of my brother's home in Puerto Rico, looking off over the hills, and the city, toward the sea, listening to the birds and enjoying the warmth of the sunrise, for example -- I close my eyes, and meditate, and it is ordinary.

What I've learned in my practice is to not seek perfection. I meditate not to seek some kind of blissful experience or nirvana, but for a better day, everyday. I try to seek my own version of what the Buddha called the 'middle way'. To the Buddha, the middle way was the path between living a life devoted to sensory pleasures, and the life of ascetic denial. According to the tradition, Buddha had left his position of privilege and luxury as a prince to seek spiritual understanding as an ascetic. He nearly starved to death, and came to realize that the ascetic life is no solution either. Buddha's awakening is in part a path of moderation between self-indulgence and denial.

So, in my own practice, the middle way means that I remain faithful to the practice. I try to maintain my half hour of meditation every morning, even when I don't feel motivated to do it. I do slip, and sometimes I have an immediate deadline and meditation time is impossible. But I also do not practice at extreme levels. I do not get up at 3:30 in the morning to sit for 4 hours as one friend described doing for many years. I sit comfortably upright in a chair, knowing full well my body is not able to contort into the full lotus position illustrated on the cover of the Order of Service. Most importantly: I do not beat myself up when things don't go quite right and my mind does wander. Which it does. Together now, let’s take a closer look at the wandering monkey-mind.

If you’re willing, I'd like to try a little experiment with you. Let’s start by putting your feet flat on the floor. Hands comfortably in your lap. Spine straight. Then close your eyes. For the next minute, all you have to do is silently repeat your own name. Just that. Very simple! Just repeat your name over and over again. I’ll sound this bowl to tell you when the minute is up.

ONE MINUTE - SOUND BOWL
So tell us, how many of you were able to repeat your name without interruption for the entire minute? Show of hands. How many had a few other stray thoughts wandering into your consciousness? How many of you had nothing BUT stray thoughts playing through your mind? You're with me!
Does this show you something of the nature of the mind? The mind wanders here, wanders there, aimlessly and without much logic. It’s like an untrained puppy that’s chasing a butterfly here, a ball over there, and oh look there’s a cat with a tail like mine, I think I’ll just check that out too. But often these thoughts are stressful – they are about old wounds, embarrassments, things we should have done, or things we need to do, worries about the days to come.

We know that using meditation and related spiritual practices can bring on physiological changes, such as lowering blood pressure and heart rate. More recent studies have shown that it reduces levels of the stress hormone cortisol.[1]

A few years ago, Richard Davidson at the University of Madison found that the left prefrontal lobes of Buddhist meditators are more active than those who don’t practice.[2] Now the left prefrontal lobe is associated with positive emotions, such as hope and love for one another. What’s fascinating to me is that the research showed that this heightened activity in the left prefrontal lobe went on all the time, not just when these people were meditating.

One study showed that meditation actually increased the size of the prefrontal cortex and related areas. The researcher, Sara Lazar, at Massachusetts General Hospital, points out "The growth of the cortex is not due to the growth of new neurons, but results from wider blood vessels, more supporting structures such as glia and astrocytes, and increased branching and connections."[3] It is further evidence that meditators, in Lazar’s words, “aren’t just sitting there doing nothing.”

So there is increasing scientific evidence that meditation is good for you and good for your brain. But when I started, I didn't have this evidence to motivate me. I was motivated by the simple awareness that it was good for my mind. I noticed that after a few weeks of practice, I was becoming less stressed out, more relaxed. More importantly, other people close to me began to notice this too. People began to comment that I seemed to have a calm presence, and a steady, joyful nature.

So, getting back to our experiments with meditation earlier-- if the mind wanders all over the place, how do we use meditation to cause it to stop? I think the reality is that most of us can't really get the mind to stop, for more than a few seconds at a time. We want to simply slow it down, to reduce the torrent of thoughts to a reasonable flow, then maybe to a trickle.

What we have to be careful about though, is getting annoyed with ourselves when thoughts come up. Then we'll constantly be annoyed and we'll get frustrated with meditation and we’ll give it up. Believe me, I've been there, and gave it up many times in my younger years.

The Tibetan Buddhist teacher Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche offers a more joyful and relaxed approach to meditation, which I offer you today. He calls this objectless attention meditation, and we'll try a bit of it here. He suggests we simply rest our minds. That's his term, we rest our minds. So let's try a short, simple meditation, resting our minds. Please start by putting your feet flat on the floor. Hands comfortably in your lap. Spine straight. Then close or soften your eyes.
Now just rest your mind: "as though you've just finished a long day of productive work. Just let go and relax. You don't have to block whatever thoughts, emotions, or sensations arise, but neither do you have to follow them. Just rest in the open present, simply allowing whatever happens to occur. If thoughts or emotions come up, just allow yourself to be aware of them…. This doesn't mean letting your mind wander aimlessly among fantasies, memories or daydreams. There's still some presence of mind that may be loosely described as a center of awareness. You may not be fixating on anything in particular, but you're still aware, still present to what's happening in the here and now."4 We'll continue for another minute, just resting the mind, noticing but not following thoughts and emotions.
ONE MINUTE - SOUND BOWL

So how was that? Did you seem to have fewer thoughts arise than with the previous exercise? Good! More? Also good!
Sometimes objectless meditation is too much of nothing, and we need to offer our minds something simple to hold on to. This is why many meditation techniques have us focus on breathing, or counting, or resting our eyes on an object. Let's try a meditation on something that's always around us: lets meditate for a couple of minutes on the sounds in the room. Please start by putting your feet flat on the floor. Hands comfortably in your lap. Spine straight. Then close or soften your eyes.

SOUND BOWL
Now just allow yourself to focus on sounds that are around you. Your breath. Your heartbeat. The street sounds. You don't need to identify, or analyze, these sounds. Just be aware. As your mind wanders, just come back to the sounds. If you mind rests in objectless attention for a few seconds, that's OK too. We'll continue with the sounds for a couple more minutes.
TWO MINUTES - SOUND BOWL

I've come to realize that having both objectless and a variety of object attention meditations in our spiritual practices toolkit is good: we can choose different meditations as our situation demands. I've recently been adding these techniques to my meditation practice for a deeper experience.

My primary meditation technique is called Passage Meditation[5]. It was taught by Eknath Easwaran, a Fulbright Scholar in literature at Berkeley. In this meditation technique, we focus on reciting, slowly and silently, a passage of sacred text, such as Scripture or mystical poetry.

Now it is a little hard to teach this in our limited time, since we do not all have memorized texts in our minds. So lets do a variation. What I’d like to do is invite you into an attitude of meditation, and I will recite, at a slow meditative speed, a text by Lao Tzu, "The Best" So let’s again find our center, spine straight, and eyes softened or closed. Now, just listen as I recite these words. Don’t try to analyze them, just notice them going by.

The best, like water
Benefit all and do not compete.
They dwell in lowly spots,
that everyone else scorns.

Putting others before themselves
they find themselves in the foremost place
And come very near to the Tao.

In their dwelling, they love the earth;
In their heart, they love what is deep;
In their personal relationships, they love kindness;
In their words, they love truth;
In their world, they love peace.
in their personal affairs, they love what is right.
In action, they love choosing the right time.

It is because they do not compete with others
That they are beyond the reproach of the world.[6]

How was that? For some, it might be the perfect form of meditation, for others, it may not feel quite right. We each have our preferred tools in our kit.

There's an old analogy that I think is helpful in understanding what we try to accomplish in meditation. Our minds are like a cloudy sky. Most of the time we focus on the clouds, trying to pick out patterns, wondering if they are bringing rain, and so on. Meditation asks us to focus on the sky beyond the clouds.

Let me extend this analogy. My experience is that meditation lets us move beyond these low cumulonimbus clouds to find, not blue sky, but higher cirrus clouds. Maybe at times there is blue sky, and stars too, but the new clouds are with us too. They are different but they are still clouds. We move to a higher level of mindfulness, but we do not, at least most of us, reach that true awakening or nirvana that the mystics talk about. And that is OK. It should not be a near goal, that is, one we measure success or failure with. It is fine as a far goal, an aspiration, but if we want to make progress in meditation or in any spiritual practice, we need to accept the ordinary everydayness of our own abilities.

In his book Learning to Fall, Philip Simmons wrote about his mountain-top meditation experience, which was abruptly ended by an ant crawling on his back: "I had come for a miracle. What I got was an ant."[7]

He goes on: "Only now, years later, have I come to understand that the ant was the miracle." He says, "It was the ant that returned me to the world, that called me to another way of worship, the way of all things ordinary and small, the way of all that is imperfect, the way of stubbornness and error, the way of all that is transitory and comes to grief. The ant was my messenger, calling me back to a world that in truth I had never left."[8]

So my hope is that in all of our spiritual practices, we begin to find those ants, those annoyances and distractions, and like Simmons, begin to see them for what they are, messengers, calling us back to our place in the world.

Notes:
1 Meditation really does reduce stress, New Scientist Magazine, 13 October 2007
2 The Colour of Happiness, New Scientist Magazine 24 May 2003
3 Meditation builds up the brain, New Scientist Magazine, 15 November 2005
4 Yongey Mingyur Rinpoche, The Joy of Living, p. 139.
5 see http://www.easwaran.org/page/96
6 Eknath Easwaran, God Makes the Rivers to Flow, 2003, p. 141.
7 Philip Simmons, Learning to Fall, 2000, p. 35.
8 ibid. p. 35-36.

Heads, Hearts, Hands - Our Service to the Community

2010-04-18T17:34:00.045-04:00

Last May, I was actively -- maybe even frantically -- looking for a ministry position, and a friend mentioned to me that I ought to consider First UU of Youngstown. I was intrigued. As I began to learn about this congregation, I was drawn to your focus on social justice work.

There is a standard online form that congregations use to advertise for ministers, and on that form there is this question: Does the congregation have a mission -- not a mission statement, but a glowing coal at its center -- and if so, what is it? This 'glowing coal' question is probably the most important question ministers examine, when they consider a congregation.

How did UUYo answer? Your answer was two parts. The first part was "we are determined to maintain a liberal religious presence in the Mahoning Valley and will do all within our power to keep it here." That makes sense, check, and I know that many UU churches have the same aspiration.

The second part was what caught my eye. It read: "Second, we are committed to social justice and are working with other groups in our town to bring about change as quickly as possible."

As I looked over the materials, and began to understand the congregation, I came to see that this is true. Most significantly, you have chosen to remain in this location on the north side, in what many would call the 'inner city'. That has meant tradeoffs: worries about maintaining this building, concerns that some potential members may stay away out of fear of this part of town.

Also, I've come to see that the congregation is involved in many social justice activities currently, plus it has a long history of other causes. Let me list a few.

The congregation was instrumental in forming the 'Alliance for Congregational Transformation Influencing Our Neighborhoods' better known as ACTION, which was involved in early anti-corruption work, and continues working on crime, health, and economic issues.
The congregation was also instrumental in founding the local Montessori school, and before that, we housed a Head Start program here.
Members of the congregation founded a food coop, the Good Karma Food Coop, which operated for many years. More recently, the congregation founded the Northside Farmers Market.
We've been involved in supporting GLBTQ rights, and housed the PRIDE center here for many years. We continue to serve gay and lesbian youth and their allies with our Cocha Mocha group that meets here monthly.
We have put our environmental consciousness into action through the Grey to Green Festival and Trees Pleeze and the Mahoning River Consortium.
Universal Café and In Praise of the Arts are two other areas where we've explored art and education for the community.

It's amazing! For a small congregation, there is huge energy around social change. It is gratifying to be part of this, and to see lives changed by such efforts.

It's especially good to see so much energy going in so many different areas. I tell my minister friends that the opportunity for ministry in Youngstown is enormous. As social activist Dorothy Day said, "No one has the right to sit down and feel helpless, there's too much work to do."

But I want to point out a danger. All too often, the social justice work moves to the periphery of the congregation. It can become individual activities by individual people, and it can gradually become more and more disconnected from the church.

I remember attending the social action committee meetings of a large and successful church, and dreading these meetings. The meetings were essentially a 'go around' where everyone there talked about their own personal projects. Each one spoke more stridently than the next, trying to get others to admit that the speaker's project deserved more attention and time, and possibly more of the committee's miniscule budget. Nobody outside of the social justice crew wanted to be involved with this committee's activities! It was too painful to be loaded up with so much guilt.

Reverend Dick Gilbert is known in our movement for his work in social justice. His book, The Prophetic Imperative, is almost a Unitarian Universalist textbook on social justice; I know some in our social justice committee have studied it. Gilbert suggests that four pillars support the liberal church.
The first pillar is worship.[1] Gilbert reminds us that the word worship derives from the Anglo-Saxon word weorthscipe, which means "pointing to and celebrating that which is of worth."[2] He reminds us that worship is much more than simply what happens here in the sanctuary, it can also "include informal experiences by which transcendent values break through the ordinary and move us to reconstruct our experiences, raising up symbols of our loftiest goals."[3] Here at UUYo, we work, as part of our shared ministry, with Worship Associates and the Worship Team to craft and create good worship.

The second pillar is education. Here we include both education of our children and our adults, unifying these to create a lifelong learning experience. Religious education doesn't just happen in classrooms, but it happens throughout the entire church, all the time. I'm excited about our emerging Religious Education Team that will guide how we educate our children and youth.

The third pillar is a caring community. Gilbert sees this going beyond just pastoral care for the suffering, to the ordinary everyday relationship between us all. Gilbert tells us, "the caring community … is based on person-to-person, face-to-face, I-thou relationships."[4] Our one-on-one conversations that we started last week help us to develop this caring community. Are you still committed to practicing the one-on-ones?

Gilbert relates a story how creating such a caring community is important in social justice work. He describes a situation where his church voted 156 to 1 to support a particular social justice resolution. He wrote this in his newsletter column:

Note to a minority of one: congregational democracy can be a difficult process. … It takes courage to vote one's convictions when it is clear one is going to be a small minority. Yet it is crucial to the process that this voice be heard. The minority, even of one, reminds the majority that conscience counts for something in liberal religion…The voice keeps the majority from becoming arrogant and self-righteous. We needed that vote for the good of us all.[5]

Gilbert cared for the one, even when he didn't agree with the position.

The fourth pillar is the community of moral discourse and action. This is the pillar of social action. While Gilbert reminds us that moral discourse happens everywhere in the church, he warns us: "Social action is not the central function of the church. It is a vital function, but it must emerge out of a religious community that serves well the functions of worship, caring and education. Social action is a necessary but not sufficient dimension for a Unitarian Universalist church."[6]

So, when a church has many members who are avidly focused on social justice concerns, how can it be that this pillar of social justice withers away and the work of social justice becomes so peripheral to the church? It's a paradox.

When I think back on those large church Social Action Committee meetings, I wonder if an answer to that paradox was that the members were so committed to their causes that they were unable to engage in the other pillars of the church. They focused on their own projects and passions, pushing them onto the church, rather then inviting a project to emerge out of the church.

I will say that my story has a happy ending. That large church did some serious work around changing the nature of its social justice program. There were false starts and conflict. But the church has made social justice work much more central to its lived mission than it was before.

Way back in September, during our Startup Workshop, the idea of an All-Church Social Justice Project emerged. I do not recall who suggested that, but I do know that I was an enthusiastic supporter of the idea, and it became one of the five broad goals that we planned to work on this year. We've had numerous discussions over the course of months in our Social Action Committee (thanks Susie!) and in the Adult Forum about this idea. We're moving forward toward a plan to communally choose and launch such a project, probably in the fall.

It is time to begin to think about what specifically might make a good all church project. What communities might we serve? What needs might we meet? What injustice might we seek to change?
I want to note that I have great passion around the idea of the all church project, and it's promise to make the pillar of social justice more central to the life of the church. At the same time, I don't have strong preference for what we do. Whether we work with food security, or schools, or economic justice, or housing, concerns me less than whether we are able to bring social justice work more to the core of our life here.

How do we choose a good project then? How do we choose one that will strengthen our social justice action? Let me offer a few thoughts.

First, the project should be big enough: something that we do for several years and which anyone in our community may participate. Let me illustrate with a counterexample. A few years ago I participated in a church service trip to post-Katrina New Orleans. It was a wonderful trip, but it would not be a good all-church project. Cost and time commitment limited it a few people. In New Orleans, locals asked us, 'why aren't you devoting your energy to the homeless living close to our own church'? That was a good question that we did not adequately answer.

Ideally the project should allow lots of people to be involved, whatever their level of commitment, whatever their skill level, whatever their age.

Secondly, the project should balance aspects of service, education, and social change. Service can bring us in direct contact with those we are trying to help, and help us understand them in their humanity. I recall well a time when I made coffee and had conversations with people who were homeless in Denver. The experience opened my eyes to the complexity of their lives and to the uniqueness of each person's situation.

Education is essential if we are to make sense of the underlying causes of injustice and oppression so that we might correct them. An example is a Unitarian Universalist Service Committee trip to Guatemala where we learned about US-funded violence and genocide in the 1980's. We were surprised to meet many Christian missionaries traveling on service trips in Guatemala who had no clue that these atrocities had happened.

Third, social change includes bearing witness to injustice, advocating legislative changes, and organizing communities of the oppressed. Social change is essential if we are to actually correct the causes of injustice rather than simply address the symptoms. I'm told that when this church was involved in the early days of ACTION, that group was quite successful in using organizing techniques to address government corruption in the valley.

My sense is that a good project will balance all these aspects of social change. That way, it can energize the talents and passions of a wide variety of people in the congregation.

Finally, a good project should transform us spiritually. I recall the New Orleans trip that I mentioned earlier. We all confronted the reality that while our group was doing good work repairing just one family's house, we could see thousands of other houses abandoned or needing repair. We knew that each house represented a family uprooted and suffering. Our efforts were so miniscule and the magnitude of the need so enormous. We had to find ways to hold that tension, to not be overwhelmed, and to cherish the good we were doing.

So how do we proceed with creating, implementing, executing and evaluating an all-church social justice project? I know that Steve is hard at work on process details. When we start let's keep the poem by Margaret Wheatley[7] in mind:

There is no power greater than a community discovering what it cares about.
Ask “What’s possible?” not “What’s wrong?” Keep asking.
Notice what you care about.
Assume that many others share your dreams.
Be brave enough to start a conversation that matters.
Talk to people you know.
Talk to people you don’t know.
Talk to people you never talk to.
Be intrigued by the differences you hear.
Expect to be surprised.
Treasure curiosity more than certainty.

And as we settle on a project and launch it, let's remember the second part of her poem,

Invite in everybody who cares to work on what’s possible.
Acknowledge that everyone is an expert about something.
Know that creative solutions come from new connections.
Remember, you don’t fear people whose story you know.
Real listening always brings people closer together.
Trust that meaningful conversations can change your world.
Rely on human goodness. Stay together.

Social justice work is at its core, spiritual work. It is work best done in community. Let us remember, as Reverend Mark Morrison-Reed tells us, "It is the church that assures us that we are not struggling for justice on our own, but as members of a larger community. The religious community is essential, for alone our vision is too narrow to see all that must be seen, and our strength is too limited to do all that must be done. Together our vision widens and our strength is renewed.[8]"

Notes:
1. Richard Gilbert, The Prophetic Imperative, Social Gospel in Theory and Practice, 2000, p. 121.
2. ibid. p. 122.
3. ibid.
4. ibid. p. 123.
5. ibid. p. 124.
6. ibid. p. 126.
7. Margaret Wheatley, Turning to One Another: Simple Conversations to Restore Hope to the Future, 2009, p. 166
8. Unitarian Universalist Association, Singing the Living Tradition, 1993, #580.

Afterlife: An Easter Exploration

2010-04-04T13:25:00.001-04:00

Reading 1: "Yudisthira at Heavens Gate" from the Mahabharata

The great king Yudhisthira had ruled over the Pandava people for many years, and, among his many achievements had waged a successful war against the forces of evil. It was time for him to withdraw from the world, and to enter the Celestial City of the Immortals.

King Yudhisthira set off on the long journey into the northern mountains, along with his four brothers and his beloved wife Drapaudi. They were soon joined on their journey by a small, ill-kempt stray dog.

The journey was hard. They tired. And in the course of the journey first one brother and then another, then the third and then the fourth, fell, exhausted, and died. Unable to do anything for them, Yudhisthira and Drapaudi continued on the journey, followed by the dog. Eventually Drapaudi, too, fell by the wayside and died.

With utmost sadness, Yudhisthira turned and continued, the dog faithfully keeping pace. At last Yudhisthira and the dog reached the gates of the Celestial City, home of the Immortals. Yudhisthira bowed humbly and asked to be admitted. The great sky God Indra arrived to meet Yudhisthira and to welcome him to heaven.

But then Yudhisthira said that without his beloved wife and his four brothers, he did not have the heart to enter. Indra replied that these loved ones were already in Heaven, they had come before him.

This lifted Yudhisthira's heart, but he had one more request.

"This dog has faithfully accompanied me on this long journey, never left my side. I cannot leave him now outside heaven's gate. My heart is full of love for him."

Indra shook his head. The earth quaked.

"You, Yudhisthira, through your goodness and courage, and by enduring this long and difficult journey, have earned your way into heaven. But you cannot bring a dog into heaven. A dog would pollute the Celestial City. Leave the dog behind Yudhisthira. It is no sin."

"But where would he go? He has given up the pleasures of the earth to be my companion. I cannot desert him now." Yudhisthira turned to leave.

Indra asked, astonished, "You would abandon heaven just for the sake of a dog?"

Yudhisthira declared that long ago he had vowed never to turn his back on anyone needing his protection and help. "And so," he concluded, "I will not abandon my loyal friend."
Yudisthira turned from heaven's gate and began to walk away.

At that moment a remarkable thing happened. The faithful dog was transformed into the god Dharma, the god of righteousness and justice.

And Indra declared, "You are a good man, Yudhisthira. You have shown loyalty and love to a small, faithful dog and compassion for all creatures, ready to renounce for yourself all the rewards of heaven for this humble dog's sake. You shall be honored in heaven!"

And so Yudhisthira entered heaven and was reunited with his wife and with brothers to enjoy eternal happiness. [1]

Part 1: Do Dogs go to Heaven?

Today is Easter. Most Unitarian Universalists approach the day only obliquely. Meg Barnhouse, one of our ministers and wonderful writer fictionalizes this in a brief piece on the UUA website (thanks Jennifer for popping this on Facebook):

The Worship Planning Group at Honey Springs Unitarian Universalist Congregation—a mythical UU congregation where we are all the way we are, only more so—was seated around the table in Classroom 6 discussing the upcoming Easter Intergenerational service. Someone had put a scented candle in the chalice, and the room was beginning to list a little to the raspberry side. The Rev. Cotton Lovingood, the new minister, was having a little trouble breathing, and briefly wondered if it would be seen as sacrilegious to ask if they could put the chalice out for the rest of the meeting. Mindful of his previous two very brief settlements since seminary, and wanting to have a brightly successful ministry here at Honey Springs, he decided to endure.

“It’s in the name,” a tall woman dressed in gauzy green layers was saying. “Easter is from Eostre or Ostara, the Saxon goddess of spring. In ancient Greece she was called Astarte, in Assyria she was called Ishtar. Hear it? Easter, Ishtar, it’s the same word. Her worshippers would have egg hunts at dawn on the day of the Equinox, and the rabbits were sacred to her, too.” She looked at the minister.

“Easter is about Jesus, people!” A slender young man leaned both of his forearms on the table. “Why is it so hard just to let the church talk about Jesus once in a while? Is Honey Springs going to be like that place where the only time the name of Jesus is uttered is when the minister stubs his toe?” He looked at the minister. [2]

These are the times when it is not fun to be the minister.

But it is Easter, the primary holiday for devout Christians, and we should at least examine and maybe contend with and perhaps even learn from what Easter has to offer us.

Easter to Christians is about ressurrection, about the promise of a new life after death. Jesus is murdered, his dead body is buried, and on Easter day, the body is missing. Jesus appears in the flesh to a few of his followers on that day and for a few weeks afterward [3], reassuring them of this message. Part of the message is an apocalyptic one, what's going to happen to the whole world when things are made right, so to speak. Part of his message is eschatological, what is going to happen to you after you die.

Does heaven exist? Who goes to heaven? Do we all go to heaven? Do dogs go to heaven?

These are all questions that we Unitarian Universalists tend to avoid talking about. OK some of us will answer all of the above with NO, and be done with it.

It is this afterlife question that I want to spend some time on today. Now, lest you think that this concern about afterlife is primarily a Christian idea, let's explore one non-Christian tradition.

Our reading for this segment was from the Mahabharata, which is this huge epic poem from ancient India. Yudisthira is making his final trek to heaven, with his family around him. A mangy dog has joined him. One by one, his brothers die, and then his wife. At the gates of heaven, the god Indra welcomes him, and tells him he'll meet his family again in heaven, but he has to leave the dog behind as the dog is impure. Yudisthira chooses to stay with the dog, and as he turns away from heaven, the dog is transformed into the god Dharma, and both are admitted and Yudisthira is honored in heaven for his faithfulness and compassion for a humble creature.

Obviously this story has great moral lessons about loyalty and compassion, and it makes me want to explore other stories in this epic poem. But I want to notice some of the assumptions about heaven in this story. Heaven is a place that you travel to, and gain admission to. You will see your family when you get there. Only pure beings are admitted, so dogs are excluded.

Let's explore some of these questions. Do dogs go to heaven? I'm not surprised that this is a topic of contention among some Christians. I found a website [4], that attempts to prove, of course with many Biblical references, that dogs do not go to heaven.

On the other hand, I found a number of books, [5] including children's books [6] suggesting that dogs do go to heaven. There was even a sort of Universalist book, called 'Even Bad Dogs go to Heaven' [7].

What about people? If we do go to heaven, will we run into all our old friends and relatives -- at least the dead ones? Is heaven a place where we hang out with friends, eat ice cream, and watch what's going on on Earth as if it were TV, as the book The Lovely Bones projects? [8]

It turns out that the idea that we'd meet friends and loved ones in heaven has been in and out of favor in various religions for a long time. In American Christianity, it was out of favor until after the Civil War. At that time, there were so many families mourning their war dead that the idea that they would be reunited with these dead became popular. If that were not comforting enough, many believed that they could communicate with the dead directly, though seances and Ouija boards [9]. While the fad of spiritualism has faded, many who believe in heaven do believe they will meet their loved ones in the flesh there. So for many Americans, as heaven is a very real place, with friends and family and pets.

Reading 2: The Reassemblage by Virginia Hamilton Adair

Some myths are too terrible for our believing:
that the compendium of all our years and yearning,
that poor bundle of knobby bones and leather,
must wait through mellennia as scattered dust,
its bits and pieces digested by worms and beetles?
until the great dictator gives it leave to reassemble
and stand naked to be tried, not by a jury of its peers,
but a judge with far too many cases on His, or Her, or Its
agenda?

So the grave was after all a cell on death row.

Now come the rewards and punishments:
one verdict brutal beyond imagination,
the other by most reports an eternity of boredom.

But billions have lived and died by this myth,
evolved by sadists and masochists,
even by the great John Donne, napping in his coffin,
arrayed in frilled nightcap
just to get the feel of things to come.

Oh, you arbiters of the afterlife, let the soul go on dancing,
the mind exploring, discovering,
setting forth into unending wonders of the universe,
the wilderness of words,
the vast mysteries of the human mind. [10]

Part 2: What About the Rest of Us?

There are a zillion jokes about heaven out there, most involving getting past the pearly gates. Here are a couple:

A young couple were killed in an accident on the day before their wedding. When they arrived at the Pearly Gates, St. Peter asked if there was anything he could do to make being in heaven even more pleasant. So they explained about dying the day before their wedding and asked if it was possible to be married in heaven. "No problem," said St Peter, "leave it with me."

A hundred years or so later they met St Peter and asked about the wedding. "Everything is being arranged," he assured them.

Another hundred years passed, and they met St Peter again. They reminded him about the wedding and said, "We know that in heaven, time is of no consequence, but we have been waiting over two hundred years." St Peter replied, "I am sorry. All the arrangements were made the day after you arrived and there is only one thing preventing us from having the wedding..... We're still waiting on a minister to show up here!"

And another:

A man arrives at the gates of heaven. St. Peter asks, "Religion?" The man says, "Methodist." St. Peter looks down his list, and says, "Go to room 24, but be very quiet as you pass room 8."
Another man arrives at the gates of heaven. "Religion?" "Congregationalist." "Go to room 18, but be very quiet as you pass room 8."

A third man arrives at the gates. "Religion?" "Jewish." "Go to room 11, but be very quiet as you pass room 8." The man says, "I can understand there being different rooms for different religions, but why must I be quiet when I pass room 8?" St. Peter tells him, "Well the -- I'll let you fill in the blank with a religion here -- they are in room 8, and they think they're the only ones here!

As I looked around for versions of this old joke on the Internet, there were many variations on the religious group that was in room 8 (and it was usually room 8): Catholics, Baptists, Jehovahs Witnesses, Mormons.

If there is a common thread, it is that the religious faiths mentioned in these jokes teach that there is an alternate destination for some of us. More specifically, if we are not somehow saved in that particular faith, we don't get to room 8. We go to hell.

I suspect a great number of you are here in this church today because you, like me, could not accept that kind of faith. This particular kind of teaching is a "myth too terrible for our believing". We just could not see that the world could be made up this way. If there is a God, and if God is a loving God, God would not favor some, and damn others to hell.

Our own faith movement has a long history of exploring this issue. Our movement, Unitarian Universalism is formed from two distinct liberal religious movements that merged almost 50 years ago. While it is oversimplifying things to describe a whole denomination in one sentence, let me do just that with the Universalists. The Universalists believed that everyone was saved by God, period. They believed that a loving God would never damn people to eternal suffering, no matter how bad they were on earth. [11]

This idea was pretty radical in its day. Many more conservative Christians argued that this didn't make any sense, for why would people be good, unless they had the threat of hell hanging over them. The Universalists made their case by their actions, for they were very engaged in social justice work, such as opposing slavery, and working for women's rights, and public education. Universalism became one of the more popular religious movements in the United States by the mid 1800's. Unfortunately for them, a single-issue theology does not necessarily make a strong denomination. Other liberal Christian churches adapted the Universalist theology, and the Universalists ultimately merged with the Unitarians.

So if I have to believe in heaven, it is a Universalist heaven. We all go. No room 8 for UUs. There is no judgment day. No standing naked to be tried. No separation of sheep and goats.

As the reading suggests, we all go on dancing. We all go on exploring discovering, and setting forth into the unending wonders of the universe. If I must believe in an afterlife, let it be a wilderness of words, a journey into vast mysteries of the human mind.

Reading 3: The Hidden Singer by Wendell Berry

The gods are less
for their love of praise.
Above and below them all
is a spirit that needs
nothing but its own
wholeness,
its health and ours.
It has made all things
by dividing itself.
It will be whole again.
To its joy we come
together—the seer
and the seen, the eater
and the eaten, the lover
and the loved.
In our joining it knows
itself. It is with us then,
not as the gods
whose names crest
in unearthly fire,
but as a little bird
hidden in the leaves
who sings quietly
and waits
and sings. [12]

Part 3: Dreaming of Afterlives

Is it even worth the time to think about what happens after we die? Is this just a waste of time? Shouldn't we be using this time this morning to talk about things of importance, like food security, or immigration reform, or how we might get along better with each other?

I don't discount any of that, but I think talking about ideas of afterlife is important, if for no other reason than what we tell our kids. What do we tell them, when some school kid says 'you're going to hell', because obviously, our kids are not going to Room 8. We need to have done some of our own thinking so we can teach our children well, and ultimately to guide them to explore this on their own as they grow.

Here is another reason we should dwell on the afterlife. In the hospital, as a chaplain, I helped people confront death all the time. People who were afraid they'd die during a surgery, family members worrying about a person in intensive care, families beginning to grieve after someone did pass on.

All too often, these people had no place in their spiritual grounding to make sense of this suffering. So they reached back to the religion they learned in childhood. And much of that was poor teaching, poorly remembered and let me just say it, awful stuff. Some worried about hell and a judging God and punishment, and they lived in fear and anguish. Even when their childhood images were positive and hopeful, like the pearly gates and angels, they still had trouble integrating that with their adult understanding of the world. I could only offer spiritual first aid, first trying not to do more harm, then trying to help their spiritual selves begin to heal just as their physical selves faced healing.

I wish I could offer a nice easy explanation of the afterlife, but I cannot. But hey, if I cannot offer one answer, how about several? That's one of the beauties of being Unitarian Universalist, I can simultaneously hold several ideas at once, if I want.

Here's one possibility. For many of us, when we die, we're physically gone. We accept that. We live on, however, in the memories of those around us. Our work in the world, for good or ill, is our legacy, and it is in a way, immortal. I find that the idea of process theology extends this kind of an afterlife in an attractive way.

Process theology suggests that all things are intertwined with the creative force of the universe, that which some call God. The universe and the God co-create, that is, God creates the universe and the universe creates God. As time marches on, we are involved in this creation, as parts of the universe. We are not special, all parts of the universe, from atoms to grains of sand to wildflowers to galaxies are involved in this creation. And we, along with all these other objects, continue to contribute to the creation long after we are gone. So our afterlife is the creative effort we launch into the future, by living creatively now. [13]

Here's a different approach that I find attractive. There is an emerging speculative cosmology that suggests that our known universe exists as part of a vast number of other universes in a larger system called the multiverse. Universes like ours are constantly spawning new baby universes, which through a process of inflation, grow rapidly to full size, like our universe. Some of these proposals suggest that so many universes exist that they exceed the possible combinations of states of matter and energy within them. In other words, there must be numerous exact replicas of our universe out there. We are each duplicated many times over, perhaps exact duplicates in some universes, perhaps with variations in others. These copies exist in different time and place, if time and place really has meaning in the expanse of the multiverse. [14]

Now I know these theories sound a bit more like scientific hallucinations than reality, but they do propose to resolve some difficult questions in cosmology today. I find such theories fascinating and even comforting. We may be embedded in a universe, rather a multiverse far more complex and interesting than we can imagine.

And one final dream of the afterlife. Perhaps as Wendell Berry, and as so many other mystical thinkers suggest, we are part of something bigger, a 'spirit that needs / nothing but its own / wholeness'. And perhaps as we live and when we die, then, 'to its joy / we come together' Berry goes on, 'In our joining it knows / itself. It is with us then, / not as the gods ... but as a little bird / hidden in the leaves / who sings quietly / and waits / and sings.'

I've often pondered our little bird on our steel tree, up here, and wondered why that bird? Now I know. That bird reminds us that we are joined in a great interconnected wholeness. That bird is our wisdom and our joy. That bird is always with us, who sings quietly, and waits, and sings.

Notes:

[1] http://indaus.blogspot.com/2005/02/yudisthira-at-heaven-gate.html
[2] "The Honey Springs worship committee plans its Easter service" http://www.uuworld.org/spirit/articles/160453.shtml
[3] Acts 1.1-11
[4] http://www.godandscience.org/doctrine/pets_in_heaven.html
[5] Jack Wintz, Will I See My Dog In Heaven; Jean Holmes, Do Dogs Go To Heaven? Eternal Answers for Animal Lovers
[6] Cynthia Rylant, Dog Heaven
[7] Stephen Huneck, Even Bad Dogs Go to Heaven: More from the Dog Chapel
[8] Lisa Miller, Heaven, 2010, p. 216
[9] Drew Gilpin Faust, The Republic of Suffering, 2008, p. 182
[10] Virginia Hamilton Adair, Beliefs and Blasphemies, 1998, p. 102-103
[11] see, for example, "Universalism", http://www.uua.org/visitors/ourhistory/6904.shtml
[12] Wendell Berry, "The Hidden Singer", The Selected Poems of Wendell Berry, 1998
[13] Colleen McDannell and Bernhard Lang, Heaven: A History, 1988. p. 346-349
[14] Amanda Gefter, "Touching the Multiverse", New Scientist, March 2010, p. 28

Spiritual Questing: Pilgrim, Tourist or Seeker?

2010-03-28T14:14:00.001-04:00

Two years ago I was planning a trip to France, primarily to visit the Taize community, and I planned to visit other religious sites as well.

“Ooohh,” a friend cooed when she learned of my plans, “you’re going on a pilgrimage!” And my heart swelled within me at the thought. I must say I rather fancied the notion of myself as a musical pilgrim with dusty battered leather sandals, flowing robes and a sturdy walking stick. I’d stride down an open road with birds singing in the trees. With luck there’d be a glow of radiance from my person, or at least on the horizon in front of me. I’d be walking forward with joy and purpose, confident of my destination.

Oh yeah, I quite fancied myself as a pilgrim! And then I got to the Taize community in Burgundy. Where I was very disappointed. I had been drawn there by their music, planning to sing Alleluias and Magnificats each day until I was hoarse.

I had first learned of Taize when I was staying at the Findhorn Community in northern Scotland in 1998. I became so enamored of the beautiful Taize music that I bought every CD and songbook they had produced. The Taize Brothers, an ecumenical Christian community, derive a large portion of their income from sales of their music the way other religious orders derive income from sales of candy, brandy -- or communion wafers. To be honest, I have ‘appropriated’ some of their music for Singing Meditation sessions. Our very own UU hymnals have appropriated some Taize songs as well: including Nada Te Turbe, Ubi Caritas, among others.

I find the Taize music so satisfying aesthetically that I hoped to enhance the experience by immersing myself in its place of origin. At a minimum I hoped to heighten my spiritual enjoyment of the music by being there in person – and if I were honest I would have to admit that I was also hoping to see if I could steal a little of their “charisma” whether by ritual, method of teaching, intonation – or any other little idiosyncrasy that might be revealed in context – and bring it back home to Eau Claire. A modern-day music Prometheus if you will.

But the reality was that the Taize brothers define their mission as Bible study and prayer. Although the songs are sung as part of the thrice-daily church services they do not float on the air during the rest of the day.

Instead of the glorious week of music I had assumed would be mine once I flew across the ocean, took the train to Dijon and then rented a car, I left after two days.

So there we were in France and after Taize we sought out other sites of religious significance: splendid Cathedrals in Paris, the Temple of a Thousand Buddhas in La Boulaye, the ruins of the Roman temple to Janus in a cow pasture near the village of Autun.

Tipped off by a Franciscan nun about daily singing at the Basilica of Mary Magdalene we added a visit to this UNESCO World Heritage site in Vezelay. The architects of this basilica used every strategy at their disposal to enhance the effects of natural light and proportion – the result for me was a sense of awe and recognition that the place was indeed what I would call “sacred space.” When the monks and nuns filed in, wearing simple white tunics, and sang their mass in blissful polyphony -- I was enthralled.

I bought their CD of course. I would have bought more than one, but one was all they had.

We went to the Abbey of St. Peter in Solesmes to hear the cloistered monks there sing Gregorian chants. This monastery is credited with preserving, in the early 19th century, the remnants of Gregorian chants that could still be found. They still sing these Gregorian chants, in Latin, five times daily. I purchased two CDs in their gift shop.

We also ferreted out the Saint Hilaire-Saint Jean Damascene Orthodox Center in UCHON . This diminutive chapel is deep in the forest of the Morvan Regional Park. It was so tiny and unassuming that we drove past it twice before it registered as our destination. But when the nun opened the doors to a modest chapel that would seat 20 people at most – we were dazzled by the icons decorating the walls with rich indigos and generous use of gold. I confess I purchased two more CDs there --- as well as a small icon.

But why did I have a niggling fear that I was the New Age equivalent of an “Ugly American” tourist oogling another person’s cherished rituals and sacred music?

Probably because I am a Unitarian Universalist. As Unitarian Universalists we say we affirm and promote our Seven Principles. We recognize Six Sources of heritage. For the most part, the Sources and Principles co-exist peacefully, coherently, creating a broad and flexible net of guidance to unite our creedless congregations.

Our FOURTH principle grants us the right to be a Seeker and I quote “A free and responsible search for Truth and Meaning.” And our Six Sources give us a universe of choices for that search – “We draw from many sources . . .” including “wisdom from the world’s religions which inspires us in our ethical and spiritual life.”

As UUs we can point to a large body of sacred music, poetry, and readings in our hymnal alone that originated in cultures that by no stretch of the imagination could be called home-grown Unitarian Universalist, or found in our deep Christian tap root.

There has been some debate in the past few years concerning the Sources, specifically whether, or under what circumstances, it is appropriate for us to use songs, rituals, or faith objects from spiritual and cultural traditions that are not our own.

In a Nutshell: The term appropriation can be used to signify borrowing or using practices from other cultures or traditions. Appropriation is not necessarily inappropriate. Done in a respectful manner, the practice can enhance the spiritual nature of worship and programs. However, appropriation’s evil twin, misappropriation, results when the practices of a particular culture are misused or misinterpreted. Even when this is done inadvertently, it can evoke pain or discomfort in others.

When we experience something new and memorable, whether it’s visiting an exotic location or attending a theatrical performance, we often want some souvenir to validate the experience. A CD of an original cast recording or a tee-shirt from the Grand Canyon not only revives a pleasant memory for us, it allows us to share that experience with others. It may also allow us to increase our esteem with others, serving as proof of our “coolness.”

We may enjoy or be moved by a ceremony or performance, even if we lack a complete understanding of the ethnic culture that created the event. But if we decide to re-create the experience in order to suit our own beliefs or tastes, or to exploit it merely to entertain ourselves – well, that’s misappropriation.

I sought to reassure myself that it was ‘okay’ for us to drop in and visit all these places even though I don’t profess to be a Christian. Weren’t they written up in guidebooks? Didn’t the ubiquitous presence of their gift shops indicate an expectation there would be tourists? Signs were posted in several languages, post cards were for sale, hours were posted for visitors, -- didn’t all this imply we weren’t trespassing against them?

I reminded myself that spiritual pilgrimages had been going on in France for centuries – Vezelay itself was a ‘must see’ destination for the Crusaders. Pilgrimages to the basilica to venerate the relics of St. Mary Magdalene began in the early 11th century and it became a starting place for other pilgrimages as well. St. Bernard preached the Second Crusade there in 1146. Richard the Lionheart worshipped in the basilica before he led the Third Crusade to Jerusalem. Entire generations of townspeople had supported themselves from the tourist trade. I was persuaded that if I were an ‘Ugly Tourist’ at least I was a welcome one!

II. The conflict

The UU debates about misappropriation turn on who has a right to use the rituals and symbols of a religion or culture. Some claim it is necessary to have a specific connection (some go so far as to say a ‘genetic’ connection) to a specific practice in order to use that practice. They assert if you are not a member of the faith community where the ritual object or practice originated, you have no right to those practices or even spiritual perspectives.

Examples cited in the UU debates have included the sloppy use of Native American words and rituals in worship -- and singing songs of the Civil Rights struggle or black South Africans without proper context. Some even say that UU's misappropriate the Christian eucharist when they do communions such as "chocolate or apple communions." Singing songs or purchasing ritual objects from a tradition not your own puts you at risk of insulting and disrespecting those of the originating culture through commercialization and trivialization.

This issue is of particular interest to me because Singing Meditation, which I facilitate in Eau Claire and elsewhere -- is built upon the melding of songs from a large spectrum of spiritual perspectives. And to be honest, every CD I purchased in France was for the purpose of evaluating its songs for inclusion in Singing Meditation. – NOT for the purpose of worshipping God in the way the singers, producers and composers intended.

I began analyzing of the act of visiting religious sites through the prism of being a 21st century Unitarian Universalist. How do I create a healthy balance between my own quest for spiritual fulfillment and respect for the privacy and the rights of those in other cultures – whether those people are in the Methodist Church across town, an ashram in the next state, or a picturesque hamlet in France?
I was shaken by the idea that I might be somehow wrong to be out there shopping for religious “souvenirs” on my trip. As I placed my new Christian CDs from Vezelay, Solesmes, and Uchon into my suitcase to return home, I also packed some angst. Had I truly been a Pilgrim on a musical pilgrimage? Or just a crude, rude Tourist touring through France as though it were a spiritual scavenger hunt?

III. Pilgrimage

Pilgrimage has a long and honorable pedigree. Geoffrey Chaucer wrote the seminal work about pilgrimage, The Canterbury Tales, between 1387 and 1400. It is the story of a group of thirty people who travel as pilgrims from London to Canterbury Cathedral. You heard its Prolog this morning.

But Pilgrimages did not fade out long ago and far away. They are still a popular thing to do. Well over 100,000 pilgrims annually walk the entire Camino de Santiago, which is about 500 miles long. This road spans northern Spain from the Pyrenees on the French border to Santiago de Compostela on the Atlantic Ocean. Pilgrims started using this route in approximately 900 AD.

Then, in 1122 Pope Calixtus II added another incentive for pilgrimages on the Camino de Santiago. If you visited the shrine of St. James in any year when the saint’s day fell on a Sunday, AND -- if you also 1) gave a donation to the cathedral, 2) attended mass, 3) went to confession and 4) performed good works. --- If the pilgrim did all these things he received a plenary indulgence which means a FULL PARDON for any time that would have been spent in purgatory. WOW!

Christians are not the only ones who make Pilgrimages in the 21st century. A pilgrimage to Mecca is one of the Five Pillars of Islam.

The pilgrimage, called a Hajj - is an obligation for those who are physically and financially able to perform it. About two million people go to Mekkah each year from every corner of the globe. The annual Hajj begins in the twelfth month of the Islamic year.

The Purpose of hajj is to develop God consciousness and a sense of spiritual upliftment. It is also believed to be an opportunity to seek forgiveness of sins accumulated thoughout life. The Prophet Muhammad had said that a person who performs Hajj properly "will return as a newly born baby [free of all sins]."

Buddhists Make Pilgrimages. Pilgrimage is first mentioned in the Pali Tipitaka where the Buddha says that one should try to visit at least once in Lumbini (the place of Buddha’s birth). He says that if such a pilgrimage is undertaken with a 'devout heart' it will be very beneficial to one's spiritual growth.

Hindus are not required to make pilgrimages, but many do. In 2001 an estimated 80 million people visited the Kumbha-mela holy site in India. Reasons a Hindu might make a Pilgrimage include:

To fix the mind on God and to glorify Him
For spiritual development and to gain spiritual merit
For purification and atonement of sins
For self-reflection and contemplation
For an uplifting and memorable experience (spiritual inspiration)

So clearly, to anyone doing a ‘cost benefit analysis’ the title of “Pilgrim” is much better than “tourist” even if the cost of travel is the same. The benefits of being a pilgrim are potentially quite large – you can be cured of an illness or deformity, be forgiven your sins, improve your social status, escape purgatory, and gain general spiritual development.

Given that the power of a pilgrimage is so great, I thought it could also deliver my trip from the jaws of misappropriation!

Let’s see how Merriam-Webster defines a pilgrim:

1: one who journeys in foreign lands :A wayfarer – and I wanted to use this first definition to let myself off the hook, but come on – with a definition this broad even a U.S. baseball player in an exhibition game in Japan would qualify as a pilgrim – as would a fashionista on a buying spree in Milan. No, I found I couldn’t accept this first definition for a bona fide pilgrim. The second definition,

2: one who travels to a shrine or holy place as a devotee – would leave me out, I wasn’t a ‘devotee’ of any of those religions. All of the pilgrimage examples I have just cited have been cases where a person of one religion travels for the purpose of strengthening his ties WITHIN that one religion. I was not a Buddhist or Catholic or Orthodox practitioner.

There was, unfortunately, no third definition. Reluctantly, I conclude I am not a pilgrim.

But does that mean I have to accept the disgrace of being a Spiritual Tourist?

I reluctantly accept that I can’t claim ‘pilgrim’ status for my quest, but does that mean I should stop visiting religious shrines and buying non-UU music?

I am trying to craft a THIRD possibility for my spiritual questing. One that allows me to exercise my right as a Unitarian Universalist to be a “Seeker” as enshrined in the Fourth principle “ A free and responsible search for truth and meaning” – and yet does not tip me over into being a thoughtless, rude, Tourist who sees other religions as ‘quaint’ or a type of sophisticated genuine-quasi Disney entertainment.

IV. Responsibilities of being a Seeker

I started by wondering how big of a deal ‘misappropriation’ really is to the people who are ‘mis-appropriated against’?

My Self immediately proclaimed my Innocence – I did NOT deliberately disrespect or mock another’s religious observance. I hadn’t mocked the monks at Taize or Vezelay. I had genuinely appreciated the artwork at the Buddhist and Orthodox centers.

Then I turned the tables on myself. I wondered how I would feel if someone came to a Singing Meditation session and in my home Unitarian congregation and observed US the way I observed the French nuns and monks while they were singing? Someone who only dropped in because there was a brief paragraph in the Fodor’s guide book about Eau Claire that said “If you happen to be there on a Sunday evening, check the local Unitarian Universalist congregation at 421 S. Farwell St. for some beautiful a cappella singing.”

We welcome visitors to Singing Meditation and we’ve had quite a few, but thus far they have all been participants. What if someone came and merely observed from the back pew, idly leafed through the pages of his guide book, looked at restaurant reviews while we were sitting in silence together, and then stood up and left before we were done? I would NOT have been a very happy pilgrimage “site.”

My friend Sue has attended Al-Anon meetings for a decade. She recently confided to me how angry she was with a recent visitor to her group who announced she was there to ‘observe’ as part of a psychology class assignment. Sue pointed out that her group is NOT an ‘open’ group and many people can only share their really deep and intimate feelings after they have had a chance to develop trust in the other members of the group – over a period of time. An Al-Anon meeting has no place for superficial pleasantries one would be willing to trade with a casual observer.

Surely for many religious adherents their sacred rituals require the same feeling of group intimacy and trust in order to have any powerful effect.

By turning the tables on myself, and getting Sue’s viewpoint on a similar situation, I know I will strive to be more respectful in the future when I visit religious observances. I’m willing to make additional effort to do so – rather than give up on my Questing -- because I am convinced spiritual travel can have a tremendous impact on my lives – even if I don’t embrace a new religion as a result.

That’s because I believe The REAL quest is the one that goes on within the Seeker. I believe that removing yourself from your familiar environment and placing your earnest and sincere attention on the environment of another can open you to an unfolding of Spirit and put you more deeply in touch with your own Inner Core of Guidance.

Thomas Merton wrote eloquently about this process in his book. No Man Is an Island:

"A tourist may go through a museum with a Baedeker, looking
conscientiously at everything important, and come out less alive than
when he went in. If he had stopped for a moment to look at one picture he really liked and forgotten about all the others . . . He would have discovered
something in himself. . . . His life would have been increased by a new capacity for being and for doing."

Merton himself certainly knew the power of travel to transform a life. Born in France and raised in the US and England, he had had no religious leanings and no experience of Roman Catholicism -- until a tourist visit to Rome to ‘see the sites.’ Randomly visiting a church for its architecture, he became transfixed by a mosaic of Jesus Christ. This planted the seed for his conversion, a few years later, to Roman Catholicism. He eventually became a Trappist Monk.

A few minutes ago we heard an excerpt from a sermon written by Patrick O’Neill, a UU minister who had a transcendent experience visiting the Cathedral of Chartres in France. I included this reading so I’d have an excuse to tell you this anecdote about my own trip to Chartres. Chartres has been on the Christian pilgrimage ‘must see’ list for over eight centuries. It is generally the stained glass windows that get people. The colors of the windows and the light mingled together in medieval Technicolor splendor.

I went to Chartres with my friend Liz. Liz immediately lost herself in admiration of the windows. I glanced at the windows, agreed they were beautiful and kept on walking around the interior of the cathedral looking for something interesting. I remember feeling cold and bored in the cavernous space. I ducked outside for a few minutes without telling Liz.

As I stepped outside there was a beggar standing on the top step singing cheerily to tourists coming and going from the cathedral. A scallop shell, symbol of the ancient pilgrimage to Santiago, was beside him for alms. I smiled broadly and started singing along with him. I was happy – no JOYFUL -- for the first time since I had set foot in Chartre. The beggar’s name was Yves and he had lived in Chartres all his life. We sang “Frere Jacques,” “Give my Regards to Broadway,” the Taize Alleluia, and a few other songs before Liz came bustling out of the cathedral with a worried look on her face because she thought she had lost me.

I’m not stretching a point here to say that although Liz thought I was lost, I had actually begun to find my own spiritual SELF, my core. I began to learn something that day that I didn’t fully appreciate until later. And that was this – that a spiritual building without music does not begin to touch my soul in the way that music does, with or without a building.

I did not always know that music is my passion in life.

This experience of a modern day ‘pilgrimage gone awry’ –and a few others like it-- gave me enough hints for me to eventually re-learn that my own personal soul responded far more to singing than to stained glass windows, hallowed walls, sculpture, labyrinths or antiquity. When given the opportunity, my soul sought out the songs of the beggar to feel closer to god, not the famous Rose windows of the Chartres cathedral.

And once I had that piece of self-knowledge it was a fabulous gift I could use in choosing – or even creating – meaningful spiritual practices for myself. A few years later I started the spiritual practice of Singing Meditation so I could deliberately tap into that joyous release I feel from singing.

The real gift of spiritual travel, I think, is the discoveries we make about what our own soul thirsts for, when we are freed from the constraints of the familiar surroundings.

And once we have that piece of self-knowledge it is a fabulous gift to use in choosing – and creating – meaningful spiritual practices for ourselves.

V. Questing is better when you have a ‘home’ to bring it all back to

As Unitarian Universalists in the 21st century we have an incredible opportunity not enjoyed by many people in the world – to create our own worship services, our own rituals, write our own sermons, our own songs. Not all houses of worship would let a person do that! But we Unitarian Universalists thrive on this synergy. Notice the Hindu songs in our hymnal. We also have Jewish and Christian songs there as well.

Furthermore, we can – and do – combine lyrics from one place and melodies from another. A good example of this cultural grafting is the song, Your Mercy O Eternal One, in our gray hymnal. The words were written by Rabindranath Tagore, an Indian Hindu who won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1913. The music for that hymn? It was from a 17th century Scottish hymn.

So when you journey to Peru and find yourself inspired not by the ruins of Macchu Picchu, but by the ritual of “The Four Directions” you observed – you have a ready-made place to share that knowledge, it might be within your Chalice Circle or by creating a special interest group. But that ritual need not be relegated to a few good snapshots on your Facebook page. You can bring it home to your UU congregation.

The sacred is everywhere just waiting to be discovered regardless of whether the distance covered. Removing yourself from your familiar environment and placing your earnest and sincere attention on another environment can open you to an unfolding of Spirit.

Ultimately, whether we turn out to be pilgrims who grow in self-awareness and enrich our spiritual paths because of travel– or are reviled as “Ugly Tourists” defiling the sacred rites of others to entertain ourselves – will depend in large part on the baggage we carry with us. As good UU Seekers we should pack supplies of respect, observe the boundaries established by others, refuse to mock that which strikes us as ridiculous – and we should have no problems with the border patrol or Traveler’s Remorse.

My wish for us all is that our spiritual questing will result in a deeper connection to the flame of joy that yearns to burn brightly within each one of us.

Perchance to Dream

2010-03-07T15:05:00.002-05:00

After World War I, in a time of increasing British oppression in India, Mahatma Gandhi was a relatively new participant in the efforts for independence. He and other leaders met to plan opposition to the Rowlatt Bill, which was the continuation of wartime martial law into peacetime. Violent protests had broken out, and Gandhi's appeals for non-violent action were ignored. During this multiday meeting, Gandhi had a dream, which he describes in his autobiography:

Towards the small hours of the morning I woke up somewhat earlier than usual. I was still in the twilight condition between sleep and consciousness when suddenly the idea broke on me -- it was as if in a dream. … we should call upon the country to observe a general hartal [a day of fasting]. … Let all the people of India, … suspend their business on that day and observe the day as one of fasting and prayer.[1]

We know how that dream played out in reality. The country was shut down by this interfaith fast, essentially a strike, and the Rowlatt Bill was repealed. Moreover, this action launched Gandhi as a leader in the fight for independence for India.

This dream is just one example of dreams that led their dreamers to new creative insight or new wisdom. Niels Bohr, the founder of quantum mechanics, was given the critical insight of discrete quantum levels in a dream. He dreamed of horses in a horserace, having to stay in their tracks.[2] Albert Einstein had a dream about travel at relativistic speeds, leading to his special theory of relativity. His dream was about what the stars would look like, while sledding at high speeds.[3]

Dreams live at the boundary between science and rational understanding on one hand and religion and mystery on the other. We know a lot about the physiology of dreams but very little about what they might be trying to tell us.

Let me speak briefly to what we do know about the physiology of dreams. All humans in fact, all mammals dream.[4] Dreaming happens most often during a particular period of light sleep known as rapid eye movement or REM sleep, though it can happen at other times too.[5] This is a time of light sleep when the eyes often flutter and limbs twitch. If you have a dog, you've likely witnessed this REM sleep, it can be dramatic.

Humans will typically have a half dozen or so episodes of REM sleep over the course of a night. If you are awakened from one of these episodes, you will likely recall a dream.

Now the meaning of the dreams, why they happen, and what they might tell us, is much less well understood. The field of psychology is rife with theories about the nature of dreams, starting with Freud, who suggested that dreams are the "day residue" of our recent experience, and perhaps the subconscious mind revealing itself to us, confused by the censorship of the ego. Jung suggested that dreams might be expressions of the subconscious, both our individual subconscious and a kind of universal human subconscious, in which the universal symbols of the archetypes dwell.

In the realm of religion, the meanings of dreams run deeper. The aboriginal people of Australia believe that the world was dreamed into existence, with humans dreamed up near the end.[6] In the Hebrew Bible, Joseph interprets a significant dream of the Pharaoh so Pharaoh promotes Joseph to rule Egypt.[7] Both Mary the mother of Jesus and Queen Maya the mother of Buddha were told in dreams that their children would be divine.

Many of us find dreams valuable tools in self-awareness and creativity, and dream work an important part of spiritual practice. Let me suggest how you might use your dreams in your own spiritual work. To begin, you might need to improve your recall of dreams. The first thing is to simply tell yourself you will recall a dream. This works! A friend of mine used to teach dream workshops at a local college. She told her students that they had to have dreams if they wanted to pass the class, and they groused but never failed to dream.

When you wake up with a dream fresh in your mind, immediately write it down. It turns out that certain brain chemicals responsible for helping convert short-term memories into long-term memories are suppressed during REM sleep, so depending on your memory is hard. Jot down some notes. I actually keep this lighted pen on my nightstand with some paper, so I can write notes about my dream at once.

Many people keep a dream journal, in which they write their dreams, and add any analysis of observations. I do this, too.

Finally, a great way to go deeper with your dreams is through a dream group. We hope to start a dream group here at the church as part of our adult programming offerings.

We'll consider what such a group might look like, with the presentation following our hymn. Liz, Karen, and Tim will be sharing and discussing their dreams.

--- Dream Group Presentation ---

First let me thank all those who helped with this dream service, both presenting Susan's dream and presenting dreams as part of the dream group. I want you to notice just how varied these dreams were, not only in content, but also in expression. Susan found her dream best cast in movement; Tim's was a strongly visual dream, and Liz's unfolded as a story.
Often our dreams incorporate material from our everyday lives. Freud called this the 'day residue', and theorized that dreams were merely ways of processing the previous day's experience. When I worked in the hospital, many of my dreams involved hospital procedures. I remember vividly one dream where I was receiving a blood transfusion at high pressure through a PICC line right into my heart. It was wondrous, not scary. Now that I'm out of the hospital, those dreams don't happen so much anymore. Now I seem to have church dreams, including of course, forgetting my sermon text, though thankfully I've never dreamed of preaching naked.

Now some people suggest that specific symbols in dreams have specific meaning; that they represent the archetypes that connect us to that collective unconscious that Jung describes. I'm unsure of that. I do love how sometimes the same symbol may have different meanings. As we put together this service, a few people related dreams to me. One person dreamed of elevators with no up and down buttons, and another dreamed of an elevator to the center of the earth, a terrifying ride, for her and her companions, but when they arrived, she alone had the courage to step out into that world. Both dreams contained elevators, but one person's dream was a one of frustration and stuckness, the other's was of courage and triumph.

I tend to think that the meaning of dreams is personal, and subjective. You may have noted that participants in the dream group would often start their comments with "If this were my dream…". This kind of language is encouraged by Jeremy Taylor in the dream work that he teaches, for it reminds us that all of our interpretations are subjective, they are personal, they are speculative. There is no right or wrong interpretation in this sort of work, which is why this appeals to me and to many others who do group dream work.

I think this is a key point. How we approach dreams is metaphor for how we approach many other things in life: art, poetry, sacred text, beauty. Even the deep structure of the world.

Dreams, like art or sacred texts, have meaning only because we create that meaning. Interpreting or making meaning is a personal task. Others can help but ultimately it is up to us to find the message or meaning we need. Just as a sculpture, or a piece of music, or an ancient story may speak to us, and cause us to go 'aha!', so a dream may bring forth meaning that causes us to go 'aha!'. This creative discovery of meaning is what can make dream-work a spiritual practice.

Dreams can raise deep questions. Let me give you an example. You wake up from a dream, and then realize that this is not real awakening, but that you are still within a dream. . This may have happened to some of you. This is called false awakening or a dream within a dream.

False awakening raises the question: do we live in reality, or in a dream of reality? Is the real hidden behind a dreamlike apparent reality? Let us return to the Taoist philosopher, Zhuangzi and his dream of the butterfly.[8] Does Zhuangzi dream he is the butterfly or does the butterfly dream it is Zhuangzi? Or does Zhuangzi dream he is the butterfly dreaming it is Zhuangzi dreaming he is the butterfly and so on. You get the point. Now I know philosophy attempts to plumb these questions of reality though reason. But I also know that religion, or spirituality attempts to plumb these questions through experience. False awakening in dreams may be just one invitation to think about the nature of reality. Such experiences encourage us to contemplate the deep structure of the universe.

In another teaching, Zhuangzi reminds us that our lives are limited, but knowledge is limitless.[9] There are things we cannot grasp or understand. Thus we live with mystery, with limited knowing. Every night, our dreams remind us of this mystery. Their images, of dancing cards or dead birds or suitcases, tease us with the limits of our knowing, inviting us to that place of mystery and humility. And once in a while, like Gandhi, or Bohr, or Einstein, we have an insight, an 'aha', that transforms us and possibly transforms the world. May we always be present for that possibility -- in our dreams and in our waking lives.

Notes:
1. Gandhi, An autobiography: the story of my experiments with truth, 1957, p. 459.
2. Jeremy Taylor, Where pigs fly and water runs uphill: using dreams to tap the wisdom of the unconscious, 1992, p. 30.
3. ibid, p. 31.
4. MIT News, "Animals have complex dreams, MIT researcher proves", Jan 24, 2001, http://web.mit.edu/newsoffice/2001/dreaming.html
5. G. William Domhoff , "the 'Purpose' of Dreams", http://psych.ucsc.edu/dreams/Library/purpose.html
6. Jim Poulter, 'The Secret of Dreaming', Parabola, Spring 2009, p. 77.
7. Genesis 41:15-42.
8. Burton Watson, Chuang Tzu: Basic Writings, 1996. p. 45.
9. Burton Watson, Chuang Tzu: Basic Writings, 1996. p. 46.

The Courage to Open the Door

2010-02-21T14:36:00.001-05:00

Feb 21, 2010

Like Rev. Peter Morales [in the reading], like Judy Stone [who offered a chalice lighting reflection], I too remember my first visit to a Unitarian Universalist church. It was in New Jersey, where I drove past this church every day on my way to work. I asked some friends about it. One young woman told me it was the 'devil church'. I was intrigued, since I had had little luck with the various churches of God or Christ. I remember walking into that church, with some trepidation, steeled against any potential evangelization, sitting way in the back, checking out all possible means of egress should I need them. There were no crosses or Bibles in sight, and the hymnbooks were in fact loose-leaf binders. Everyone wore nametags, which made it easy for the name challenged like me.

The minister spoke. This Sunday was one of those rare Sundays where he read from the Bible. It was the story of Mary and Martha, and I was impressed that he read from four different versions of the Bible, just so we knew there was no one authoritative text. I felt immediately at home.

How was it for you? What was your first visit to a UU church like? OK I must stop, and acknowledge that there may be some here who have always been UU, and cannot relate to these stories. It's sad that we don't have more of you with us. You have a perspective that I envy. Please bear with me, perhaps our stories may connect with other parts of your life.

What about your first visit to a UU church? Maybe it was years or even decades ago. Maybe it is today! Maybe, like Peter, a friend brought you. Maybe, more likely, you found UU through other explorations. Perhaps you discovered Unitarianism in your reading of Emerson or Thoreau. Perhaps you found us on the internet. Maybe you took that Beliefomatic quiz[1] on the Beliefnet website, a quiz that seems to point any rational-minded person toward UU. Of course, Beliefnet is now owned by Fox Entertainment, so the Beliefomatic quiz is a little harder to find these days!

And then you came. My guess is that many of you had to work up a certain degree of courage to even think about a visit. You wondered about the risk of embarrassing yourself by not dressing right, or not knowing what to do. You may have worried about knowing when do you stand or bow or prostrate yourself? Or sing? You may have worried about those things, I don't know!

Quite likely, you checked out our website. Most of our visitors have checked out our website. They've reviewed the online newsletter and read the sermons. They've sought answers to even simple questions, like how do people dress at this church. That's one reason it's so important for us to update our website.

And I wonder if, coming to this church, located as it is in the North Side location in the city was part of the reason it took real courage for some of you to come. If you asked your suburban neighbors about visiting a church on the North Side of Youngstown, they might say 'are you nuts?', and recount stories of murder and arson. They'd tell you: why not just find a nice, safe, modern church near the edge of town with easy highway access? After all, aren't they pretty much the same?

So what brought you here? What pushed you out of your comfort zone, to travel down to this place, to notice the architecture which some may find terrifyingly traditional, and yet to still walk up the steps and pull hard on the oversized and heavy door? What impelled you to come in?

I know that for me, when I grasped that handle at that church in New Jersey, I was grasping for rescue. I was in my late twenties, looking back on a decade in which I seemed to be just running in place. I was increasingly despondent, spiritually bereft. My work life was stagnant, a relationship had ended; I was stuck. I have come to label this time in my life the 'lost decade'. Outwardly things looked OK. Like the pigs in the [children's] story, my house had been put in order, but my garden wasn't working right. Since I had no nieces to shake things up, I had to find another way.

I came into that church responding to an unceasing yearning, a terrible longing in my heart. I hoped that the church could offer something that I was missing. It wasn't a set of beliefs, prepackaged, ready to eat. I hoped to find myself in the presence of others who struggled with the same things I struggled with. I hoped to find not answers but ways to make answers. I hoped for friendships, and deep connections, of the kind that I wasn't finding at work, or at the gym, or in bars. I hoped to begin to find purpose and meaning for my life.

Does this sound familiar to you? Then we're in the right place.

After a while, we realize that we're no longer visitors or newcomers, but have integrated ourselves into the life of the church. We may or may not have signed the membership book, but we've made friends, we're doing things for the church, we realize we're regulars. And we find ourselves on the other side of the door, welcoming in those who have the courage to grasp that handle and pull, who step in. We offer them hospitality.

We come to realize, as Peter Morales put it, that,

"Hospitality, true hospitality, is not an obligation. It is not a duty. True hospitality is a spiritual practice, a religious practice. Like meditation or prayer, hospitality connects us with a deep truth and compassion that transcends our selves." [2]

He goes on,

"We are called to feed the spiritually hungry and to offer a home to the religiously homeless. And in the process, we are enriched in spirit." [3]

We know this, but sometimes we forget. We get happily focused on our own activities and friends. We may forget how it was to come in for the first time. We fail to welcome. This work is hard and we slip. Rev. John Buehrens, of Dallas, related this story:

"One Sunday many years ago, before we were married, I took Gwen to a Universalist church that I knew was more traditional in its worship, and might make an Episcopalian like herself feel more at home. … Only a scattering of elders had gathered there for worship. Six rows behind us we heard one woman whispering rather loudly to her companion, 'Who are those young people there? This isn’t their church!'" [4]

We'd like to think we are not like that. But realize that the woman raised an important question: Whose church is it? Whose church is it, really? Whose church is this?

At Unity Church Unitarian in St. Paul, (where I served as an intern before I came here) they claim that the church belongs to what they call the moral owners of the church. The moral owners include far more than just the members, they include all the people visiting, and who might visit, all the people who are served by the church in its social justice work, even the neighbors that might be impacted by the church. All these people should have a voice in the direction of the church. Moral ownership suggests a network of mutuality far larger than just those in the pews every Sunday. Whenever we encounter others in this church or around it, this idea of moral ownership changes our relationship with them. To a greater or lesser degree, they are part of the church, and we have an obligation to treat them with respect.

So one of the reasons we will have a conversation about our Religious Education after our service today is because we recognize that our children and infants are also moral owners of this church even though they are not actually voting members.
And one of the reasons we are putting effort into our membership and hospitality, from things like wearing nametags, to a workshop in April on "Belonging to UUYO", is because we recognize that newcomers, some of whom aren't even here yet, are also moral owners of this church.
One of the reasons that I believe our all church project needs to connect to and serve this North Side community around us is that the residents here are moral owners, too.

I think that one of the paradoxes that exists in our movement is the relationship between believing and belonging. It showed up in the story Judy told of her dad.

Unlike many other churches, we are not bound together by common belief. We are bound by a yearning to be together, to belong.

In most churches, belief forms the outer perimeter, the gates or doors through which one must pass to get to the core, which is to belong, to be part of something bigger. Many of us have had the experience of having to leave our own beliefs at the door to gain entry to such churches. Many of us know friends and family members, who when asked about the creeds and beliefs of the churches they belong to, admit that they don't really believe all that stuff.

So the paradox here is that we try to hold that door of belief open wide. We try to be tolerant of a wide range of believing; our focus is more on what you do than what you think. The challenge is how can we be together with our diverse and sometimes conflicting beliefs. That focus on behavior and not belief allows people like Judy's dad to let go of some of their anger and agitation around beliefs.

So our hope is that we make this place one that you can belong to. And the paradox is that while many people come here with strongly held beliefs that they cannot 'check at the door' at other churches, they find that belief is not the center of this church either. When they realize that others aren't going to do battle with them over belief or try to take their beliefs away, they can hold those beliefs a little less tightly.

The theologian Henri Nouwen tells us,

"When we say, 'You can be my guest if you believe what I believe, think the way I think and behave the way I do', we offer love under a condition or for a price. This leads to exploitation making hospitality a business." [5]

Yet we can go too far to be accommodating. Nouwen continues:

"We are not hospitable when we leave our house to strangers and let them use it any way they want. An empty house is not a hospitable house...When we want to be really hospitable we not only have to receive strangers but also to confront them by unambiguous presence, showing our ideas, opinions and life styles clearly and distinctly. No real dialog is possible between somebody and a nobody. [6]

This relating to strangers and visitors is messy stuff! I know that sometimes I attempt to be nice to a person by holding back my feelings and opinions, and the balance I have to work toward is to be more vocal even at the risk of upsetting someone. Only then can dialog emerge. Others of us have to work toward balance from the other end, by trying to be more diplomatic, listening more carefully and being distinct in their words and actions so that true dialog can happen.

Martin Buber, in his famous work, Ich und Du, or I and You, speaks to the uniqueness and specialness of the connection between beings. He asks,

How might each of us, you and I, be changed by the encounter with the You, with the other? Distinguishing between the relational I-You and the objectifying I-it, he tells us:

The basic word I-You can be spoken only with one's whole being. The concentration and fusion into a whole being can never be accomplished by me, can never be accomplished without me. I require a You to become, becoming I, I say you. All actual life is encounter. [7]

All actual life is encounter.

We all require others in order to become, to transform ourselves, to become more whole.

Today's other reading, by Juan Ramon Jimenez, tells us this:

I am not I.

I am this one

walking beside me whom I do not see,

whom at times I manage to visit,

and whom at other times I forget;

the one who remains silent while I talk,

the one who forgives, sweet, when I hate,

the one who takes a walk when I am indoors,

the one who will remain standing when I die.

Our connection with the other, with Buber's You is realized through the ones walking beside us, seen or unseen. They visit, they listen, they forgive; they may be our gate to the Divine. They are the ones who will remain standing when we die. Our interconnection with them, the I-You interconnection binds us into the whole intertwined complexity of life. It is through the encounter with the other, that we begin to internalize and understand this connection, and in this we become transformed.

We know transformation is not easy, it is risky; it requires courage. We need to remind ourselves that when we encounter newcomers, strangers, or others, that they are taking risks and being courageous too. And in this act of ferocious courage, as both of us forge bonds of connection and commitment, and both the I and the You become more fully human, more fully whole.

Notes:

1. http://www.beliefnet.com/Entertainment/Quizzes/BeliefOMatic.aspx

2. Peter Morales, "Religious Hospitality: A Spiritual Practice for Congregations", www.uuabookstore.org/client/client_pages/3101.pd, p. 2.

3. Ibid., p. 3.

4. John Buehrens, "Radical Hospitality" A Sermon Delivered at First Parish in Needham, September 18, 2005

5. Henri Nouwen Reaching out: the three movements of the spiritual life p. 98.

6. Ibid. p. 98-99.

7. Martin Buber, I and Thou, trans. By Walter Kaufmann, 1970, p. 62

Martin Luther King Jr, War and Peace

2010-01-17T13:59:00.001-05:00

I was glad to see so many of you at the Martin Luther King Jr. Interfaith Shabbat Service two days ago at Congregation Rodef Sholom next door! As Unitarian Universalists, we have a particular fondness for the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. It is probably a rare UU church that is not celebrating King's birthday today. Many of our members were very active in the civil rights work that King led in the 1950's and 1960's. Perhaps some of you here were active in those times. We lost two of our members to violence in that era. UU martyrs: James Reeb and Viola Gregg Liuzzo, a minister and a laywoman, killed in two separate incidents in Alabama.[1] The death of Reeb energized Congress into passing the Voting Rights Act in 1965.

There is perhaps a deeper motivation for this fondness. Former journalist, the Rev. Rosemary Bray McNatt related the story of her interview with Coretta Scott King in our UU World magazine a few years ago.[2]

During an hour of wide-ranging conversation, I mentioned to her that I was in seminary to become a Unitarian Universalist minister. What frankly surprised me was the look she gave me, one of respect and delight.

"Oh, I went to Unitarian churches for years, even before I met Martin," she told me, … "And Martin and I went to Unitarian churches when we were in Boston." … "We gave a lot of thought to becoming Unitarian at one time, but Martin and I realized we could never build a mass movement of black people if we were Unitarian."

McNatt goes on to explore what it would have taken for King to be a Unitarian civil rights leader. I simply feel proud and not surprised at the Kings' connection with us.

I think King's words and work resonate so well with us because he was on a parallel path. True, his language and much of his teaching draws heavily on Hebrew and Christian texts and ideas. He draws especially on the Hebrew prophets who spoke out against injustice in their times. He draws on Amos, "we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like an everflowing stream".[3] Or on Isaiah, "that one day every valley shall be exalted and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places shall be made plain, and the crooked places shall be made straight; and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together."[4]

But if we were to examine his writing and speeches, we would find that some of his deepest thinking is familiar to us. There is an undercurrent of universalist inclusion in all his language. King's phrase, "We are all caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny" evokes a sense of the interconnectedness of all life -- our seventh principle. King was fond of quoting Unitarian minister Theodore Parker, "The arc of the universe is long but it bends toward justice."

But we do well not merely to praise King but to learn from him. This morning I want to explore King’s legacy as a tactician in achieving change in our world. We acknowledge his great success in Montgomery and Birmingham and Selma and his central role in passing the Civil Rights act in 1964.

King’s other great contribution, in my opinion, was to bring home to America the ideas of nonviolent social change developed by Mahatma Gandhi and used successfully in India and other countries. King first put the ideas of nonviolent social change to the test in the Montgomery bus boycott in 1955. As most of us know, the bus boycott began when Rosa Parks was arrested for refusing to give up her seat to a white man. Leaders of the black church community, along with King, a new minister in town, decided to ask the black community to boycott the busses for a day or so, and the boycott mushroomed into a 381-day confrontation.[5]

What I was not conscious of was the degree of planning and organizing that went into the boycott. King describes the planning and the decision-making that this project required in his book "Stride Toward Freedom". They had to plan alternate transportation using what cars the blacks owned. They had to communicate with the press. They had to hire lawyers to defend legal attacks by the local authorities. And certainly they had to do significant fundraising.

But the most important organizing task was the endless support and training of the black community in the methods of nonviolent resistance that had been used successfully by Mahatma Gandhi. King very much understood the theology, the moral underpinning of this nonviolent social change. He had studied Gandhi’s work and his life, and even traveled to India to meet those close to Gandhi. King said after visiting India, "I left India more convinced than ever before that nonviolence is the most potent weapon available to oppressed people in their struggle for freedom."[6]

Let me say a bit about non-violent social change as taught by Gandhi. Rejecting the term 'passive resistance', Gandhi developed a theological idea of nonviolent resistance based on what he called Satyagraha, or 'soul force'. This is the force of truth or of love, exerted in the act of non-violent engagement with the oppressor. It is a courageous act, for it invites suffering on oneself. Gandhi made the distinction this way: "Satyagraha is a weapon of the strong; it admits of no violence under any circumstance whatsoever; and it ever insists upon truth."[7]

King understood this. He summed this up in his peace prize speech: "Negroes of the United States, following the people of India, have demonstrated that nonviolence is not sterile passivity, but a powerful moral force which makes for social transformation."So considerable work went into helping black participants understand and practice nonviolent resistance. In preparing for confrontations on integrated busses in Montgomery, King tells us:

"we ran teaching sessions to school the people in nonviolent techniques. We lined up chairs in front of the altar to resemble a bus, with a driver's seat out front. From the audience we selected a dozen or so 'actors' and assigned each one a role in a hypothetical situation. One man was driver and the others were white or Negro passengers. Both groups contained some hostile and some courteous characters. As the audience watched, we played out a scene of insult or violence. … Often a Negro forgot his nonviolent role and struck back with vigor; whenever this happened we worked to rechannel his words and deeds in a nonviolent direction"[8]

Even so, King encountered some who wanted to strategize violence, especially as homes were bombed and blacks were beaten up during the boycott. King described one man from his own church who approached him and said solemnly, "we need to kill off 8 or 10 white people. It’s the only language they understand. If we fail to do this they will think we are afraid. We must show them we are not afraid any longer."[9]

King was able to convince most to continue the experiment of nonviolent resistance in Montgomery, Birmingham and Selma. King was less successful in later years, as others in the black community began advocating and using violence, arguing that violence would achieve their goals faster than nonviolence. Malcolm X put it this way:

"If [the white man's] language is with a shotgun, get a shotgun … If he only understands the language of a rope, get a rope. But don't waste time talking the wrong language to a man if you want to really communicate with him."[10]

As King came to understand the 'soul force' power of nonviolent action, he also came to understand that our national tendency toward war, the military and overseas violence had a hidden cost. He saw the terrible linkage between racism and poverty and war, he began to speak in opposition to the Vietnam war as a time when such speech took true courage. In 1967, he tells us:

"A few years ago …it seemed as if there was a real promise of hope for the poor -- both black and white -- through the poverty program. … Then came the buildup in Vietnam and I watched the program broken and eviscerated as if it were some idle political plaything of a society gone mad on war, and I knew that America would never invest the necessary funds or energies in rehabilitation of its poor so long as adventures like Vietnam continued to draw men and skills and money like some demonic destructive suction tube."[11]

We have a tendency in this country to reach for forceful and even violent ways to achieve our national ends. Thus, our current wars were originally pitched to us as short-term easy victories against third-world nations. We were told that terrorism could only be dispatched if we were willing to use torture, rendition and indefinite imprisonment. We are told that the only way to reduce crime is to 'get tough on crime' with lots of prisons and long sentences. We are told that the only way to deal with addiction is through a 'war on drugs'.

Even President Obama is not immune to attack as a 'wimp'. According to an article by Helene Cooper in last week's NY Times, "here is a president who just ramped up the war in Afghanistan, sending an additional 30,000 troops, … stepped up drone strikes by unmanned Predators in Pakistan and provided intelligence and firepower for two airstrikes against Al Queda in Yemen that killed more than 60 militants." And yet this week's Foreign Policy magazine has on its cover a visual comparing Obama with Jimmy Carter.[12]

When we consider President Obama's Nobel Peace prize acceptance speech, we see an apology for war, and an attempt to claim that the current wars are, to use the technical term, 'just wars'. Most disturbingly, at the end of the speech, Obama says, "oppression will always be with us", that "there will be war". My wondering and my fear is that this is a self-fulfilling prophecy. By preparing for war and international oppression, we seem to create the conditions that encourage it. We defend the entrenched powers in places like Guatemala and Saudi Arabia; we enforce artificial national divisions in places like Rwanda; we prop up corrupt leaders through our selective complacency in places like Burma or Zimbabwe. It's well known that our aid years ago in Afghanistan supported the rise of the Taliban, but we continue to aid the Taliban through military payoffs to support our supply chains, according to journalist Aram Rosten.[13]

Is war our only tool? I wonder if we as a nation could commit to doing more in support of nonviolent social change, both in our own land and in other countries. Could we offer material and organizational support to those being oppressed? Could we reserve threats of force for those situations in which nonviolent resistance is attacked violently by foreign governments? This could require a fundamental rethinking of how we do statecraft. I do not know what this might look like, but I do have a suspicion that it would be more successful and less costly than our current national defense and homeland security system.

To accomplish this change we have to work at a deeper level than policy and platforms. We have to change the fundamental ideas of our national theology, what Robert Bellah calls our 'civil religion'. We need to admit that we are not endowed by God as a God's chosen nation, that we are not separate from others. We need to see the deep reality that we are all interconnected, so that as King tells us, 'injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere'. We need to recognize, as King did, that violence masks fear, while nonviolence requires true courage.

What can we do at the level of this one congregation? I think we would do well to educate ourselves on the method of 'soul force' that Gandhi developed. I think we would do well to seek situations in which the application of such creative methods for social change may be explored. I think we also should hold fast to the yearning for peace.

Let me end with an excerpt from two of King's speeches, "A Christmas Sermon on Peace", and "Beyond Vietnam: A Time to Break the Silence", both from 1967:

"It really boils down to this, that all life is interrelated. We are all caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly…. We aren't going to have peace on earth until we recognize this basic fact of the interrelated structure of all reality."[14]

So that then,

"We must move past indecision to action.… If we do not act we shall surely be dragged down the long dark and shameful corridors of time reserved for those who possess power without compassion, might without morality, and strength without sight.

Now let us begin. Now let us rededicate ourselves to the long and bitter -- but beautiful -- struggle for a new world.… Shall we say the odds are too great? Shall we tell them the struggle is too hard? Will our message be that the forces of American life militate against their arrival as full men, and we send our deepest regrets? Or will there be another message, of longing, of hope, of solidarity with their yearnings, of commitment to their cause, whatever the cost? The choice is ours, and though we might prefer it otherwise we must choose in this crucial moment of human history."[15]

Notes:
1 "So Nobly Started", UU World, http://www.uuworld.org/life/articles/2356.shtml
2 "To Pray Without Apology", UU World, http://www.uuworld.org/ideas/articles/2527.shtml
3 Amos 5:24 described in Eric J. Sundquist, King's Dream, 2009, p. 122.
4 Isaiah 40:1-5, described in Sundquist, p. 131.
5 M. L. King, Jr., Playboy Interview, in James M. Washington, ed. A Testament of Hope, p. 343.
6 M. L. King, Jr., "My Trip to the Land of Gandhi", ibid, p. 25.
7 The Collected Works of Mahatma Gandhi vol. 19, p. 350, in http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Satyagraha
8 M. L. King, Jr., Stride toward Freedom, in Washington, p. 458.
9 ibid, p. 449.
10 Sundquist, p. 122.
11 M. L. King Jr. "Beyond Vietnam: A Time to Break Silence" 4 April 1967, http://www.hartford-hwp.com/archives/45a/058.html
12 NY Times, The Label Factor: Is Obama a Wimp or a Warrior? http://www.nytimes.com/2010/01/10/weekinreview/10cooper.html
13 " How Americans Help Fund The Taliban", NPR Fresh Air, http://www.npr.org/templates/transcript/transcript.php?storyId=122563121
14 M. L. King, Jr., M. L. King, Jr., "A Christmas Sermon on Peace" in Washington, p. 254.
15 M. L. King Jr. "Beyond Vietnam: A Time to Break Silence" 4 April 1967, http://www.hartford-hwp.com/archives/45a/058.html

Grief and Renewal

2010-01-10T15:24:00.006-05:00

Reading #1 (721)  They Are With Us Still  Kathleen McTigue
(Reader will read the non-italicized text)
(Everyone join in together for the italicized text)
In the struggles we choose for ourselves, in the ways we move forward in our lives and bring our world forward with us,
It is right to remember the names of those who gave us strength in this choice of living. It is right to name the power of hard lives well-lived.
We share a history of those lives. We belong to the same motion.
They too were strengthened by what had gone before. They too were drawn on by vision of what might come to be.
Those who lived before us, who struggled for justice and suffered injustice before us, have not melted into the dust, and have not disappeared.
They are with us still. The lives they lived hold us steady.
Their words remind us and call us back to ourselves. Their courage and love evoke our own.
We, the living, carry them with us: we are their voices, their hands and their hearts.
We take them with us, and with them choose the deeper path of living.

Reading #2  Why Should I Cry For You?  Gordon Sumner (Sting)
Under the dog star sail
Over the reefs of moonshine
Under the skies of fall
North, Northwest, the stones of Faroe
Under the Arctic fire
Over the seas of silence
Hauling on frozen ropes
Fall all my days remaining
But would north be true?
All colors bleed to red
Asleep on the ocean’s bed
Drifting in empty seas
For all my days remaining
But would north be true?
Why should I? Why should I cry for you?
Dark angels follow me
Over a godless sea
Mountains of endless falling,
For all my days remaining
What would be true?
Sometime I see your face,
The stars seem to lose their place
Why must I think of you?
Why must I? Why should I?
Why should I cry for you?
Why would you want me to?
And what would it mean to say,
That, “I loved you in my fashion”?
What would be true?
Why should I? Why should I cry for you?

Sermon   Grief and Renewal
I had thought about using paper to write names of those we’ve recently lost and then burning the paper in a symbolic release. But we did that last week, and I have to confess, the two things that I on wrote on my paper that I thought I needed to let go of were stress and perfectionism….

Hopefully I’ve re-set the tone and expectations for this sermon; I really hope people weren’t expecting something along the lines of one of Matt’s wonderful and didactic sermons. I would like to begin with a memorable experience during my freshman year of college. I had just completed my first semester and was very pleased to find myself still academically eligible for the spring semester. Actually, I’d surpassed my expectations and was beginning to think this college stuff was a snap - much easier than High School. Then my academic advisor (an alumnus of the college, but who had no knowledge whatsoever of sciences courses that required laboratory time) suggested that, along with my biology, inorganic chemistry, and calculus courses, I should fill the final spot with a sociology course entitled Death and Dying. My advisor took the course when he was an undergraduate and told me that the course made a lasting impression on him and the professor was one of the best on campus. He was correct on both accounts – the professor was so good that he turned a simple lecture-style course into a near-death experience! This turn in my fortunes caught me completely by surprise. He skewered my logic and reason, ridiculed my writing style, left the disemboweled carcass of my papers outside of his office door, dripping red with corrections for all to see, and buried my GPA so deep, it took the rest of my college career to resuscitate it and give it a pulse. But even as I trudged back to my dorm, I wasn’t bitter. His critique, while scathing and without remorse, was accurate. As my academic advisor predicted, that course did make a lasting impression. I survived that semester (just barely). I don’t think it was so much, “Whatever doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.” It was more along the lines of a renewal of motivation, a renewal of personal adjustments, re-engaging with intellectual challenge, recognition of strengths and limitations, and an honest self-assessment – do I want to be here. As our culture so often makes a point of emphasizing in subtle, and not so subtle ways – I needed to dig down deep within myself and see what I was truly made of. But was that really the answer? Was that how my academic trial-by-fire and resurrection really happened?

This time of year is very emotionally charged because it is intertwined with a host of holidays celebrate around the world by family and friends, and the holidays that recognize the passing of time: Kwanza, Christmas, Hanukkah, Winter Solstice (Yule), the New Year; and let’s not lose sight of those birthdays, weddings, and anniversaries that often get overlooked by the bright lights and blaring commercialism. There is, of course, the anticipated change of seasons which often serves to highlight or elevate a feeling of loss – fewer hours of daylight, severe cold, and the bare limbs of trees that resemble skeletal remains of nature. But occasionally sometimes there is the occasional unexpected event that is a bit more jarring; you don’t get a chance to meet with friends over the holiday break, for the first time entire family is unable to come together and celebrate the holidays, family or friends move away, or even worse, a friend or family member passes away. Even if someone is frail or in poor health, we seem to expect that they will at least make it through the holiday and into the New Year. A loss at this time of the year still seems to catch people by surprise, no matter the warning signs, making the days seem that much grayer, the nights that much darker, and the wind that much colder.

Has anyone noticed the thriving market of self-help books and motivational gurus these days? Why do we seem to focus on the need to help ourselves? Is it that test of mythical proportions that we read about in so many books or see in movies - digging deep and finding what we are truly made of? “We can’t let IT beat us” (whatever IT might be). Or is it simply the Easy Button for recovery and renewal. Read a book or watch a video and it will all go back to the way it was. Psychological studies strongly support a need for the individual to recognize life-changing events, especially those that cause grief and/or pain. But once that loss or dramatic change is acknowledged, then what? Where does one go from there, especially if that loss involved a significant part of our existence, helped make us what we are today, or had the potential to help us to become more than what we are today? The desire to hang on to that memory is obvious and powerful.

Has anyone seen the recent PBS documentary This Emotional Life? I think it does a wonderful job of introducing us to the complexities of what it means to be happy and the challenges, social and biological, that often short-circuit that pursuit.

One particular part caught my attention; the classic study with monkeys and maternal separation performed in the 1950-60s by the psychologist Harry Harlow. When new-born monkeys were raised in isolation for a few months and then given a choice between two artificial surrogate mothers – one, a wire frame that provided milk (physical sustenance), and the other simply a frame covered in cloth – the infant monkeys choose the cloth-covered surrogate mother over the surrogate mother that provided food! The isolated infant monkeys also exhibited a range of disturbing social breakdowns. Harolow’s conclusion from these experiments: bonding is a basic survival need for animals, especially hominids. Starting at birth, “happiness” involves forming supportive social bonds. More recent research at the University of Wisconsin indicates formation of social bonds involves the hormone oxytocin – already known to be important during childbirth and for the stimulation of breast milk production; it is now also shown to act as a neurotransmitter in the central nervous system. Just the physical contact between parent and child soon after birth stimulates increased production of oxytocin in the child. And in most parents, this interaction also stimulates the same centers of the brain associated with essential needs, such as food and reproduction. Children who have experienced little if any social bonding during their early years (such as abandonment) do not show any significant increase in oxytocin. Children who exhibit severe social disorders show this same lack of oxytocin production, even with significant social interaction.

Why have I digressed from grief and renewal? There is growing evidence of significant biochemical reasons why we form social bonds and why some social bonds are more important to us than others. Early social interactions stimulate biochemical responses that seem to stimulate neural growth and connections. These connections, in turn, enhance our ability to respond to further social interaction, and the cycle continues. Specific types of social interactions initiate chemical signatures that create unique responses within each of us. Now suppose that these social interactions are removed. It becomes easier to understand why it is so difficult to deal with loss or dramatic change. Not easier to deal with, just easier to understand why attachment is so ingrained – whether that that bond had been supportive or antagonistic.

As you listened to today’s words and readings, I hope you’ve noticed an emphasis on the human element and the importance of human interaction. Some of the most successful approaches to dealing with grief and loss involve stepping out of our selves and interacting with others. Whether it involves struggling with grief caused by the death of a loved one, struggling with grief caused by addictions such as alcohol or food, or struggling with our own biochemical variation, renewal involves a series of steps that begin with recognizing the problem and then taking the very intimidating steps of reaching out to others for help or social bonds. As one very famous animated French chef – Auguste Gusteau – put it (Ratatouille), “If you focus on what you’ve left behind, you will never be able to see what lies ahead.” Successful transition and renewal eventually involves the critical step of turning from inner contemplation into the arms and minds of others. Whether we are cognoscente of a need to move forward, or it is the insight of others who encourage, entice, or cajole us into moving forward – at some point those two forces meet and help with the transition of renewal. I predict that if researchers perform a study comparing those who are successful in their transition to those who become mired in grief, in those who are successful they will find a positive correlation between forming new social bonds and re-establishing the production of critical neurotransmitters such as oxytocin.

Returning to my first year of college. After my out-of-student-body experience with the Death and Dying class, I returned with a renewed commitment to my college career. Was it because of some deep internal desire to prove that I had what it took? Perhaps. But what really kept me going and furthered my development in new and unexpected ways were the interactions I continued to make with my peers and other faculty. The formation of certain social bonds with friends who were experiencing similar struggles, and some who were battling even more complicated issues, cemented a desire to remain and a realization of what it would take to continue.

Please take a moment and look around. Notice the physical differences between each of you; biologist call that variation – height, eye color, facial features, to name just a few. Now try to imagine all of the biochemical variation that could possibly exist within each of us. I included the reading from Gordon Sumner (Sting) – Why should I Cry for You? - along with examples of children who are born with social skills that deviate from the average child in order to raise a question. Just because anecdotal and scientific evidence strongly supports the need to from social bonds in order to make the transition from grief to renewal, does that mean everyone must go through these stages after experiencing grief or loss? Is grieving a biological and cultural requirement for renewal? What if, do to some extenuating circumstance or biochemical variation, someone simply does not have need or the capacity to grieve. Should we drag them into the process? At what point, if at all, should we engage someone, and break that personal space to ask how they are doing or tell them they need help? Is grieving a right, a personal choice, or a necessity for renewal? These are all questions I don’t have answers for, but I hope will initiate some discussion during coffee hour or later in the day?

Finally, I would like everyone to think of a person (or persons) who they know fairly well, who you may have lost touch with for awhile, and would like to reconnect with. (Wait) Now make a promise to yourself to contact them by mail, phone, carrier pigeon, whatever, within the coming year. Make a point to reach out to those around you, build that social web of interaction and connections, see what lies ahead.

Letting Go

2010-01-03T16:37:00.002-05:00

When Liz and I lived in Berkeley, we were awakened one night to the sound of an explosion, and the neighbor screaming at his adult son to get up. We looked outside, and there was smoke, and burning leaves falling around us. Now, wildfire was a constant concern in the summer and fall in the Berkeley Hills. Neighbors were gathering things and putting them in cars, and we immediately did the same. Our dog, Ceili, and her essentials, a few items from our earthquake kit and we were ready to go. We backed the car out of the garage but then realized that this was not the big one, but a neighbors house a half block away that was burning. As the firemen were getting it under control, we went to watch, and met many other neighbors. We compared notes with others: what had they packed in their cars? Photo albums, said one. The family silverware, said another. We said, our laptop computers.

What are you willing to let go of? We were ready to lose our possessions, even photographs, but not the continuity of work and life and connections with others that our computers provided. What, in this life, are you ready to let go of? Material things? Feelings? Connections? Habits? We’ll take a look at some of these today.

You may wonder how we choose these topics for our Sunday Services. Do I just make them up in a rush before the newsletter deadline? Yeah, sometimes. Most of the time though, they are planned in advance by the worship team who works with me to select topics. As an aside, we meet this afternoon at 12:30 to plan services from February through Easter, and you are welcome to join us.

When we plan these topics, we haven’t -- so far -- given much thought to how they link together. So as I began to prepare this sermon today, on “Letting Go”, I’m surprised at the overlaps and similarities this topic has with last Sunday’s topic, “Expecting the Unexpected”. As I thought about stories and poems, I found that many could work with either subject. So I’m making the distinction, a bit after the fact, in this way. “Expecting the Unexpected” explored the stuff that happens to us, good or bad, that we don’t control. “Letting Go” is about choice, however limited, because letting go or holding on is one of the few things that we can actually control.

The Adrianne Rich poem[1] reminds us of our locus of control. She begins with, “Either you will go through this door or you will not go through.” And she ends with “The door itself makes no promises. It is only a door.” The choice to go through or not is ours to make. Going through involves letting go of comfort and conventionality in entering a world of risk and possibility. I see in this poem the choice to move toward personal or spiritual transformation, which inevitably involves letting go of old forms. C. S. Lewis tells us,

“It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird; it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad."[2]

So sometimes, our letting go creates new possibilities for us. We give up the egg and obtain our wings. We move to a different level, becoming more mature or wiser perhaps. Often, though, it feels like letting go is just letting go.

There is an ancient Buddhist tale of two monks:

A senior monk and a junior monk were traveling together. At one point, they came to a river with a strong current. As the monks were preparing to cross the river, they saw a very young and beautiful woman also attempting to cross. The young woman asked if they could help her.

The senior monk carried this woman on his shoulder, forded the river and let her down on the other bank. The junior monk was very upset, but said nothing.

They both were walking and senior monk noticed that his junior was suddenly silent and enquired “Is something the matter, you seem very upset?”

The junior monk replied, “As monks, we are not permitted a woman, how could you then carry that woman on your shoulders?”

The senior monk replied, “I left the woman a long time ago at the bank, however, you seem to be carrying her still.”[3]

On one level this story is about rationality, common sense, trumping blind adherence to rule or law. On a deeper level it is about not ruminating over past actions and choices. The senior monk made the best decision he could within the moment, and he accepted that. In the best Zen example, when he set the woman down on the bank, he not only let go of her, he let go of his own feelings about the matter.

Another example of letting go is the process of forgiveness. We often think that forgiveness is something we do on behalf of another, but it is in fact something we do for ourselves.

I recall a patient in the mental health program at the hospital who talked with me of forgiveness. She wanted to deal with her anger at her father, who had beat her as a kid. We talked about whether her father had ever apologized for the abuse, and no he hadn’t, nor did she expect he would. We talked about whether he continued the behavior today, and the answer was no, he was very old, weak, with failing mind and body. We talked about why he might have been driven to be so abusive, and she suspected that he too had been treated badly as a child.

She decided to write a letter to him expressing her anger over this childhood abuse. She described her sadness at living a more narrow life as a result and her awareness that she had had to do so much work to overcome her anger at others around her. She did not mail this letter, but it helped her move to the next phase. She was able, over time, to remind herself of the nature of her father’s life, to explore forgiveness for herself, and eventually, to forgive her father. She never told him she forgave him; she did not need to. But her forgiveness helped her free herself of the anger and hatred she had carried for nearly her entire life.

There is also a physical “letting go” to be considered -- that is, how we cling to or let go of our own material possessions. One of the barometers of our feelings about possessions is a business that’s been booming over the past few decades: self-storage. This business has done relatively well even in this recession, partly because people who lose their houses need a place to put their stuff until they can make alternative living arrangements.

But it’s also because we have so much stuff we don’t know where to put it anymore. Our culture with its retailing and consumer debt technologies has made the acquiring part quite easy. It is the getting rid of things that is hard. In a NY Times article called “The Self-Storage Self”[4], one owner of a self-storage facility described his own situation: “My parents were Depression babies [he said], and what they taught me was, it’s the accumulation of things that defines you as an American, and to throw anything away was being wasteful.”

Letting go of things, even if we take them to Goodwill or sell them at a rummage sale, takes work. What is even harder than the physical work is the psychological effort of letting go. Sometimes that means admitting we made a mistake in judgment about a purchase, or that we can no longer fit into a certain piece of clothing and likely never will.

Friends of mine have a practice; I’d even call it a spiritual practice, that if they bring any item into the home, with the exception of consumables, some other item has be taken out of the home. A new pair of pants? Find an old T-shirt to get rid of; or maybe some knickknack. They told me that their house is much more spare now, but the practice has gotten harder. I’d like to try this practice, but I’d need a special dispensation for books.

I just heard about a new reality TV show on A&E called “Hoarding” that explores what happens when our desire to acquire and our reluctance to let go reaches an extreme. I don’t get A&E, but some episodes are on the internet. It’s hard to watch. People’s houses are filled with piles of belongings, to the point that moving around is difficult, kids don’t have usable beds to sleep in, and sanitation is impossible. The show’s creators acknowledge that this is a disease, a form of OCD. Knowing that the people on the show suffer from an illness makes me even more uncomfortable in my voyeurism. As the show’s producer, Robert Sharenow says, “The line between the people on our show, who have very severe cases of the disorder, and, you know, most of the population, is kind of thin.” [5]

Training ourselves to let go, to find a way to be in balance with our possessions may be an important way to keep balance in our lives. The same is true for other things, like our feelings or our habits that we may need to let go of.

However we choose to label them we all have coping mechanisms, habits, addictions, obsessions or compulsions that our best selves recognize aren’t serving us, and we want to release them, put them aside. Many of us are acutely aware of these at this time of year, as we make or decline to make New Year’s Resolutions. We know resolutions to change habits are hard to keep.

I remember when my parents quit smoking. I was maybe eight or nine, I’m not sure, and my mother decided to quit cold turkey. We had been whining a bit as kids about not liking to be in the car with them on long trips, because the smoke bothered our breathing. News was beginning to come out in a steady flow about the dangers of smoking, and my mother, a nurse, understood that. She acted. A couple weeks later my Dad quit, too. Neither ever smoked again. I don’t know how hard it was for them physically or how much they craved cigarettes after that; as a kid I didn’t think to ask those questions. I do know they were luckier than many; other family members tried to quit multiple times and were never successful.

I tend to think of the continuum of substance abuse as a matter of degree. Physical addiction is more difficult to let go of than psychological addiction, which itself is more difficult than habitual use. I believe that quitting is a spiritual journey as well as a physical one. Folks in Alcoholics Anonymous talk of the ‘dry drunk’, a person who has gotten control of his or her physical addiction to alcohol, but who has not processed the psychological or spiritual aspects of their addiction, so in a way, they are still addicted. To the degree that these things control us, we may not be able to let them go without significant support from family, or through a community like AA or with professional help.

One more kind of letting go, often a difficult letting go is when we must acknowledge that a loved one is dying and that there is nothing we can do to change or control that. We can only control how we react. I often saw this in my own hospital experience. A hospital care conference with the wife of a man dying of cancer. Two physicians, a nurse and a social worker talk to the wife. She wants aggressive treatment; there is none left. I’m asked to stay with her afterward, to be with her. Only then does she find small silent tears over the coming loss. I have nothing to offer her but my presence. She asks for and I offer no comforting theories of God. We talk of what will come, and that is enough.

Mary Oliver reminds us in her poem In Blackwater Woods[6], “To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.” It is the intensity of our loving that makes the letting go so hard. At the same time it is that letting go that reminds us how precious life and love is.

We must remember that letting go is a choice we make, even though it is not an easy choice in many cases. Sometimes the choice to let go is the only thing we can control. Letting go, in a way, is controlling the time and place of loss. In a world where so much seems so beyond our control, letting go offers some small sense that we do have choices. And simply having the choice to let go is part of what makes us alive.

Mary Oliver tells us that the other side of loss is salvation, that is to say what saves us, what makes us human. The loss, the emptiness we create when we do let go becomes the space for new life and new possibility. May we have the wisdom to choose wisely about what we may let go, so that we have the room to create anew.

I invite you now to participate in a ritual of letting go. The ushers will pass out small pieces of flash paper on which you may choose to write the name of something that you wish to let go of. The paper is small, so these words will not be detailed. Then you may, if you choose, come up and ceremonially burn these to make physical your desire to let go. You can choose to read your paper aloud before you burn it, but you do not have to.

Notes:

[1] Adrienne Rich, "Prospective Immigrants Please Note" Snapshots of a Daughter-in-Law, 1963
[2] C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity, rev. 2001, p. 198.
[3] “Two Monks and a Woman” http://workingwithinsight.wordpress.com/2007/03/13/two-monks-and-a-woman-story/
[4] NYTimes.com, “The Self-Storage Self”, http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/06/magazine/06self-storage-t.html
[5] “Stuffed: Do Hoarders Have a Disorder?” NYTimes.com http://www.nytimes.com/2009/12/20/magazine/20FOB-consumed-t.html
[6] Mary Oliver, “In Blackwater Woods” American Primitive, 1983.

Dealing with the Unexpected

2009-12-27T15:08:00.003-05:00

Matt Alspaugh

INTRODUCTION
I remember the typical Christmas morning when I was a young boy, completely and unconsciously embedded in the American materialist culture. After days of being nearly sick at my stomach in anticipation, the morning finally arrived. After my siblings and I finally persuade our parents to get out of bed, they let us begin the festivities. Now there is a vast cultural divide in how we open presents on Christmas in America: on the one hand there are those families who go in a circle each person opening one gift at a time, on the other are those who just dive in, every person for themselves.

We are of the latter lineage, and can't fathom the one person at a time unwraps mindset. So it's all over in a flash of ripped paper and discarded ribbon. Immediately, and inevitably, disappointment sets in. I didn't get what I wanted. Damn Santa! Or I did get what I wanted, and I realize it wasn't as advertised. Smaller than I thought, or more cheaply made, or less functional than the TV commercials implied. In the coming weeks, as things broke or were lost, I began to understand that having all my desires met was impossible, even on Christmas, when dreams are supposed to come true.

BAD NEWS
Why is it that most news in the newspaper and on TV is bad news? It's true that "if it bleeds it leads", that we're more drawn to misfortune. In a time when news organizations are pressed by free alternative sources for news, they will naturally give us what we want. In a short course on media and ministry at taught by Fred Garcia at Starr King school, I learned how news-writers look for conflict or contradiction or controversy, and even when there is none, they manufacture some.

So, in the global climate change story, for example, to talk with esteemed scientists about the climactic evidence would be boring. You need to mix in some opposition voices, however baseless or crackpot or fringy they may be. Even better if you can write about an email leak exposing a "vast warmist conspiracy" by environmentalists, a story now dubbed "Climategate" as some media pundits tried to do last month.

I get it now. Since I gained this new understanding of the media, I've never looked at the news the same.

But we do have a sense that the bad stuff outweighs the good. Even as we review the year, and think about the people around us, the bad stuff often comes out on top. This one died, that one lost her job, that one was in the hospital, another one went to Iraq. Sure, there is the occasional wedding, or birth, or promotion, but the bad seems to prevail.

ENTROPY
Why do bad things always seem to dominate? I want to suggest an explanation from the world of science. There is this concept of entropy in physics. Entropy is a fundamental statistical quantity, every bit as foundational as temperature. Entropy describes the level of disorder in a system. If a system is highly organized, it has low entropy.

Imagine a well-kept library, with all the books organized by their call numbers. If you take a book off the shelf, there are thousands of wrong places to put it back and only one right place. That's why most large libraries have signs warning patrons: "do not re-shelve books". They actually lose books when patrons re-shelve in the wrong place. Re-shelving incorrectly increases the disorder, the entropy.

Now imagine a completely disorganized library, books all over the place. If you take a book from a spot, you might as well put it back in any random spot, for it doesn't matter. The place already has high entropy.

It is possible to decrease entropy, but it takes work. You have to hire a bunch of librarians to organize the place, and shuffle books around. Even in the well kept library, work is required to keep it that way.

We can think of other systems in this way. This church has many rules, written and unwritten, about where things go, and how things are done. Where do the coffee pots go, how do we lock up the building, which trash is recycled. It takes work keeping those things in their right places, keeping things happening, against the natural tendency to disorder. It takes even more work to increase organization and implement new processes, to in effect, lower the entropy of the system. That's why things don't happen as fast as we'd like around here. We call that slow pace, 'church time'.

Or consider our physical bodies. Disorder can creep in, in the form of an error in DNA transcription, that causes a cell to become cancerous. If the body's cellular defenses against cancer fail to repair that error or eliminate that cell, the cancer can spread, and the increasing disorder can lead to death. Often the organizing defending aspects of our bodies can hold a cancer at bay, until a tipping point is reached, when they are overwhelmed. The end can be unexpected, quick, and tragic.

And there is the disorder that comes out of the barrel of a gun, or a bomb. Think of a pistol as a personal entropy increasing machine, a way to introduce mortal disorder in human bodies, and social disorder in systems of community, and we begin to see why many of us have an almost visceral discomfort with guns. Now, how we use a gun can raise questions of intent and evil, topics worthy of another longer discussion. We'll save them for another time.

So we can see that while much effort and often much time is needed to organize a system, little work or time is needed to disorganize a situation. Bad news doesn't just travel fast, it happens quickly. Good news takes time. When we break open the fortune cookie and find the message, 'Your Luck is About to Change', we can be justified in seeing this as an ominous sign.

TANHA
In Buddhism, there is a concept called tanha, which variously means clinging or attachment and aversion. We cling to what we enjoy, and try to escape what is uncomfortable. We might use food, of drink or tv or video games to escape having to think about unpleasant things. We get wrapped up in fear about what bad can happen, or in selfish desire about what good could happen. We try to control everything, every aspect of life, so that we can engage every pleasure and avoid all pain.

LEARNING TO WELCOME THEM ALL
Part of learning to control tanha is to come to experience all that life offers us, good and bad. The Persian poet Rumi expresses this most clearly in this poem. Now, I note that this is a Coleman Barks translation from his book, Essential Rumi. Barks is rather free with his translations, which makes them more accessible to us. Here is the poem, "This Human Being is a Guest House":

This Human Being is a Guest House.
Every morning is a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness
comes as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
even if they are a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice,
meet them at the door laughing,
and invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes,
because each has been sent
as a guide from beyond. [1]

MEDITATION
In Buddhism and other eastern religions, meditation is used as one tool to become aware of this clinging or desire. Through meditation we to learn to welcome who or whatever comes to our guesthouse. We learn to cut through the chatter of story that obscures our true selves or true nature.

We experimented with a bit of very focused meditation this morning, on pain. When we're in pain, much of what increases our suffering is not the pain itself, but other thoughts. We are fearful about what the pain means, and whether it will get worse. We hope we can control our pain, and make it go away. Other strong emotions may come up too, connected with past pain experiences. Meditating on pain invites us to set these thoughts and emotions aside, and just focus on the pain. It may not get any better, but at least we feel it clearly.

NAVEL GAZING
There is a danger in becoming too attached to meditation itself. Samsara can trick us, and we can find ourselves using meditation or other spiritual practices as ways to avoid pain, to isolate and wall off from the world. We can become omphaloskeptic, that is, focused on navel gazing, self interested.

Even if we have no spiritual practice, we can become self-focused, protective, closed off, isolated. To return to the analogy of the library, if you were a lazy library manager and you wanted to prevent or at least minimize the increase of entropy, you could -- just by ushering everyone out and locking the doors. Nothing would disorganize the books, no work would be required to maintain things, but the library would be of no use to anyone.

It's as if we build up a gated community of our own lives, seeking security and permanence. We are fearful, and we isolate ourselves. We become to self absorbed, too focused on our own physical survival, our bodies. Jack Kornfeld warns us about this self-absorption with our physical bodies. He tells us, "It’s a rental. "We’re all just renting. Would you put a new kitchen into a rental house?" [2]

IMPERMANENCE AND RISK
Our lease will run out -- we are impermanent. Our efforts at trying to stay young or to avoid all health risks, are ultimately futile. That's one of the other great teachings of Buddhism. Life is impermanent. In order to live fully, we have to accept that reality, and be willing to take risks. Your luck is about to change, and it is not about good or bad luck, but simply different luck. Things cannot remain the same. We cannot cling to what we want or what we already have, but risk that change. As Diane Ackerman tells us, in her book A Natural History of the Senses:

The great affair, the love affair with life, is to live as variously as possible, to groom one's curiosity like a high-spirited thoroughbred, climb aboard, and gallop over the thick, sun-struck hills every day. Where there is no risk, the emotional terrain is flat and unyielding, and, despite all its dimensions, valleys, pinnacles, and detours, life will seem to have none of its magnificent geography, only a length. It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between. [3]

May we learn to expect the unexpected, up and down, high and low. May we claim it, embrace it. And at the same time, may we let go of that we cannot hold on to, what is not permanent, what is transient. That was the gift of Christmas to me, so many years ago. The learning that we don't ever get everything we want, and what we do get we can't hold on to forever. But one thing we know for sure-- our luck is about to change!

Notes:
[1] Coleman Barks, Essential Rumi 1995 p 73
[2] Jack Kornfield quote, http://ericmiraglia.com/blog/?p=155
[3] Diane Ackerman, A Natural History of the Senses, 1991, p. 309.

Christmas Eve Reflections

2009-12-24T21:37:00.063-05:00

Christmas Eve Service 2009
Part 1: Changing the Words

INTRODUCTION
I was introduced to Garrison Keillor in grad school back in Indiana and have listened to his show, Prairie Home Companion, off and on for several decades. I enjoy his storytelling, but like many of you, find his assaults on Unitarian Universalism extend beyond humor to snarkiness. Just last week, Keillor wrote a syndicated column called “Don’t mess with Christmas”, in which he ranted for a good bit about Unitarian Universalism:

“Unitarians listen to the Inner Voice and so they have no creed that they all stand up and recite in unison, and that's their perfect right, but it is wrong, wrong, wrong to rewrite "Silent Night." If you don't believe Jesus was God, OK, go write your own damn "Silent Night" and leave ours alone.”[1]

Then he goes on to complain about “all those lousy holiday songs written by Jewish guys that trash up the malls every year, Rudolph and the chestnuts and the rest of the dreck.”

And I thought I had issues with Christmas!

OUR PART IN CHRISTMAS
I don’t want to take time tonite to respond to the “Christmas is for Christians” crowd. Let me just note that our Unitarian and Universalist forebears had significant influence in making Christmas the popular holiday it is today.[2] Christmas had been in fact outlawed in Puritan Massachusetts in 1659.[3] First the Universalists, and then the Unitarians pushed for the celebration of Christmas as a public holiday around 1800.[4] Maybe we should be careful what we wish for! In any event, we have a long history with the Christmas holiday, and I do not think we should cede that to others.

CHANGING HYMNS
I do want to address Garrison’s rant about changing the words in hymns. As UUs we have been changing the words of hymns for a very long time. Jason Shelton, a UU minister and choir director, notes, “almost from the beginning, Unitarians and Universalists were disparaged for changing the words of hymns to suit their particular needs.”[5] But we loved to write and rewrite hymns. Sheldon continues, “In the nineteenth century, Unitarians and Universalists produced more than fifty hymnbooks – far more than any other single denomination.”

Our changing the words sometime catches people by surprise, especially with Christmas Carols. Some of us wish the words were changed even more, others want to hold onto traditional words. I noticed, for example, that some previous Christmas Eve services had the quote-traditional-unquote words for the Carols printed in the Order of Service. We have a gut reaction to the words. I suspect it reaches back to what we experienced as children: if we learned those hymns and carols one way, then, by God, that’s the proper way they should be sung!

Maybe we shouldn’t focus so much on the fact that we change the words, but that we carefully consider what the words mean; the message behind them. Old words or new words: can we make meaning from them?

Part 2: Changing the Message

Traditionally these Christmas Eve services are organized around lessons, readings about the birth of Jesus, drawn from the books of Matthew and Luke, and some perhaps commentary that connects those readings to the world today. This is combined with a few carols and it’s all wrapped up with a candlelighting ritual.

THE MYSTERY PLAY
Today, lets do something different: let’s take a step back and look at another story in the book of Luke. This is the story of the Annunciation, which is a pretty significant story for Catholic and Eastern Orthodox Christians. Moreover, this story is significant for Muslims, too. The Quran has a version of the Annunciation: Sura 3, verses 45 to 47 reads:

45Behold! the angels said: "O Mary! Allah gives you glad tidings of a Word from him: his name will be Christ Jesus, the son of Mary, held in honor in this world and the Hereafter and [among] those nearest to Allah: 46"He shall speak to the people in childhood and in maturity. And he shall be [among] the righteous."

47She said: "O my Lord! How shall I have a son when no man has touched me?" He said: "Even so: Allah creates what he wills: When he has decreed a plan, he but says to it, 'Be,' and it is! [6]

We heard a version of the Annunciation as part of the Mystery Play a few moments ago. In medieval Europe, these plays were one of the primary ways of educating the peasant folk, who were largely illiterate. The plays depicted key stories from the Bible, and were presented outdoors, on a certain feast day in late spring. The whole cycle of plays would start before dawn and run until dusk. The plays would be presented on large wagons used as stages.

The play we excerpted today was likely written by monks in York sometime in the 14th or 15th century. [7] It was performed outdoors by the Spicers, one the various guilds of craftsmen assigned the plays. So the Plasterers performed the Creation, the Fishers were assigned the story of Noah’s Ark and the Flood, the Tile Thatchers did the Nativity, and the Pinner’s got the Crucifixion. I like the assignment of particular crafts to the stories: Fishers and Pinners?

THE ANNUNCIATION
Of course, these stories were told ‘straight up,’, they stayed close to the Scriptural text. Any embellishment supported the dominant theology of the Church. As we heard in this excerpt, Mary is hailed for accepting her place in things, bearing the Savior, creating a way for the world to be saved from the damnation brought to it by Eve. The dominant theological story is the same, both for individual humans or for all of humanity: we are sinful, we are damned, unless and until we are redeemed by the Savior. Stay with me on this.

THE MEANING OF THE ANNUNCIATION – NOT
The story of the Annunciation offered earlier would have us believe that Mary bore Jesus as a virgin, that there was no human father involved. This virginal birth became important as later Christian theology developed. This theology suggested that all humanity was fallen, damned because of the actions of Eve consuming the fruit, and this damnation was passed through the generations. The virginal birth, along with the idea of Immaculate Conception, provided a way for Christianity to unlink a pure Jesus with his pure mother, from this stain of sin. We hear this theology clearly in the carol, "Nova Nova, Ave fit ex Eva", which suggests that the world is saved from the sin of Eve by the fruit of Mary.

Now this is a most unsatisfying theology to most of us, including UU Christians! It’s enough to make us want to discard the Christmas stories entirely, and some of us do. But these stories are deeply embedded in our culture. We hear them every year. They have archetypal elements. And discarding these stories would rob us of the opportunity to offer alternative interpretations; to stand against those who would offer narrow, divisive and damning theology.

We need to find a way to reinterpret the story, to change the message. We need a way to see health and wholeness and hope in Christmas.

A NOTE ON HISTORICITY
Now, I need to take a brief diversion and talk about the historical evidence and not the theology. We know that there is only thin historical evidence for the life of Jesus. None of the events around his birth, such as a large-scale census by Caesar Augustus or Herod’s slaughter of male babies, is mentioned in any Roman or Jewish historical text. Careful study of the three synoptic Gospels -- Matt, Mark, and Luke -- the books that attempt to portray Jesus life, show that these too have many historically suspect passages. Especially suspect are the birth stories. In fact, the birth stories are totally absent in Mark, the oldest and most historically trustworthy of these three books.

So we face the strong probability that the birth stories are mythical -- that the stories are older, and the words are changed. Can we still find meaning in any of these mythical stories? Can we distill some fundamental wisdom from these ancient stories?

THE MEANING OF THE ANNUNCIATION – REINTERPRETED
How might we reinterpret the Annunciation? Could this be a story of questionable fatherhood. Stephen Mitchell, in his lovely book, The Gospel According to Jesus, tells us ‘the first thing we ought to realize about Jesus’ life is that he grew up as an illegitimate child’.[8] In that ancient culture, for a woman to have an illegitimate child was scandalous, and such a child would live a life of shame and rejection. The visit from Gabriel didn’t help. Remember, the angel appeared only to Mary, not to the others in the village, and appeared to Joseph almost as an afterthought, when Joseph was prepared to reject Mary.

So we begin to piece together the true story of Jesus birth. He was most likely illegitimate, born to a teenage mother, a woman maybe 12 or 14 years old. She was almost certainly illiterate; a peasant; at the bottom of the socioeconomic scale; in an occupied country.

This is the miracle of the Christmas story. The miracle of the story is not about angels, or wisemen, or a star. The miracle story is that a person coming from such a hopeless, lowly, miserable situation could become a wisdom teacher, a spiritual leader, an agitator for change and a founder of a religious movement.

A friend in ministry, Ruth MacKenzie, tells me there is a term, Theotokos, which means ‘God bearer’.[9] It was used to describe Mary by the early church. Theotokos represents the other part of the Christmas story. Mary bears the infant; she gives birth to new life, and to new hope. In a time of darkness and cold, this hope is what we crave.

When we bear hope, we too become Theotokos – god bearers. We ignite that spark of divine possibility that is in each of us. We create possibility for change, for a new world, for an era where the light of peace, and the warmth of human connection return again.

In the words of Richard Gilbert, “may hope find its way into our hearts even when our minds tell us there is no hope; may charity speak to us even when we have nothing to give: may loving kindness be with us when our store of love is exhausted.

Let it be so, for a time, for a season. And perhaps that season will linger and linger and take hold of us, never to let us go.” [10]

Notes:
[1] http://www.salon.com/news/opinion/garrison_keillor/2009/12/15/cambridge/index.html
[2] See Steven Nissbaum, The Battle for Christmas, 1997.
[3] Ibid. p. 14.
[4] Ibid. p. 45.
[5] Jason Shelton, "Changing the Words: An Historical Introduction to Unitarian Universalist Hymnody", http://meadville.edu/journal/2003_shelton_4_1.pdf p. 2
[6] Abdullah Yusufali, The Meanings Of The Holy Qur'an, http://www.islam101.com/quran/yusufAli/QURAN/3.htm (archaic grammar updated)
[7] “York Mystery Plays”, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/York_Mystery_Plays
[8] Stephen Mitchell, The Gospel According to Jesus, 1991, p. 19.
[9] Ruth Mackenzie, "Theotokos", http://www.stjoan.com/homilies/mackenzie11.30.08.htm
[10] Richard S. Gilbert, in Celebrating Christmas, Carl Seaburg ed., p. 107

Paths to the Top

2009-12-06T19:58:00.001-05:00

Matt Alspaugh

Today I’m the stand-in, the ringer, the last minute replacement. On of the lay presenters for today had a medical emergency this week -- she’s better now -- but in the midst of her situation, we agreed to switch speaking dates.

We in ministry are encouraged to always have an unused backup sermon at the ready in case something happens to us. Maybe locked away in a file somewhere, or in a wall cabinet, like a fire extinguisher. “In Case of Worship Emergency, Break Glass. Pull pin on sermon, and aim directly at base of congregation. Sweep from side to side until sermon is empty.” Unfortunately, most of us have used up those sermons already. I was able to repurpose one I’d used before with another congregation. But first, a few other observations:

I just read in the newsletter of one of the churches I know well, that they have remodeled their chapel, with funding from a single anonymous donor. However well-intentioned this remodel was, I worry that the congregation doesn’t feel invested in this remodeled room, and that they won’t care for it, because they weren’t included the decision.

At the opposite extreme, a few years ago, I visited a congregation that was preparing to paint its sanctuary. They had hung large poster-boards, painted with numerous shades and colors for the wall and trim paint. They were going to take a vote on the color choices at a congregational meeting. Now I’m mildly colorblind … do you think I should be asked to choose among several subtle shades of paint?

So I’m pleased to see the Channing Hall remodel project here following a process that navigates between these two extremes. It’s hard work, but it shows a level of maturity in the congregation.This will serve us well as we consider other projects, whether they relate to the building, to congregational priorities, or church social justice projects. I applaud the process that has been used.

Now you might not consider the work of having the meetings, talking with stakeholders, planning, dealing with disagreement is spiritual practice, but, I hope to show you, it is, because this morning I am talking about different spiritual paths.

For some of us, great emotional and even spiritual satisfaction, a sense of purpose, comes from this kind of consistent, devoted effort, week after week, year after year. For others, spiritual experience comes in a flash, some momentary event that truly reached down deep inside us, and turned something, changed something. Maybe it was a walk in great natural beauty, or wonderful music, or reading profound poetry.

Whatever the source of such inspirational experiences, I suspect most of us seek to repeat them, to find what it is that opens us to them, to find ways to deepen and better understand them; and thus better understand the world we inhabit. This is the essence of spiritual practice. However we define spirit, the things we do -- be that working, hiking, singing, or meditating -- carry us into place of inspiration are spiritual practices.

There's a well-known religious metaphor that suggests we are each on a spiritual journey, traveling up a great mountain. There are numerous paths on that mountain, paths that wind and cross, that lead mostly up, but occasionally down and sometimes sideways. Some paths are gentle and protected, while others are exposed and treacherous. But the point is that all these paths ultimately lead to the top, to whatever it is that we consider ultimate in religious experience.

Most often we think of these distinct paths as representing different beliefs, the various theologies that co-exist in the religious landscape. Here's the Catholic path, there's the Lutheran one, over there’s a Buddhist path.

And how we bristle when a person or group claims that their path is the 'one true path' and all the others fail to reach the top! For many of us, this brings up anger at such dogmatic exclusiveness. For some, such dogmatism brings up sadness as we recall our own, exclusivist religious upbringing, and the effort it took us to shed those beliefs.

But there is another way to see these paths we follow to the top of the mountain. Perhaps these journeys are more about practice than belief, about what we do, rather than what we think or say. But hard as it is to articulate our theological beliefs, we often find it harder to find the words to describe what spiritual practices touch us and inspire us. We need a topographic map that points out these paths, these Journeys, and gives them names. How might we do this mapping? How might we understand the varieties of spiritual experience?

Since we UUs tend to be rational scientific people, it might make sense to systematize and classify these experiences in some way. Peter Tufts Richardson, a Unitarian Universalist minister, does just this in his book, Four Spiritualities: Expressions of Self, Expressions of Spirit.[1] He develops a model that suggests there are four broad types of spirituality, although they are interrelated. He suggests that our personality or worldview influences which of these spiritual practices we will find most appealing.

Now Richardson does not pretend this is a new idea. He melds an understanding of spiritual practices from many of the great world religions to frame his unifying model of four spiritual paths. Richardson's model also combines these religious ideas with two specific dimensions of Jungian psychology.[2]

The first dimension is how we perceive the world, how we gather information. Do we primarily perceive through our senses or through our intuition? In other words, do we observe things with common sense, or do we know through hunches?[3] Do we trust the data or the theory?

The second dimension is how we make decisions. Do we make choices primarily by thinking things through or by tapping into our feelings? That is to say, do we lead with our head or our heart?4

The two options in each of these two dimensions generate the four spiritual Journeys that we’ll examine shortly. But before we do, let me note that these four quadrants are closely related to the Myers Briggs Type Indicator [5], which many of you may be familiar with. Myers Briggs is personality tool often used to study how people might work together. We don’t have time to explore it more deeply today, but I will mention it as we explore these spiritual types. If you’re not familiar with Myers Briggs, I'd suggest a little Internet research; you can evaluate your 'type' on-line, and it can be quite revealing.

So, Richardson’s model outlines four pathways through which we experience the realm of the spirit. I'm going to spend a little time exploring each of the four Journeys, and touching on how they relate to each other. I think as we explore these pathways, some of you may recognize yourselves or maybe your friends or family.

(Move to first location, equipped with a large book - open it to reading.)
The first path is called the Journey of Unity. The Journey of Unity focuses on the great organizing principles of the universe. What are the great questions, and what might the answers be? The focus here tends to be an intellectual one, with deep theological or philosophical explorations as part of the conversation.

People on this path perceive the world through their Intuition, these are the folks who try to read between the lines, and consider future possibility. They base their decision-making on Thinking; that is on the head, depending on rationality, rather than the heart.

Followers of this particular path are a minority in the general population, but they are significant in Unitarian Universalist communities. Our worship experiences reflect this. We love discussion groups. In most UU churches, the sermon is the center-point of the worship, with academic quality talks, carefully prepared, even down to the footnotes. Does this sound familiar?

(Move to next location, with Equal Exchange coffee: “Regular or Decaf?”)
The second path is the Journey of Works. The people in the Journey of Works are focused on getting things done. This is where the folks planning the Channing Hall remodel come in. These are responsible people with a job to do. People here are head oriented, reasoning things out, and they see the world as it is now, through their senses. They see what is missing, or what is not working, and move to fix it.

Often they prefer to have rules, they love tradition, and they want people to follow the rules and respect the tradition. Tradition and rules are important here, but that doesn't mean that people on the journey of works are necessarily conservative. In fact, I'd suspect that in our congregations, many of the folks on the front lines of social justice work would say they are on the Journey of Works.

(Move to the next location, equipped with a votive candle - light it.)
The third path is the Journey of Devotion. This path is about ritual: lighting candles, reciting the words, singing familiar hymns, joyful celebrations, these are all important. Repetition, symbolism and stories are important, especially stories about heroic people from our past.

This is one of the two heart-centered Journeys, and we see a subtle shift, to the realm of emotional response in spirituality and worship. Like the Journey of Works, those on this journey are focused on the here and now, but the focus is on the ritual or the experience itself.

The Journey of Devotion is well represented in larger society, but I think it is less represented in Unitarian Universalist communities. I think our history in the radical side of the Protestant dissenting traditions caused us to be leery of ritual for a long time.

(Move to the final location, equipped with a singing bowl - sound the bowl.)
The fourth path is the Journey of Harmony. This is the realm of the mystics, of those who have a sense that the world is not fully revealed to us, but who get glimpses of the ultimate reality that they struggle to put into words. Meditation and silence are key elements of spiritual practice for those on this path. This particular path merges the Intuitive ways of knowing the world with decision-making based on Feeling, on the heart.

In our Unitarian history, the Journey of Harmony flowered most profusely in the Transcendentalist movement. When you read the works of the Transcendentalists like Emerson or Parker, you struggle to understand what they are saying, because they struggled to find words for their newly felt experiences of the divine. Everything is connected, god inside us and all around us, knowing oneself, these were all difficult concepts that to some degree have to be lived to be understood. And we live them through turning inward.

(Move to center of space)
So I want to ask you to choose: which of these paths best fits your own personal spiritual nature? If you feel comfortable doing so, I’d like to ask you to stand and remain standing, as I call out these paths. (Hold up the objects as the types are named)
Let’s start with Journey of Unity, seeking the answers?
Journey of Works, getting things done?
How about Journey of Devotion, who love ritual?
Journey of Harmony, lovers of mystery?
Look around!

If some of you struggled to choose just one path, that's good! I think a well-developed spiritual life should draw practice from each of these paths. I know that for me, the Journey of Harmony is most natural path. I find daily meditation an easy practice. But I try to engage the other paths, through reading, walks in nature, and my work here at the church. Perhaps you might want to explore what spiritual practices might broaden your horizons.

Now that we understand a little more about our individual spiritual journeys, how can we apply them to our communal worship life? Corianne Ware, in her book, Discover Your Spiritual Type[6], develops a quadrant model similar to Richardson’s.

It’s a little more Judeo-Christian in focus, but she extends her model in an interesting way. She suggests religious communities also have preferred styles. A congregation develops a spiritual “style” just as surely as individuals do. Our worship may emphasize great preaching, or maybe well executed drama or ritual, or silence and meditative music. But we should also ask, is there enough balance for everyone?

She described a man who finally understood his discontent with his long-time family church -- he was of one spiritual type and the church was strongly opposite that type. His longtime family ties kept him at that church, but he understood that he needed to fill some of his spiritual needs in other ways.[7]

Once a congregation understands its own worship style, it can make changes in its style to better provide for people on the other paths. Changes to the typical order of the Sunday morning worship, or to the music program, might be called for. Or, maybe separate worship groups, like meditation groups or small group ministries, or discussion forums are needed.

This little exercise we did today -- when you stood up as I named the four Journeys --brings up deeper issues around identity and belonging. I'm sure you were curious when your friends stood up! By more or less artificially segmenting ourselves into these four categories, we create new identities and labels for ourselves.

Such labeling can be helpful if it serves to deepen our understanding of one another and ourselves. Such identities are valuable if they urge us to greater wholeness and balance, and if they instill a greater compassion for those who are different from us. Ultimately, if we do that compassionate work, we find we can put the labels aside, and see that our identities are less important than realizing that we are all on the same journey.

In that ancient Hindu text, the Bhagavad-Gita, written two to five centuries BCE, the human protagonist Arjuna questions the god Krishna about achieving enlightenment and eternal life, and asks, 'which way is swift and sure, love or knowledge?'. Krishna answers in much detail, finally noting in chapter 13:

Some by the path of meditation,
and by the grace of the spirit,
see the spirit in themselves;

some by the path of the vision of truth,
and others by the path of work.

And yet there are others who do not know,
but hear from others and adore.

They also cross beyond death,
because of their devotion to words of the truth.[8]

And we see that all of these spiritual journeys lead to the same unknowable and mysterious end. May we be cognizant of this truth both in our individual spiritual lives and as we live together in this gathered community.

Notes:
1 Peter Tufts Richardson, Four Spiritualities: Expressions of Self, Expressions of Spirit : A Psychology of Contemporary Spiritual Choice, 1996.
2 ibid. p. 21
3 ibid. p. 6
4 ibid. p. 8
5 ibid. p. 3
6 Connie Ware, Discover Your Spiritual Type, 1995.
7 ibid. p. 85
8 Eknath Easwaran, The Bhagavad Gita (Classics of Indian Spirituality), 2007.

Gatekeeping at the Welcome Table

2009-11-29T21:57:00.013-05:00

Rev. Lynn M. Acquafondata
November 29. 2009
For First Unitarian Universalist Church
Youngstown, Ohio

      Cerberus [1] had an important job to do. The giant three headed dog with serpent’s tail, lion’s claws and a mane of snakes guarded the gates of the underworld. He fiercely challenged any ghosts who tried to leave or any live people who tried to enter. As we heard Orpheus managed to find a way past Cerberus, but Cerberus had back up. Hades would make sure that Orpheus paid a heavy price for his transgression.

      Back in Pennsylvania earlier this fall a modern version of this story took place when a group of three visitors attended First UU Church of Indiana one Sunday morning carrying Bibles. After the sermon, one of the guests stood up and started to proselytize for Evangelical Christianity and attack UUs for devil worship. The minister asked him to sit down. He refused. Again she made it clear that his speech was inappropriate at this time and in this place. He continued speaking. She turned to the congregation and asked them to join in the closing hymn. The congregation stood to sing loudly and enthusiastically drowning out the words of the visitor. Afterwards the minister called the police for advice on handling the situation if that visitor should return. As a result of hate crimes that have taken place around the country including in a UU church in Tennessee a year ago, the police said do not let him enter, but call immediately if should return.

      Gatekeeping plays a vital and necessary role whether it takes place in mythology, business or a UU church. The role and the methods of the gatekeeper need to fit the situation and serve the long term health and purposes of the region or organization it guards.

      What do we UUs guard? Who are our gatekeepers? How do we know when we act wisely and enforce healthy boundaries or when we respond passively or reactively and prevent the growth of development of our congregations?

      We can not recognize productive gatekeeping without first having a clear understanding of what we protect. Some people like to say that because Unitarian Universalists do not have a creed, we can believe anything we want. They are wrong.

      In religious educations classes here this year the younger children are studying world religions by hearing the stories of children from around the world who follow a variety of faiths. They are learning how the teachings of other religions have inspired UU principles. Yet the classes make it clear that we do not believe all the same things or share all the same practices.

      The older children are watching scenes from popular films and discussing the themes those films raise about life, belief and theology. Both curriculums show that UUs draw our wisdom from a wide variety of sources. We filter that wisdom through our own perspective and through the basic values of Unitarian Universalism. We believe that as long as we treat all people as valuable and worthwhile, there are multiple valid ways to live and practice religion. We believe in acting with respect for other people even those we do not agree with or understand. We do not accept religious perspectives in our communities which condemn others or assume that an individual or a group is bad or wrong because their views are different from our own.

      When the visitor at the church in Indiana stood up and spoke, the Rev. Joan Sabatino did not criticize his views or try to convince him of UU beliefs, she just told him it was inappropriate for him to proselytize during a Sunday morning service. It would be equally inappropriate for a humanist UU to stand up in a worship service of born again Christians and present the merits of atheism. In fact doing that would go against our principles because it would show disrespect to other people and to their spiritual journey. We can treat people well and value our common humanity without agreeing with or accepting their religious views as our own.

      That’s why basic UU principles are an ideal way to address some of the major problems in our world. As Scott Alexander wrote in our responsive reading today, Unitarian Universalism can make the world a better place through such actions as treating people with love in the face of hate, acting compassionately and seeking justice when we encounter brutality and fear, speaking from our conscience and modeling the use of the democratic process as a way to counteract tyranny and oppression. The gatekeepers of our religion guard a very precious treasure that has the power to change the world.

      Despite our openness and acceptance, Unitarian Universalists do need to set boundaries and turn some people away. Although from time to time we are justified in acting as fierce guardians of the front door by asking people to leave, ideally setting boundaries takes place in a gentle, open and non-confrontational manner.

      Congregations do this through sharing information about Unitarian Universalism and about our own congregation, handing out pamphlets, explaining what to expect in a typical Sunday service and letting visitors know our basic values and approach to religion. Unitarian Universalism is not a religion for everyone. We want people who think for themselves, who are actively engaged in theological interpretation and who wrestle with choices of how to live out this faith. Most of us came to this religion because we value this approach. Some people want a very different kind of religious experience. One woman who visited a UU church felt so overwhelmed by the pressures and struggles of daily life, that she wanted her religion to be the one place where things are clear. She wanted to come and sit quietly while the minister told her what to believe and how to live her life. Unitarian Universalism expected her to get involved in religion in ways she didn’t find nurturing, healing or comforting. There is nothing wrong with what this woman seeks, but she won’t find it in one of our congregations. We don’t need to send someone like this away. We can receive her warmly and explain what our religion is and what it asks of people. She will decide if this fits her needs or not.

      We also let visitors know who we are through personal sharing. One of the congregations I belonged to held “This I Believe” Sundays on a regular basic in which two or three members share a personal story about why and how they became a UU and what it means for them to live life as a UU. When I lead introduction to Unitarian Universalism classes I always include a time for people to reflect on their own spiritual journey and then share a part of that journey. One typical class included a wide variety of people:

a recently divorced single father who had grown up Jewish, married a conservative Christian and later became agnostic;

a newly engaged couple who had come from Christian backgrounds, the woman helped lead her church youth group in high school, now she finds a spiritual connection in earth centered pagan practices;

a woman who had grown up Catholic, then spent a couple of decades sleeping in on Sundays and taking long hikes to nurture her spirit;

a man who had not grown up in any religious tradition, but is going through major changes in his life and seeks a community in which he can make friends and explore his philosophical ideas; and a woman who had rejected her conservative Protestant upbringing during a Christian Education class at the young age of 10, then raised her own children in a liberal Christian congregation, now she and her husband want a free and creedless religious community.

The people in this group, like all the classes I’ve led find intriguing commonalities as well as an interesting diversity of perspectives. The act of sharing and listening and acknowledging the value of each person’s life in progress says a lot about what it means to be a UU. Some people participate in this sharing feel at home in Unitarian Universalism. Others come and realize they seek a different kind of religion.

      This sharing takes place in informal settings as well. When greeters and other members of the congregation smile and approach visitors, when they take the time to share a piece of their personal journey with a visitor, then the gate swings open and welcomes our guests to stay awhile and explore who we are. This doesn’t always happen naturally, so it helps to have a system in place to make the roles clear and easy to carry out. The church I served in Pittsburgh had a membership committee which organized a list for each Sunday including basic greeters and visitor greeters. Basic greeters say hello to everyone who arrives on Sunday morning and hand out bulletins. Visitor greeters focus on guests, showing them where to make a nametag, how to sign up to receive the newsletter, getting them information and a pamphlets about the church, making sure they find a comfortable seat, inviting them to coffee hour and introducing them to others. The gate swings wide when we leave seats available in especially inviting locations such as near the back and on the aisles and when we wear nametags so repeat visitors don’t have to struggle to remember the names of everyone they met last week. Nametags also serve as a convenient “cheat sheet” for those of us who struggle to remember names of people we know well.

      There are so many ways to be welcoming while also giving a clear picture of who we are and are not. There are also many ways that we can and unfortunately do go wrong, sometimes without even realizing it.

      I grew up Catholic, but as a teenager, I visited an Assembly of God church in my home town of Syracuse, NY. Everyone greeted me with the same question. It wasn’t, “What is your name?” or “How are you today?” or “What are you interested in?” Instead each person asked me, “Are you saved?” I returned two more times only because my brother gave me a ride and because the pastor’s son was cute. Obviously I wasn’t saved.

      I used to tell that story with a smug attitude. “See what those Pentecostal Christians do! They don’t care about people. I’d never be one of them.” Then I started reflecting on things I’ve seen UUs do to visitors on Sunday mornings. To reassure any guests this morning, I’m just a visiting preacher myself, so none of these stories took place here.

      During coffee hour at an unnamed UU congregation in the mid-West, a visitor started to share a story with a congregation member about the way God is moving in her life. The member shifted uncomfortably and interrupted. “We like to joke here,” she said, “that the last time anyone mentioned God at this congregation was when the janitor fell off the ladder.” The visitor never finished her story and didn’t return. What made the member say that? What did she protect? This UU may have thought that if too many of these spiritual and God focused people join, atheists may feel like a marginalized minority. But UUs do hold a variety of theological views including many UUs who are theist and affirm the influence of God in our lives, as well as many are pagan and many who are who are atheist or agnostic and those who don’t think in traditional spiritual terms at all. In addition we value a free search for truth and meaning. Unitarian Universalism thrives on a diversity of perspectives and ideas and an acceptance that there is not one true way even my way.

      Some UU congregations portray this value by holding a congregational reflection time during the Sunday service after the sermon, in which anyone present can share their own perspective on the subject the minister just spoke about. It can lead to a profound exchange of ideas. Unfortunately this open sharing time degenerates in some congregations. In one UU fellowship, a woman stood up “talk back” time and berated people for drinking out of her well marked coffee mug the week before. No one stopped her, so she proceeded her tirade for a full 10 minutes of the Sunday service. Who lulled Cerberus to sleep at that congregation? The members willingness to tolerate this speech communicates that the impulses of one individual far outweigh the needs of the group.

      At another church, the gatekeepers in this case, every member of the congregation used another technique. I’m sure they didn’t consciously think about it, but at coffee hour they gathered in small circles of three or four. One group tried to figure out whether they should continue holding the annual meeting on Saturday night or move it to Sunday morning. Another group started discussing the latest decision by the board to hire another staff member. A circle of close friends talked excitedly about last week’s service auction and shared a concern they had about a friend who didn’t make it to church that morning. No one noticed the visitors standing awkwardly and reading pamphlets.

      In this case, members liked a small gathering. When visitors arrived they feared the congregation would grow too large and they wouldn’t know everyone anymore. They didn’t say directly to the guests, “This congregation is big enough already, please don’t come back,” but their actions achieved the same goal. The visitors didn’t feel a welcome place for them at this UU congregation.

      We sometimes have gatekeepers in our midst who communicate barriers which do not accurately reflect the essence of Unitarian Universalism. Those guests do not know the truth, they just leave.

      If we only let people into Unitarian Universalism who make us feel safe and secure, we lose the essence our religious tradition. To live out the values of Unitarian Universalism involves embracing people who will challenge our ideals in productive and growth inducing ways, even if we think of them as enemies and they make us uncomfortable.

      This has happened in various ways throughout UU history. John Murray grew up a strict Calvinist in the 1700s. As an adult he became a committed Methodist. One day he was sent out to convert a young woman away from her heretical Universalist faith. They engaged in a conversation in which, though Murray did not admit it at the time her arguments convinced him instead of him converting her. He left feeling mortified and avoided Universalists for a period of time, but finally he sought out the Universalist church. John Murray went on to become a minister of that heretical faith tradition and ending up coming to America and starting Universalist churches here.

      Moving forward to the late 1900s, Margot Adler, a Wiccan priestess and author became involved in Unitarian Universalism. You might know her as a National Public Radio correspondent. She wrote many books including Drawing Down the Moon, a history of paganism in America. I’m sure a few UUs felt nervous when she first walked into their congregation. Did she fit in our movement? What would she do to us? In an article from World Magazine in 1996, Margot Adler wrote, “ I guess I chose Unitarian Universalism because I need to live in balance. I love the fact that Unitarian Universalists have a good many atheists and humanists among them. After all, it's important to have a reality check, to have people who will bring us down to earth and say, "Stop all this intuitive garbage and look at the reality: this is a ceiling, this is a table, this is a floor. And by the way, get out of that trance: look at that homeless guy lying in the street. I can do all those wonderful, earth-centered spiritual things: sing under the stars, drum for hours, create moving ceremonies for the changes of seasons or the passage of time in the lives of men and women. But I also need to be a worldly, down-to-earth person in a complicated world--someone who believes oppression is real, that tragedies happen, that chaos happens, that not everything is for a purpose….And I think, in turn, the Pagan community has brought to Unitarian Universalism the joy of ceremony, and a lot of creative and artistic ability that will leave the denomination with a richer liturgy and a bit more juice and mystery.”

      That describes the ideal reciprocal sharing and development that comes when we welcome people to our faith who aren’t exactly like us, who fit our tradition in their own way. Ideally our visitors will learn from us, but also give us new perspectives which challenge us to grow and become more than we already are.

      Each one of us got involved in Unitarian Universalism because we have found something very special and important, something worth preserving. In fact I’ve heard many newcomers say with longing, “I wish I had known about this religion many years ago.” Even more sad are those who spent their life looking for what we offer, but when they finally visit a UU church they are ignored or treated defensively or simply can’t find a seat without walking to the front of the church. These people leave empty and we remain unaware of the loss of a valuable companion on the journey. It’s our responsibility to stand at the gates as new people walk through our doors and protect our core identity as UUs, sharing who who we are, teaching them what this tradition has to offer. When we do this with hearts and minds open, we are ready to receive the precious and unexpected gifts our guests might offer us and our faith tradition.

1. “Orpheus” from The Beautiful Stories of Life: Six Greek Myths, Retold by Cynthia Rylant

Choose to Give Thanks

2009-11-22T20:46:00.002-05:00

Matt Alspaugh

Please join me in singing just the first stanza of Hymn #128, "For All That Is Our Life"[1]. We've been using this hymn in most of our services over the last month, so many of you will find it to be familiar.

For all that is our life, we sing our thanks and praise; for all life is a gift which we are called to use to build the common good and make our own days glad.

I was in Ottawa last week for a ministers meeting they hold every seven years. There were nearly five hundred ministers present. Jason Sheldon, a premier choir director, had organized a choir which was going to sing at the closing service. I did not sign up, thinking most every minister has a far better voice than I do.

On the second day, the choir director put out a request for basses and tenors, so I felt obliged to help out. My contribution was small, my range is limited, but I felt great joy being part of this one hundred person choir. I had forgotten how much fun such singing can be. There's something empowering about finding your musical voice.

So first a pitch. Marcellene is organizing a choir for our Christmas Eve service. Our group, the Sometimes Sunday Singers, will meet for the first time on Sunday December 6, at 10:15. I encourage you to join us, even if you think you're not a strong singer.

So let us sing our thanks and praise! It sounds so much more joyful than when we merely speak our thanks and praise.

Many of us are ambivalent about the hymns we sing. The old joke goes "why do Unitarian Universalists sing so poorly? Because they are busy reading ahead to see if they agree with the words."

Many of us, including me, have thought that our hymns are just revisions of old Lutheran hymns, many of those which were just old German drinking songs. This may be true for some of our hymns, but not all. This particular hymn, "For All That Is Our Life" was written just a couple decades ago by a British Unitarian minister, Bruce Findlow, near the end of his own life.[2]

Findlow served as head of Oxford University's Manchester College, which has historically been a hot-bed of British Unitarian nonconformist thought. Among Findlow's books are Religion in People and I Question Easter.

The tune was written by Patrick Rickey, a composer and organist in Oakland California. The tune is named for Sherman Island, which is one of Rickey's favorite places for windsurfing.

So let's continue in our journey through this hymn. Along the way we'll give voice to those things for which you are thankful, and I'll offer a few thoughts and stories. On to sing the next stanza.

For needs which others serve, for services we give, for work and its rewards, for hours of rest and love; we come with praise and thanks for all that is our life.

When Liz and I lived in Denver, we had a small vegetable garden at our house. It was small because our house was blessed with four ancient and huge elm trees, and so most of the lot was too shady for a garden. But there was one bright spot beside the garage, so we grew peas, and squash, and herbs, and raspberries, and lots of flowers.

I tried to grow tomatoes. I remember the joy of tomatoes from my dad's garden when I was growing up, so having tomatoes from the garden was important to me. And I learned that in Denver tomatoes are an exercise in misplaced hope, a study in chance, a lottery with nature with long, long odds.

The first year, we planted after the last frost, and this was too late. A cool summer meant the tomatoes were still green when the fall cold came. And these are those green tomatoes that you can't get to ripen indoors - they just stare at you from the window sill in bright light green defiance.

So we learned to put them in early, and take a chance on the last frost, sometimes losing that bet. Then we tried the 'Wall of Water', a contrivance used in the mountains to try to prevent plants from freezing. No success here.

Then there was a wet, rainy summer, where few tomatoes set. Then there were those giant nasty green tomato worms that did the plants in.

Finally one year, all was coming together just right. Lots of tomatoes on the vines, big, beautiful, unblemished. Enough summer heat and sun that they were nearly perfectly ripe. The early ones tasted great. Then the hail came. Golf-ball sized chunks of ice. Ok they were small golf-balls, not quite regulation size, but they were enough. There was nothing left, but a few bare, broken stems.

We give our thanks and praise for services we give, for work and its rewards. Too often, we get focused on the rewards of work or of service; the outcomes. We expect our labors in the garden to literally bear fruit. We expect our hard work, our nights at the office to lead to a promotion or a bonus. We expect our efforts helping the homeless or teaching in an after-school program to yield housed, educated, and grateful recipients of our service.

Sometimes, none of this works out like we hoped. The people we help never get their lives together. The career languishes. The garden whispers to us, 'maybe next year'.

Like David Budbill, in the poem "Sometimes" [3] we still feel a sense of gratitude. He tells us, "I've got to say, right now, how beautiful and sweet this world can be."

Our gratitude can emerge from what we have accomplished, our achievements, but it can be so much larger than that. We can give thanks for that which is possible, even if it does not play out exactly the way we hoped. Our gratitude can emerge, when we realize how beautiful and sweet this world can be. Even with agony, and dying, and torture, this world still can be beautiful and sweet. Can be -- that's the operative phrase here. We find gratitude in what can be. We give thanks and rejoice in our efforts, our work and service, as we strive to make a world that can be. Let us continue:

For sorrow we must bear, for failures, pain, and loss, each new thing we learn, for fearful hours that pass: we come with praise and thanks for all that is our life.

People move quickly through the hospital these days, from unit to unit and then to rehab or home care. As a hospital chaplain I saw many people just once. But a few people I saw many times over the course of weeks or even months. You see, one of the units I served was Psych, and I cared for people both in the locked units and those who participated in our outpatient group therapy. In this 'day treatment program' I'd both lead groups and meet with people for individual pastoral care.

One woman I met first in the locked unit, and I saw her for several months. I've of course changed some of the details of her story to respect her anonymity here. I learned of all of the troubles she was having, a marriage on the rocks; a job that was once creative and satisfying was now dry, dull and repetitive; serious problems with teenage kids. On top of all this, she was a deeply religious woman, involved in her church, and the church was blowing up, coming apart at the seams. It seemed that she had run up against the shadow side of synchronicity, that life seemed to have dealt her a lot of bad cards at once.

She progressed in our treatment program, which was most satisfying for me to watch. It was almost as if the color came back in her life. We had many conversations, often about God. Why was God distant, wrecking her life, and on top of that, wrecking her church? Now, you need to know that as a professional chaplain, I do not try to evangelize, but I tried to stay with her as she worked through this.

In the end, her understanding of God deepened. It moved from the big Daddy guy in the sky kind of God to something much deeper, a mystical companion who accompanied her and suffered with her. In this new understanding, she found a deep sense of thankfulness. She told me that while she would not wish this experience of depression on anyone, that she was able to look back on it with a sense of gratitude for the growth that emerged from it.

If we choose to live full lives, we will bear many sorrows. It is how we deal with them that frames our lives. I don't want to suggest that we can simply "look on the bright side" whenever something bad happens.

But we can begin to reframe the stories we tell ourselves about bad things that happen. Are they always someone else's fault? Do we always get the bad deal? Or do we make the attempt to see if there is another way to tell the story, that makes bearing the suffering easier.

Maybe fault and blame are not helpful ideas. My patient stopped blaming God. Maybe some bad deals are just bad, but some are opportunities for a new thing. My patient concluded she needed to leave her church and find a new religious home. That was sad, but necessary.

I never saw this patient again after she left the hospital, which is good, as it means she did not return to the psych ward, as many do. I don't know what happened to her, but I like to think she's doing well and finding a life of balance. It's part of how I remain thankful that I could be of service to this patient in this hospital.

Let's sing the he final stanza:

For all that is our life, we sing our thanks and praise; for all life is a gift which we are called to use to build the common good and make our own days glad.

There is a relatively new field within psychology called positive psychology. It's only a couple decades old, and developed when some researchers noted that all they focused on was disease and disfunction, and that no one was studying the psychology of healthy, flourishing people.

Barbara Fredrickson, a researcher at UNC Chapel Hill, recently published a book called Positivity [4], which explores the benefits of positive emotions; emotions like awe, compassion, joy, amusement, contentment, and gratitude. There is plenty of evidence, based on controlled scientific studies that increasing these positive emotions does improve overall physical health, for example.

Fredrickson then suggests what we might do to have more of these emotional experiences. Again, studies point to the effectiveness of things like walking in nature, meditation, losing oneself in an activity all can contribute to positive emotional states. As an aside, I'd note that these sound like spiritual practices to me!

What doesn't work is trying to think our way to an emotion. We can't say, "I am now going to be joyful" or "I am now in awe". But it does turn out that the easiest emotion to access consciously is gratitude. We can intentionally think of things for which we give thanks, and gradually the feeling of gratitude comes to us. Just the act of thinking about people you love, the good in the life you live, the small gifts and graces in your life, can bring on this feeling of gratitude. It's no wonder many religious traditions include gratitude practice as part of their overall spiritual practices - it is not difficult, and it is effective in raising our spirits.

So as part of my spiritual practice, I found myself walking the trails of Mill Creek Park earlier this week, enjoying the now bare trees over me, noticing the bits of green that remained: ferns, with their jade green, willows with their faded leaves. It was early evening, and crows were beginning to settle down in trees above me, calling to each other, caw, caw caw.

I thought about how this earth has a thin veneer of life overlaying its surface. The bulk of life extends not much farther down than the roots of the trees around me, nor much higher than the crows above me. A thin layer, on a small planet. The only place we know in the universe that life exists. I felt connected to those crows, not crow by crow, but to all of them together as a combined presence. A field of crow energy that enveloped me and held me. An embrace of crow, with all of that black fluttering, calling, cawing, crying vitality.

I have been told that birds are the most direct descendants of dinosaurs, so I imagine the crying of crows to be a primeval sound. I hear dinosaur words in their voices, as they fluttered around warning or gossiping about my presence. I felt connected in crow song, these powerful throaty voices, deep into the history of life here on earth. I felt completely contained and held, fully part of of life, woven into life's past, and into the vitality of the present. I walked in gratitude. I gave thanks.

All life is a gift, I am supremely grateful, I give thanks, and I am glad.

Let us, everyone, choose to give thanks. Let our words and our songs flow, "let us sing with thanks unto the end." Let us all be grateful for these gifts of life.

Notes:
1."For All That Is Our Life", Singing the Living Tradition, UUA, 1993, #128.
2. Jacqui James, Between The Lines: Sources for Singing the Living Tradition, 1998. p. 36.
3. David Budbill, "Sometimes", http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/index.php?date=2008/11/17
4. Barbara Fredrickson, Positivity: Groundbreaking Research Reveals How to Embrace the Hidden Strength of Positive Emotions, Overcome Negativity, and Thrive, 2009.
see also, "Gratitude, Like Other Positive Emotions, Broadens and Builds", Barbara Fredrickson, in The Psychology of Gratitude, Chapter 8, ed. by Robert A. Emmons & Michael E. McCullough, 2004, p. 145.

The Call to Create

2009-11-08T17:28:00.009-05:00

Matt Alspaugh

"How many of you are artists? There must be some here, with all this beautiful art around here?" That's how Gordon MacKenzie, a steel sculptor, would begin his talks with schoolchildren. He describes his experience in his book, "Orbiting the Giant Hairball" [1], and I quote:

The pattern of responses never varied.

First Grade: En masse the children leapt from their chairs, arms waving wildly, eager hands trying to reach the ceiling. Every child was an artist.

Second Grade: About half the kids raised their hands, shoulder high, no higher. The raised hands were still.

Third Grade: At best, 10 kids out of 30 would raise a hand. Tentatively. Self-consciously.

... By time I reached sixth grade, no more than one or two did so and then only ever-so-slightly — guardedly — their eyes glancing from side to side uneasily, betraying a fear of being identified by the group as a “closet artist.”

And this story was from well before the passage of 'No Child Left Behind'! But today is not about schools or kids, but about all of us.

In Praise of the Arts returns here at First UU after several years' absence and I'm grateful for the energy and efforts of many who organized the art show, hung these banners, put together the wonderful reception last night, and did all the other tasks involved in this two week event. In praising the arts, we praise the possibility that all of us are artists, that we all know what those first graders know. We praise creativity, We praise that gift which we all are born with, that ability to make the world more satisfying and beautiful.

So if we've come to see ourselves as not artistic, or uncreative, how do we summon our creative selves back? How might we recover our innate call to create?

One of our readings today [2] described how, as a child, poet Ruth Stone wrote, or rather didn't write, poetry. The poems just showed up, and they were not meek. These were powerful, thunderous, almost terrifying experiences that barreled through her, and if she was fast enough she could grab the poem and get it down on paper before it rumbled past. The creative force seemed to be outside Ruth, and it came in, or she grabbed it and pulled it in.

Are there any of you who have had those experiences? Maybe not so physical, but still, many of us have experienced a flash of insight, the appearance of a complete creative idea suddenly popping into our consciousness.

I've had only a few occasions in which I've had such an inspiration, where a text, or a creative solution appears nearly whole in my mind's eye. It's as if your muse, or your genius, some entity outside yourself just hands you the work, fully formed or nearly so. In ministry, we might say that 'the Spirit moved though you'. Whatever we call it, when this happens, about all we can do is just say 'thank you', because we are in awe and we are grateful.

The second form of inspiration comes from deep within, and it is born of waiting, and listening. This form is far more familiar to me. As in the May Sarton poem [3], we wait as the phoebe does, nurturing the egg of the life of the idea that emerged from us. We sit with it, we incubate it, we give it silence and time to break out.

Except it is not quite that simple. The waiting time does not mean we sit around doing nothing. We are working. We are often hard at work, in this kind of creativity. But the work has a certain silent quality, in that the better part of this creativity we must do alone. There may be many drafts of the poem, many sketches in the sketchbook, many preliminary renditions, before the final layer is placed on the canvas. This is work! and it emerges slowly, from within. We start with that divine spark, and we blow on it, carefully, we give it our breath, by offering it our stillness and steadfast efforts.

Melissa mentioned Julia Cameron's book, The Artist's Way [4], as a tool to recovering your creative self. This book has been around a while, and remains a popular resource. There was at one time a study group here at First UU that used The Artist's Way through the twelve-week program.

In the book, Cameron talks of two critical activities for opening up one's creative self -- these are Morning Pages and Artist Dates. The idea of Morning Pages is simply that you commit to write three pages every morning in a journal. The writing can be on anything, you can even write "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy" over and over. But you do three pages, and you do it every single day.

The idea of the Artists Dates is that once a week, you set aside two hours or so that is time for just you and your creative self to have fun. Time in solitude, maybe walking, taking in a show or a museum or going to an amusement park, this is recreation in the original meaning of the word: re - creation.

I see these two activities as spiritual practices, things you do regularly in order to move toward fullness and wholeness in your life. What Cameron observes, and what others who have used the Artist's Way have told me, is that people tend to love one of these two practices and hate the other. Some love the routine of the Morning Pages, as they feel productive and grounded by them, but they see the Artist's date as frivolous, a waste of time. Others love the fun of the Artist Date, and see the Morning Pages as a boring, daily grind.

Perhaps these two activities line up with the two ways in which creativity can manifest itself to us. If creativity usually comes from outside ourselves, we may enjoy the stimulation of the Artist's Dates. If our source is within us, the rigor of writing pages may nurture that source of creativity.

Now I suspect that the duality I'm describing here -- that creativity either emerges from an outside source or from within us -- is a false one. It's a helpful fiction as we try to understand our patterns of creating. If we are wise, we understand that our creativity depends on both the interior and exterior sources of creative energy.

And as creatives, we get stuck. There are many ways in which our call to create goes unanswered or gets blocked. We already considered the question of identity with the schoolchildren that MacKenzie talked with. When you identify as an artist, of course you are creative. But it is pretty easy to let other life choices drive us to lose that innate sense of creativity. As I look back on my business career, I realize the times when I was most unhappy were when I found myself in situations where 'creativity' didn't seem to be part of the job description. Money, recognition; these did not fill that gaping hole.

Even if we hold on to that identity as artists and 'creatives', we may still find many things, mostly internal, may block our creativity. Perhaps the biggest block is the fear of being inadequate, of being not good enough, even of being laughed at. It takes courage to create, and it gets even harder when we realize that there is always someone who will find our efforts wanting.

I practice Interplay [5], a kind of group expression in movement, dance, song and story. I introduced some of you to Interplay during our Adult Forum time this morning. Our focus is on the play, being in our bodies, creating, having fun, and not on right or wrong or 'improvement'. In Interplay, we experiment with these various activities we call 'forms'. One form is 'run-walk-stop', which is just that: people running, walking or stopping as they wish. Another form is babbling, where we tell very brief stories to one another about mundane things. We may do dance forms, like 'three-play' where we try to have three people moving and the rest observing, but any observer can jump in at any time. So you get the idea: the forms are very loose, it's play, shaped by the people, and it's just a lot of fun.

At the same time, Interplay can provide a space for people to explore the difficult stories in their lives: a dying father, a lump in a breast, a shooting in a church, a suicidal patient at work. Without the sense of performance, or judgment, people can go to amazingly deep places with movement and story and song. And the results can be profoundly beautiful.

Another block to artistic creativity is our sense of isolation. Not only do we feel we do it alone, we may even feel overly competitive with others artists. Yet much of our creation builds quite directly and honestly on the prior work of others, and that is as it should be. This morning Marcelline explored a variation on the tune used in the hymn we sung earlier, and Mi Sook Yun our guest musician, offered a piece based on the 23rd Psalm. Not long ago I attended a traveling exhibition of the art of Picasso [5] and his American contemporaries. I was surprised at the amount of what to me seemed to be outright copying of image elements among artists like Jackson Pollack, Willem De Kooning, Roy Lichtenstein, and Jasper Johns. I immediately thought, "this is plagiarism", but no, the copying furthered these artist's exploration of Abstract Expressionism and what followed it. We can actually be more creative when we work in collaborative community with other artists.

These are just a few of the blocks to creativity: loss of identity, fear, isolation, competition. There are many others, as you well know. We can work to overcome our blocks, realizing that overcoming is hard work, the work of a lifetime.

Where does our creative energy actually come from? For many of us, this is a deeply spiritual question. Strong emotions arise when we create. I have on many occasions found myself weeping as I write out a sermon or even practice the beginning piano pieces I can play. There is sweet joy in this! There does seem to be something larger than me that these emotions are connected to; they well up from something deep and divine.

In my own belief system, I see the creative force as the center of everything. Creativity works by evolving the universe through the process of natural selection, and this particular process abides in much more than just the evolution of life. Even our universe may have been selected out of many universes as one compatible with life.

As humans, we evolved and are aware. Research suggests that many of our moral behaviors result from our evolution as a species. So things like altruism and fairness are part of our nature; they help us survive in groups. It may also be that creativity is a selected evolutionary response. So when I create, and offer the fruits of my efforts up into the world, I work in alignment with this larger creative force; and I feel this.

Now that is just my own window into the understanding of what goes on; it too continues to evolve. In any event, it helps me comprehend what drives me to create, and helps to sustain me during the dry spells.

We who create, create because we must. The poet Wendell Berry tells us, in his poem, 1994 [6]:

I would not have been a poet
except that I have been in love
alive in this mortal world,
or an essayist except that I
have been bewildered and afraid,
or a storyteller had I not heard
stories passing to me through the air,
or a writer at all except
I have been wakeful at night
and words have come to me
out of their deep caves
needing to be remembered.

But on the days I am lucky
or blessed, I am silent.

....
The way of love leads all ways
to life beyond words, silent
and secret. To serve that triumph
I have done all the rest.

So. We are artists; we create, because we love this world. And perhaps the end of our creation will be life beyond words, life beyond our art.

Notes:
1. Gordon MacKenzie, Orbiting the Giant Hairball: A Corporate Fool's Guide to Surviving with Grace, 1998, p. 19.
2. Elizabeth Gilbert, on nurturing creativity, TED Talks, http://www.ted.com/index.php/talks/elizabeth_gilbert_on_genius.html; text transcribed at http://lateralaction.com/articles/elizabeth-gilbert-creativity-divine-inspiration/
3. Julia Cameron, The Artist's Way, 1992.
4. www.interplay.org
5. Whitney Museum, "Picasso and American Art", see http://www.whitney.org/www/exhibition/past.jsp

6. Wendell Berry, A Timbered Choir, The Sabbath Poems 1979-1997, p. 182: "1994, VII", excerpted.

Sharing our Bread

2009-11-01T12:50:00.002-05:00

Matt Alspaugh

This is a sermon about bread. Not about dough or baking, or wheat or gluten, but about the colloquial term. Bread. Money. This is a sermon about money, and sharing money, about generosity of money and life.

Now, money brings up a lot of anxiety for most of us. Even in preparing this sermon, I noticed my own anxiety talking about this topic. Joseph Campbell said, "Money is congealed energy and releasing it releases life's possibilities."[1] Money is, in a way, a distillation of what we value. So how we use money really points to the larger values and concerns we face, and our anxiety about money is a reflection of angst or tension about these larger issues.

There are three particular areas of tension that get reflected in money that I want to speak about today: these three areas are trust, sharing, and purpose. These connect up with money not only in our individual lives, but also in the economics of our society. After all, the word economics comes from the Greek oikonomia, 'the management of a household'. So these areas of tension -- trust, sharing, and purpose -- overlap to touch how we live our personal lives, how this country and the global society functions, and -- as one would expect in a sermon on Stewardship Sunday -- how we relate to this church community.

Let's start with trust. The act of breaking bread together -- with a friend or a companion-- is a classic image of trust. The derivation of companion, from the French, is com - pan - ion 'with bread, being'. To be with bread, to take a meal together implies a certain degree of closeness with the other person, a time where we can relax and let down our guard. Who do you choose to sit with when you take lunch at work? Who do your children sit with when they take lunch at school? Theologian John Dominic Crossan in his book "Jesus, a Revolutionary Biography" suggests that one of the most radical things Jesus did was not his teaching or miracles, but that he simply had meals with people outside his social class. That was unheard of in Hebrew times.[2]

Today, for many of us, it is less about trusting who we break bread with as it is trusting the source of bread, and the overall food supply. Our trust in the production and delivery of food has been shaken with outbreaks of food poisoning from food we once thought was safe and healthy. We've come to realize that terms like 'organic' and 'free-range' and 'fresh-squeezed' have no real meaning, that perhaps they cannot be trusted. We want to trust our sources of food, and one way to do that is to buy locally. I think that trust is the primary factor driving the local food movement, maybe more than the ecological cost of transporting food from afar. You can come to our local farmers market, and actually talk to the farmer about how the food was produced. You can visit their farm if you want. That builds trust.

In our larger society, many voices have suggested that the economic meltdown of the last year or so is due to misplaced trust. Paul Krugman wrote in the New York Times Magazine last month, asking "How Did Economists Get It So Wrong?"[3] He suggests that most economists put too much trust in their theories -- theories that assumed we were all rational economic beings working the free market to maximize our 'utils', our desires. This misplaced trust led to systemic changes in our markets that led to the meltdown of the last year or so.

In religious communities like this one, trust is always in tension. We have to decide which decisions need to be made by everyone, and which ones can be delegated safely to the board of trustees (there's that word again) or others. When does this tension really stretch and strain us? It is when we are talking about money. I've seen some congregations suffer through long congregational meetings, arguing over the smallest details of the budget. Not pretty. Better to find ways to build the trust in committees to make those decisions. Better to work to develop a history of good decisions around money, so we trust that the money is raised and spent wisely.

Trust, in a way, is a spiritual practice. It requires balance. If you are too trusting, you put yourself and those around you at risk. Not trusting enough, and we close off opportunities that life presents us, and we miss the chance to interact with new people or try new things.

The second tension that money places in bold relief is sharing. How do we create a system in which we contribute according to our ability and receive according to our need, and do this efficiently? I remember as a kid, trying to convince my folks to raise my allowance. When that failed, my brother and I tried to talk them into a kind of 'fee for service' arrangement where we'd get paid by the chore. Nope. My mother was pretty adamant that our allowance was paid just for being part of the family, not on the basis of what we did.

In churches, this same sort of dynamic sometimes pops up. I've visited churches, both in our denomination and outside, where it seems everything has a price. There's a jar set out -- $2 for a cup of coffee. There are fees for children's and adult religious education classes.

Some of our old historic Unitarian churches even rented pews. If you visit some of the old Boston churches, you'll find pews sectioned off by low walls -- creating pew boxes, that wealthy families would rent by the year. In a few churches of our Puritan forebears, these pew-boxes even had separate outside entrances, so you didn't have to interact with the hoi-polloi.[4]

I rather prefer the idea that we all share together in the various expenses of this church, that there are few items that require extra fees. Certainly there is the possibility that some will take more than they choose to give, but this process ebbs and flows with the changes that life brings. Part of our challenge as a community is the discernment that helps us know when people should be supported by us because they are in need.

In the larger society the tension emerges between the idea of common-wealth, and individual ownership and rights. I am convinced that a large part of what made this country great was a sense of shared responsibility in creating public schools, public libraries, freeways and open roads, national parks, among other resources of our common wealth. Many of our early Unitarian leaders were instrumental in founding some of these institutions. While it is true that private ownership and the free market also contributed to our greatness, I worry that we are out of balance now, and we've lost this sense of common-wealth. That loss makes all of our lives smaller, more separate, and less full.

The third item of money tension, and perhaps the most important, is purpose. Does how we earn our living fit into our sense of life purpose? Does it track our values? Often there are tradeoffs here, tensions, as people try to balance supporting their families with doing work that is worth doing.

Similarly, how do our values align with how we spend our money, save it, and give it away? I do not need to delineate the details of this conflict, as most of us face this daily, for we are bombarded with advertisements urging us to spend, save, or give in specific ways.

These tensions arise even in making our pledges or estimate of planned monthly giving to this church. I hope we all will think carefully about how much we can give based on how our values align with the sense of purpose of this community, our mission, what we are doing in the world. The generosity of each pledge should be deliberate, it should be well thought out. Each pledge represents a personal linkage of your life purpose to the larger purpose of this institution.

Lynne Twist worked for many years as a fundraiser for The Hunger Project. In her book, the Soul of Money, she describes learning the importance of purpose early in her career. She had two back-to-back fundraising visits. The first was to the CEO of a major agribusiness concern that had been receiving some bad press. Lynn described how this executive half-listened to her pitch, then slid a preprinted check across his desk to her for $50,000, a huge sum for her. But, as Lynn said,

... he had no genuine interest in our work, ... to end world hunger. This was a purely strategic move. He ... wanted the company to look good in the media. In purely financial terms, it was to be a simple transaction: Handing me this check for $50,000 bought his company an opportunity to mend its reputation. But as he slid the check over to me, I felt the guilt of the company coming right across the desk with the money. He gave me the money and the company's guilt.[5]

As a good fundraising professional, Lynn thanked the man for the check and went on to her next meeting, which could not be more different. This was in a church basement in Harlem, in an old building where rainwater was dripping in all around in buckets placed to catch it. Lynn realized she was the only white-skinned person in this crowd of about seventy-five people. She made her pitch, and then there was silence, one of those kind of long silences we who speak publicly dread. Finally, near the back of the room, Lynn saw a middle-aged woman stand up. Lynn recalls what she said.

"Girl", she said, "My name is Gertrude, and I like what you've said and I like you. Now, I ain't got no checkbook and I ain't got no credit cards. To me, money is a lot like water. For some folk it rushes through their life like a raging river. Money comes through my life like a little trickle. But I want to pass it on in a way that does the most good for the most folks. I see that as my right and my responsibility. It's also my joy. I have fifty dollars in my purse that I earned from doing a white woman's wash, and I want to give it to you."[6]

She came up and handed Lynn $50 in small bills, and the others came up too. Lynn realized that this money, barely 1% of the check she received earlier, would do more good to end hunger, than that big check. For behind these small bills there was good intention, and joy.

Lynn made a decision. When she got back to her office she returned the check with a note suggesting that the company put the money behind something it could believe in.

Now the story doesn't end there. Lynn heard from that same CEO years later. He told her he had retired, and as he reviewed his career, the returned check stuck out as a pivotal memory. He realized that he now wanted to do something with his money, he wanted to make a difference, he needed a new sense of purpose. He ended up supporting The Hunger Project and donating many times the amount of the original check out of his own funds.

Lynn concludes,

"No matter how much or how little money you have flowing through your life, when you direct the flow with soulful purpose, you feel wealthy. You feel vibrant and alive when you use your money in a way that represents you, not just in response to the market economy, but as an expression of who you are. When you let money move to things you care about, your life lights up. That's really what money is for."[7]

In our reading, UU minister Lynn Ungar tells us,

This is the lifeline --
the etched path from hand
to grain to earth, the transmutation
of the elements through touch
marking the miracles
on which we unwillingly depend.[8]

It is through our touch that grain and flour become our bread, our sustenance. In the same way, money is nothing without our touch. It is only when we share it and put it to use that it has any meaning at all, any chance of satisfying us. It is wise for us to consider how we put our money, our sustenance, to use in this community. So we should ask ourselves some questions.

What are the possibilities, the dreams of this church community? Can we trust others in the community to share in the efforts that carry us toward our common purpose? How will this community sustain us in the future? What miracles will emerge from our involvement, our touch, our support? What can we offer toward this higher purpose.

Following this service when we sit together and share a meal of soup and bread, we will explore some of these questions. Our visitors today are welcome to join us, and as you are our guests, we will not ask you for a financial pledge.

If as Joseph Campbell suggests, money is congealed energy, then perhaps our pledges are distilled gratitude for this community. Let us release the energy behind money, releasing our gratitude, and release life's possibilities which this church represents. When you direct the flow of your money in alignment with your life, you find deep joy.

Notes:
1. Jerrod Mundis, Making Peace with Money, 1999, p. 168.
2. John Dominic Crossan, "Jesus, a Revolutionary Biography", 1999. Chapter 3.
3. Paul Krugman, "How Did Economists Get It So Wrong?", New York Times Magazine, Sept. 6, 2009. http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/06/magazine/06Economic-t.html
4. Alice Morse Earle, The Sabbath in Puritan New England, 1891, p. 33.
5. Lynne Twist, The Soul of Money, 2003, p. 99.
6. ibid., p. 101.
7. ibid. p. 119.
8. Blessing the Bread: Meditations, Lynn Ungar, 1996, p. 1.

The Veil Becomes Thin - A Day of the Dead Service

2009-10-25T14:25:00.004-04:00

Matt Alspaugh

Part I
Reading: from Animal, Vegetable, Miracle. [1]

Aren't you just amazed by the fall colors this year? I was driving over to Cleveland this week and was enraptured by the trees. Such color: that bright orange, crimson, even magenta and occasional purple. Those almost fluorescent yellows, and that bright chartreuse as some trees begin to change late. I wondered whether other drivers were as attentive, or inattentive, as I was, whether we'd all just drive off the road following this visual ecstasy, cars lined up in the ditches, struck dumb in amazement.

The colors of fall leaves are not like the colors of flowers, in nature. Flowers are colored by design, by the force of natural selection that drives them to advertise what they have to bees and insect and some birds. But tree color, that's just a by- product of the colors of certain leaf chemicals, the yellow carotenoids and the red anthocyanins. In a way they are an unexpected gift of nature to us. Or perhaps a gift of the divine. This is grace, an unexpected gift.

It's worth noting that this gift of color comes as a byproduct of senescence, the process of controlled death of the leaves. In the process of dying, the green chlorophyll degrades, and these other colors are gradually revealed to us. The stunning colors remind us that the leaves will soon be gone, that after this burst of glory the trees will be bare, and the world begins to become quiet, preparing for the time of cold and dark.

Many cultures have celebrated this time of year with a mixture of gratitude for the gifts of the harvest and a recognition of the dying time to come. Here in the US we celebrate Halloween, which is an adaptation of the Gaelic festival of Samheim. In that Pagan tradition, this is the time when the veil between heaven and earth was at its thinnest, and contact with the dead, in ghostly form or otherwise, was more likely.

One of the things the Catholic church was very successful at doing was merging other religious beliefs into an expanded Catholic religion. This is why Christmas happens near the winter solstice, and why Halloween is celebrated as All Saints Day. As Barbara Kingsolver suggested in the reading, The Catholic Church simply dropped a holiday about saints on top of an existing Gaelic holiday. On the other hand, the Catholic missionaries encountering the Aztec ritual of of the Dead were able to shift the date for that ritual to All Saints Day, but they failed to get the Aztecs to abandon their theology or holiday practices in favor of going to Mass.

As both Ellen and Barbara Kingsolver noted, the various Hispanic celebrations around death are often joyful and celebratory. They are not focused on horror or morbidity, as our Halloween tradition is. There is no sense that the dead will return to harm us, rather that this is a time for reconnection with the dead.

A few years ago, a new Latino minister, Reverend Peter Morales, brought a celebration to the church I attended. This was Dia de los Muertos, Day of the Dead, and it is what we will celebrate here today. Our version will be a bit more modest than the way many celebrate: we won't travel to grave sites with blankets, we don't have bread babies, or nibble on candy skulls, or imbibe plenty of local alcoholic brew. But we will take time to acknowledge and remember our dead, those we loved who are no longer with us.

But first I feel I must address the topic of misappropriation. This is the term we use to denote the improper borrowing, maybe even stealing of traditions or music or art from other cultures. Misappropriation has been a particular concern of Unitarian Universalists, since we tend to draw from so many sources to create our own traditions. We want to do this borrowing and combining and creation with respect, even if we lack specific permission from those from whom we borrow. I hope and trust that we can see that this ritual and other parts of the Day of the Dead tradition are gifts to us, gifts that we share with each other today with the utmost honor and respect.

Within this gift there is a message, offered freely, as in grace. It invites us to ask-- how do we see our relationship with those who have left us, those who have gone beyond? Some of us may have a very real, tangible sense of connection with our dead. We may have dreams, we may have had visions or presence or conversations with our departed. For others, this is all much more metaphorical. We may have conversations with the deceased, but they are of a more hypothetical nature: you know, what would my mother say about that! Or we may just learn to live with the normal emotions of grief, the ones that continue on and never completely fade. Emptiness. Loss.

What we in this culture seem to be re-learning, after having almost forgotten it, is that it is important to celebrate grief, to make time for grief. Memorial services, funerals, internments are all important for everyone, including children. Also important is the periodic return to such celebration, as in this Day of the Dead. As we return again to our memories, we may find feelings that are more complex than just a generic sense of sorrow. We want to remember those we have lost in all their complexity, in good and bad, in what they left us and what they took away. We want to remember them as real, living people who were important to us, that we loved and who loved us, and we can still find a real and deep connection with them.

So it is that we have this celebration of the dead here today. On this, our common table or altar, you are invited to place photos or mementos or other objects of those who you remember today. If you did not bring an object with you and you would like to take part in the ritual, the ushers have flowers, and you are invited to place a flower on the table as a token of remembrance. My experience is that this is most powerful when done in silence. I invite you forward as you wish to add your tangible reminders to the larger memory of this place.

Part II
Reading: "The White Museum" [2]

One of the first things I learned as a hospital chaplain is that the conversation with the family of a deceased person about organ donation is a delicate one. Even people who are normally rational and who hold liberal views about such things are sometimes tripped up in the chaos following death, even an expected death. People often make decisions using a worldview resurrected from their childhood. So it was that when my mother died, her request that her body be donated to science was somehow ignored. Instead of having some first-year medical student wander through the museum of her brain, she came back to us in a brown plastic box.

My Dad finally decided what to do with her. We threw her off a cliff. Those were my words for it. It was probably illegal, but we didn't think about that at the time. We took her ashes to a state park in Texas, where a path overlooked the Brazos River, and in turns, spread her ashes over the edge of that path onto the slope below. We return to that site, more frequently in the beginning, less frequently now, twenty years later. When we go there, it is a time for remembering my mother's life. Perhaps for me, and my siblings, this remembering and grieving and letting go is as Carl Sandburg writes [3]:

Gather the stars if you wish it so.
Gather the songs and keep them.
Gather the faces of women
Gather for keeping years and years.

And then ...
Loosen your hands, let go and say good-by.
Let the stars and songs go.
Let the faces and years go.
Loosen your hands and say good-by.

This letting go is how my siblings and I did it. It wasn't a sad thing for us. We don't do it because others compelled us to do it, it just made sense for us. We loosened our hands, let go, and say good-by. This happened for us just as a natural course of things.

In some circumstances, though, some of us will find the sense of loss does not diminish, that the grief remains at some significant level. Sometimes those around us push us to 'get over it and get on with life'. Some of the old models of grief, such as Elisabeth Kubler-Ross's stages of grieving -- you know, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance -- suggest that one has move through steps with grieving to 'get it right'. I'm not sure this is helpful, for we all relate to loss in our own way. Some of us -- very appropriately -- grieve longer and more deeply than others. My experience in the hospital has led me to the point of view that any way we relate, whether in sorrow or with the kind of joy of remembrance that Latinos bring to Day of the Dead, is OK, providing it doe not become all- consuming.

Of course, as we think about others who have died, we must confront our own mortality. We must consider perhaps someday someone else, children, grandchildren, friends, may place our pictures, our own pictures, up on an altar like this one.

What happens after we die? This is one of life's persistent questions, one that we UUs often avoid. A minister friend told me it was one question that he thought not useful to explore. I differ on this, though I know with some certainty that I have no answers.

I think it is important for us to acknowledge that this question is a mystery, that there are many possible answers, and that we operate contingently, trying to make sense of these possibilities. For some of us, visions of the world of the dead are just a matter of curiosity. For some people, those visions inform their faith, and guide their choices and behavior in this world. Is someone watching over us, tracking our every move? How does this world relate to some world to come? For this world is just a temporary way-station, like a dirty bus terminal filled with strangers, a place to be endured while you wait for your bus to take you away.

But for a great many of us, there is a sense that there is no world other than this one, that this world is a place to cherished, and the people around us are to be cared for. After we die, we live on through the legacy of our actions, the things we did while we were alive in this world. How will we be remembered? What do we leave behind? Who did we love?

Rumi tells us, in a translation by Jonathan Star [4]:

The secrets of eternity are beyond us
And these puzzling words we cannot understand.
Our words and actions take place on this side of the veil.
O soul, When the veil is gone, we are gone.

This is the time of the year when the veil is thin, when we are invited to puzzle over the secrets of eternity. Those secrets will not be revealed to us on this side of the veil. To some degree we create our own understanding of such eternity, and we do so through the ones we love who have gone beyond the veil. We all enter and exit this world through the same gate. No matter how different each of us lives in this world, the exit is the same for all of us. Those who have preceded us in death can be our guides to what lies ahead for us. In their continued presence, in our memories of them, we can be joyful. We are not alone. In some sense, they are with us still.

Lifting up and remembering those who precede us, who have left this world, as we have done today, connects us deeply with one another. Let this table serve as a reminder, and let us revel in the profound joy of the connection, perhaps unspoken, that binds all of us who dwell together in this place and on this earth.

Notes
1 Barbara Kingsolver, Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, 2007, p. 289.
2 "The White Museum", George Bilgere, http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/ index.php?date=2009/03/23
3 Carl Sandburg, Smoke and Steel, 1920. - V. Mist Forms.
4 Jonathan Star, Rumi: In the Arms of the Beloved, 1997, p. 169.

Tolerance

2009-10-18T16:13:00.002-04:00

Tim Raridon

What do we think of when we think of the word “tolerance”?

Tolerance. Many thoughts come to mind… Acceptance? Similar, but not quite the same thing. I may tolerate someone’s opinions and accept that person as a friend, and yet I might not accept the opinions they hold. Tolerance has many nuances of meaning and gives rise to thoughts of many important concepts.
Tolerance. Putting up with. Cooperation. Forgiveness. The right to be wrong.

Broadmindedness. Open-mindedness. Religious freedom. Tolerance is certainly an important underpinning of religious freedom, as every good Unitarian who has had to put up with the rest of those other wrong religions for so long will certainly attest. Peaceful co-existence. Lenience. Patience. Diversity.

Tolerance. Freedom. Democracy. Tea parties. Town halls. Live and let live. Agree to disagree. Freedom of the press. Freedom to assemble. Freedom of speech.

The word “tolerance” is derived from the Latin tolerare which means “to bear,” like bearing a burden. There are many diverse uses of uses of the word based on bearing burdens of all kinds, but I am primarily talking about tolerance as it relates to our reaction to those who believe differently than we do. And be aware, there is a “word thing” involved here. Semantic interpretations of what is meant and implied by “tolerance” abound. What do you think of when you think of “tolerance”?
The great enlightenment thinker Voltair—known for his advocacy of religious and philosophical tolerance—said: “What is tolerance? -- it is the consequence of humanity. We are all formed of frailty and error; let us pardon reciprocally each other's folly -- that is the first law of nature.”

This is the kind of interdependent, peaceful, cooperative notion that others of the enlightenment—like Thomas Jefferson—eventually developed into a central philosophical pillar that supports our religious and democratic freedoms. Tolerance. Perhaps Joshua Liebman explains the fundamental concept best: “Tolerance is the positive and cordial effort to understand another's beliefs, practices, and habits without necessarily sharing or accepting them.” Live and let live. Agree to disagree.

The idea of tolerance is not always held in such high regard, however. Some believe that “tolerance” is symptomatic of a certain moral or philosophical arrogance held by those doing the tolerating. For example, Mahatma Gandhi—yes, that Mahatma Gandhi—said, “Tolerance implies a gratuitous assumption of the inferiority of other faiths to one's own.” Gandhi’s sentiment is echoed by Father Domonique Pire, who similarly said, “Let us not speak of tolerance. This negative word implies grudging concessions by smug consciences. Rather, let us speak of mutual understanding and mutual respect.” I must say, these perspectives on the subject do give one pause and provide an opening to a deeper discussion of tolerance as a concept and the ways we resolve and deal with moral, religious and philosophical differences. Let’s dig into this a bit more and see what we find.

First, tolerance can be thought of as being the very essence of egalitarian thinking, and does not, from my perspective, imply a superiority or inferiority on either side of the equation between the “tolerator” and the “tolerated”. It seems, therefore, that I am in the rather dubious position where I must take issue with Mahatma Gandhi and Father Pire. Actually, it is merely a matter of semantics.

There is not a hierarchy with righteous smug consciences on top and inferior lower minded consciences on the bottom at work here. Tolerance is horizontal, not vertical. It implies accepted differences, not overbearing disputes based on religious or political hierarchies and status. All men and women and children are created equal as far as this view of tolerance goes. Superiority and inferiority are not at issue. Equality of rights prevails in a free democracy and in a free church built on tolerance. Father Pire, sage and great wise teacher Gandhi, we are talking of mutual understanding and mutual respect when we speak of “tolerance”. We also understand your message of humility. In today’s reading, Thomas Jefferson, like Gandhi and Father Pire, reminds us to be humble in our tolerance, saying: “I know too well the weakness and uncertainty of human reason to wonder at its different results.” Tolerance is intrinsically humble and egalitarian, because we know we are all individuals—we are all fallible human individuals.
Some have equated tolerance with passivity and weakness. ”Tolerance is the virtue of a man with no convictions,” said GK Chesterton. William Somerset Maugham just as tersely said, “Tolerance is another word for indifference.” The thought here is that if you do not stand strongly in firm, righteous opposition to those with whom you disagree, you are somehow inadequate or do not care enough to fight for your beliefs. Maugham’s equating of tolerance with indifference is perhaps a bit strong, but there does seem to be a point here. We should guard ourselves against an aloof indifference. To this point, Margaret Chase Smith said, “We should not permit tolerance to degenerate into indifference.” We ignore those with destructive views at our own risk. Left unchecked, some elements can cause the corrosion of the whole fabric of society.

Tolerance is not necessarily indifference. In fact, it is often the opposite of indifference.

When we tolerate we not only recognize another‘s right to their opinion, but we also declare our right to our own opinion. My tolerance declares that I have made a stand, but that others may freely differ. Again, the idea is that you or I may strongly disagree with the ideologies or political views or religious views of others, but if I wish to have and exercise my freedoms, I must allow others their freedoms and beliefs. I really like the way Eleanor Holmes Norton put it: ”The only way to make sure people you agree with can speak is to support the rights of people you don't agree with.”
Tolerance is not an expression of indifference. It is an expression of my individuality and it is an invitation for further discussion and growth. JFK said: “Tolerance implies no lack of commitment to one's own beliefs. Rather it condemns the oppression or persecution of others.” This is a great distinction. Tolerance, in this view, is an expression of opposition—opposition to the oppression of others for their beliefs. Jerome Nathanson’s perspective expands this idea further. He said, “The price of the democratic way of life is a growing appreciation of people's differences, not merely as tolerable, but as the essence of a rich and rewarding human experience.”
Tolerance. This word evokes many thoughts and emotions, especially in this time of intense political and social discord. We are witnessing a very turbulent and contentious time for tolerance right now, a time in which we, all of us—as individuals, as a community, and as a country—are profoundly re-examining many of our fundamental—sometimes conflicting— concepts regarding, among other things, how our society should be organized and the role of government and leaders in solving a multitude of social and financial difficulties. Opinions are plentiful. The most basic aspects of civilized society and democracy are now being scrutinized

and vigorously fought over, and we are currently as challenged as any previous generations have ever been in attempting to resolve disputes peaceably.

The way things have shaken out, sustaining a healthy inter-personal democratic tolerance for opposing views is now becoming increasingly difficult and pragmatically challenging. Patrick Nielsen Hayden, said: “We tend to idealize tolerance, then wonder why we find ourselves infested with losers and nut cases.” It is difficult to argue with this sentiment right now. Many of the strong currents that flow through the real world apparently reflect little interest in peaceful coexistence and harmonious disagreement. The politics of zero tolerance regarding opposing views and policies is upon us. It is not the first time in history that strongly opposing views have threatened to undermine peaceful coexistence. But the present twenty-first-century-post-nine-eleven-technology-age-first-African-American-president circumstance is like no other we have ever known. What is going on?
It can be said that tolerance is the foundation of freedom and of our nation. This is something I have pondered for quite some time. The idea of mutual tolerance is in many ways the bedrock of our Constitution and a major tenet of the founding of our nation. It is also in many ways a monumentally simple concept. Yet, whole civilizations have warred and crumbled for lack of understanding the power and necessity of tolerance. They failed to see the value in a peaceful co-existence of people with conflicting individual views and their ability to live successfully in a tolerant atmosphere of diverse cooperation which ultimately creates a more stabilized civilized society and a more constructive governmental discourse for all.

The truth is it is difficult to imagine democratic freedoms existing without tolerance. Perhaps this is the very core of what inspired me to talk about it today. Without some level of political tolerance and cooperation, we are left only with increased rancor and discord. As discord and enmity grow, division and confusion create vicious entrenched foes out of our leaders and our people. True democracy is undermined by anger, intolerant hatred and growing movement toward self righteous dissent and an increasing tendency for violence. As fear grows, the already powerful become more powerful and centralized, feeding on the inability of our democratic government act effectively. There is no quarter. Tolerance is not tolerated. Government freezes due to lack of cooperation and fear grows. And the downward spiral seems to continue endlessly. Tolerance dies. If tolerance dies, so does democracy. We feel like a motherless child. Democracy itself becomes a motherless child…a long way from home.
The tolerance that supports and nourishes our free democracy is severely under attack. We should pay heed to Rene Dubos, who said: “Human diversity makes tolerance more than a virtue; it makes it a requirement for survival.” I believe this is very true. If it is, then we are currently at great risk. But there is more to this.

The deep irony of tolerance is that it has limits. We do not, for example, tolerate murder. We did not tolerate Hitler. We did not tolerate King George in the 1770s. We humans have throughout history drawn certain lines in the sand and said we will not tolerate this or that based on our own collective beliefs. This is clear, and we need to recognize that such limits exist and are even quite necessary. Again, we strive to be tolerant, but we are not altogether indifferent.

The question before us is: Do we still value tolerance as a pillar of our society and our democracy? To what degree of dissent must one or the other of our opposing political groups go before tolerance is no longer possible? Has one side or the other—or both—already passed that critical point? What action of intolerance is either side now willing to undertake in order to preserve a society that has been founded on principles of tolerance? Do we put our society at risk as a result of our stubborn belief in a cooperative democracy based on mutual understanding and mutual respect? Does our stubborn belief in tolerance prevent us from taking action to uphold our convictions and beliefs?

These are difficult questions that I merely wish to raise here and which I will not now attempt to comprehensibly answer. However, I will add this. I genuinely believe that we all must be diligent and support the shaking pillars of our tenuous democracy by supporting the ideal of mutual tolerance and constructive discourse. Tolerance of many beliefs is a central part of the Unitarian tradition. I am drawn to close my thoughts on this matter by inviting you to ponder the beauty and simplicity of the Yin Yang symbol, and how well it represents the conflict and harmony of opposing forces. White spinning into black. Darkness spinning into light. Each containing an element of the other. Each surging forward. Each relenting. Both stay strong. The whole stays strong. And harmony is created.

Quotes:
Eleanor
Holmes Norton:

The only way to make sure people you
agree with can speak is to support the rights of people you don't agree
with.

Jerome Nathanson:

The price of the democratic way of life
is a growing appreciation of people's differences, not merely as tolerable,
but as the essence of a rich and rewarding human experience.

Margaret Chase Smith:

We should not permit tolerance to degenerate
into indifference.

Mark Twain:

Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry,
and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these
accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot
be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one's
lifetime.

Ralph W. Sockman:

The test of courage comes when we are
in the minority. The test of tolerance comes when we are in the majority.

Robert Louis Stevenson:

There is so much good in the worst of
us, and so much bad in the best of us, that it behooves all of us not
to talk about the rest of us.

Rene Dubos:

Human diversity makes tolerance more
than a virtue; it makes it a requirement for survival.

Celebrations of Life, 1981

Voltaire:

What is tolerance? -- it is the consequence
of humanity. We are all formed of frailty and error; let us pardon reciprocally
each other's folly -- that is the first law of nature.

ARISTOTLE:

It is the mark of an educated mind to
be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.

GK CHESTERTON:

Tolerance is the virtue of
the man without convictions.

RUMI:

“Out
beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I will
meet you there.”

William Somerset Maugham:

Tolerance is another word
for indifference.

Mahatma Gandhi:

Tolerance implies a gratuitous
assumption of the inferiority of other faiths to one's own.

Patrick Nielsen Hayden:

We tend to idealize tolerance,
then wonder why we find ourselves infested with losers and nut cases.

JFK:

Tolerance implies no lack of commitment
to one's own beliefs. Rather it condemns the oppression or persecution
of others.

Joshua Liebman:

Tolerance is the positive and cordial
effort to understand another's beliefs, practices, and habits without
necessarily sharing or accepting them.

Wilbert E. Scheer

Tolerance is the oil which takes the
friction out of life.

Father
Dominique Pire:

Let us not speak of tolerance. This negative
word implies grudging concessions by smug consciences. Rather, let us
speak of mutual understanding and mutual respect.

Heinrich Heine:

Be entirely tolerant or not at all; follow
the good path or the evil one. To stand at the crossroads requires more
strength than you possess.

We All Belong

2009-10-11T15:32:00.002-04:00

Matt Alspaugh

Some time ago, I asked my Dad how it was that my family had become Methodists, since I knew that he had been raised in that tradition. I expected him to tell me something about the theology of the Methodists, or John Wesley or the warm, emotional side of that faith, but he didn't. He said that when his parents needed to choose a church, the Methodist Church in their small town was a little bit closer to their home than the Baptist church. That was it! But for an accident of location, I could have been raised a Southern Baptist! Hard to imagine...

Now, today, most people put a little more thought into picking their church. Because they can drive farther, churches have gotten larger, just as supermarkets and high-schools have gotten larger. So when people church-shop, many of them evaluate churches as consumers would, comparing features: how good is the praise band, how silver-tongued is the preacher, do they serve cappucino or even breakfast, does the church-school have a playground with the latest equipment. Often, belief, theology, tradition and history do not even enter into the picture, or if they do, they are only a small checkbox on a large checklist.

We don't have a praise band or a playground and we don't regularly serve breakfast, (though our coffee hour snacks are fairly spectacular, in my opinion) And as for silver tongued preachers, certainly this tongue is made of flesh, so I hope you are here for different reasons. I hope you came here because you are, or were, looking for something different. I think most of you came, and stayed here because you want to belong.

Let me quote Reverend Ravi Janamanci, a Unitarian Universalist minister who spoke at General Assembly this year. I think Jim Rogers commented on Ravi's talk in the last newsletter. Ravi describes his experience as an immigrant from India, and his sense of not belonging.

In the US, I felt like a visitor from outer space. ... In the anonymity of Chicago, I wanted to belong--as a natural part of the human landscape, not an aberration to be tolerated. I wanted to be comfortable in the presence of others and know they were comfortable in mine. I did not want to be caught ... in the fault lines between worlds, cultures, and faiths.[1]

Ravi wanted to be a part of the community. Ravi went on to describe what happened -- a minister who invited him to church. Let me continue this long quote because I love his language:

The late Reverend Frank Robertson, ... invited me to his church. Frank gave me the incredible gift of seeing myself as more than just the sum of my identities. He showed me what Unitarian Universalism was all about: a faith open and welcoming to people regardless of ethnicity, theology, sexual orientation, gender identity or expression, or political affiliation; a faith where theological crossbreeds, cultural mutts, religious hybrids like you and me can struggle and connect.... A faith where being a mutt or a mongrel is not an awful place of last resort but an intentional first choice. Instead of promising a heaven of sameness, Frank invited me into a community of individuals working at creating a heaven on earth.

Ravi notes that belonging in this faith is a struggle. He says:

Many of us struggle to belong in this faith–as people of color and from minority cultures, as differently-abled people, as gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, queer, questioning people, as Christian theists, pagans, atheists, secular humanists, Hindus, Buddhists, or as Republicans.

Yet, we stay. We keep showing up. Why? – because we know we are not alone. Somehow, we know that we belong here and that the struggle to belong is an integral part of belonging.

Ravi's message is this: we belong because we must. We meet others here, engaged in similar struggle, and in them we glimpse a higher sense of purpose that we wish to be a part of. We discern that this community is connected to something big, and we want to be a part of this discovery and creation of meaning, to share in what is being constructed here.

Whether or not we are members, and have actually completed the ritual of signing the membership book, we are here, we belong, because we must. We come here, because at least to some degree, we can let go of some of the pretenses imposed in the other communities where we live and work. Here, we can just be ourselves and not our identities, imperfect but working to be better persons in a better world.

We also come, I hope, in part because we feel cared for here. Friends in this church community want to learn about our struggles and our suffering as well as our successes. Even if the community can do little to heal the hurts, it can hold us in care, and help ease those burdens.

Every bit as important as being cared for -- is caring. We come to this community because is offers us an opportunity to care, to help out, to be of use. We care not only for others in the community, we care for the community itself. Once these basic needs are met, we can expand our caring reach to those outside the walls of this community. The church is interconnected to other communities through care, through the work we do in the larger world.

For most of us, caring is a natural and a joyful response. We are glad to be of use, whether it is visiting friends who are ill, or helping out here in the nursery on Sunday morning, or organizing the Farmer's Market. Our hearts grow warm as we do these things, and that joyous warmth brings us closer to others and deeper into this community.

I consider this church community to be a microcosm of the larger communities in the world. The challenge of this church, or any community, is to provide a safe place for people to be of use, to follow their calls. This may mean helping them to find and do things they may not otherwise get a chance to do. One of the challenges of this church is to push us to explore areas that may be uncomfortable or scary of difficult.

We're beginning to explore a new form of Shared Ministry in the Sunday Services group. I'm inviting individuals who are in that group to work with me on particular sermon topics. Diana Shaheen worked with me on this one, and I asked her to find readings and poetry and to bring her own thoughts to a conversation about the topic of Belonging to Community. I think Diana also might agree that this is stepping out of her comfort zone, and doing something new and different. I look forward to others on the Sunday Services team trying this approach with me. It's an example of caring by being of use.

A final way to care, to help out, is through our financial contributions. We are entering the weeks of the pledge drive, the time when we make financial commitments for the next year.

Giving money to an organization is both very simple and complex. It seems simple because it can reduce the measure of our care to a simple numerical calculation. How much do I value this church community? Two percent of my income? Three percent? Five or ten percent? That's the simple part.

And giving money is complex because money and finance is so imbued with so much meaning in our culture. Salaries are secret in most companies. We're all focused on getting a 'good deal' in our purchases and transactions. Many live in anxiety as the worth of our retirement accounts ebb and flow as they ride the jitters of the stock market. So even thinking about making a monetary gift to the church through a pledge can bring up complex emotions. We hope the next few weeks will provide an opportunity for each of us to explore this complexity.

It would be nice to consider a variety of different types of community beyond this church, but time does not permit that. So let us consider just one more, one at the opposite size extreme from this church. Let us consider the ecosystem, that interconnected web of life to which we all belong and which we cannot choose to leave. Like it or not, we're all part of the community of nature.

The reading by Stephen Belbin we heard earlier was excerpted from a longer paper "Totality and Belonging: Toward Eco-Concept Synthesis."[2] This reading as well as the paper offer rich ideas about our place in the ecological community. I hope I can offer a brief exploration of these ideas.

Belkin tells us that among all those forms of life, we alone have the sense of belonging. As sentient beings, we understand our place in nature in a way that other creatures and inanimate objects cannot. We have awareness, and since we are aware of belonging to this community, that awareness brings choice. We can choose how we will interact with the community of life.

One choice for us is the traditional Judeo-Christian view: we shall have power and dominion over the creatures of the earth, use them, bend them to our wishes. We see the natural world is corrupt, imperfect, even evil, to be tamed.

Another choice is to merge completely with the natural world as it is. We could return to a state of nature, and we could live off the land in the most Romantic sense. In this approach we see nature as perfect, and are in awe.

Belbin tries to find a middle way between a humanity that is separate from nature and which dominates over it, and a humanity that is completely embedded in nature. We can belong, in a different way, to the natural world. We have to recognize that nature is neither perfect nor corrupt. We have to confront the bad as well as the good. We have to discern, we have to act responsibly.

Moreoever, we have to be leaders. In the words of writer Margaret Wheatley, "I define a leader as anyone who's willing to help, anyone who sees an issue in their community, their family, their organisation, and is willing to just step forward and do something about it."[3] I would note that this definition of leadership applies both to our role in the world, and in this church as a microcosm of the world. So in either setting, in any setting, when our awareness leads us to care and to help, we become leaders in the community.

Now there was one part of the reading that I struggled and tussled with. Belkin imagines our current world, our interconnected ecosystem, what he calls the totality, as a bridge that we must cross over to some perfect and unchanging reality beyond.

He warns that we cannot stop on the bridge -- either by worshipping Nature or power -- we have to cross. At the same time, we cannot just fly across, bypassing the bridge, and (his words) "claiming instead a self righteous inheritance of a glorious future invisible." In other words we must not ignore or despoil this world in hopes of some future rapture or resurrection to some heavenly home in the afterlife.

So we have to cross. What does it mean to cross over the bridge to some perfect and unchanging reality beyond? Perhaps this might refer to an ecologically sustainable reality, in which our very downsized ecological footprints tread lightly on this earth. To achieve true sustainability would require that we operate at a level of physical neutrality: zero population growth, a flat GDP, elimination of all extractive and polluting aspects of production.

It may also be that this perfect and unchanging reality is related to some worldwide spiritual enlightenment. Perhaps the emergence of the Omega Point or the technological singularity. I personally don't know what that would look like. I don't have that kind of theological imagination. I may be agnostic on this potential for enlightenment, but don't let my beliefs or unbeliefs limit yours.

But whatever Belkin means, there may be a germ of truth in this idea that we must cross the bridge. If we think of our church community as a microcosm of the larger world, then I do agree that part of our task is not to come to this community and just stay in place, doing the same things over and over, but to cross the bridge. To find personal spiritual transformation and to live lives of wholeness.

The community becomes both an end and a means. We both cross over the bridge and we live on it. We do our part in this church community, sharing the joys and the burdens of our ministry. We become leaders because we care. And at the same time, we continue to do our own work of self development and transformation. We do both these together: both crossing over and living on the bridge.

In all of our communities there are bridges. We live on them, we belong, we do the work, and we cross over, finding change and growth in whatever way it is presented to us.

As to the whole world, the totality, the concept of simultaneously living on and crossing over the bridge is hard to grasp. I continue to struggle with that image. Sometimes I get a glimpse of the vision of where we are going and what we must do. It is fleeting, hard to put into words. Better to reach for the words of others, like Albert Einstein:

Human beings are part of a whole called the "Universe", a part limited in time and space. We experience ourselves, our thoughts and feelings, as something separated from the rest -- a kind of optical delusion of consciousness. The delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons near us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circles of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty.[4]

Each one of us is a member of several communities: interlocking communities of family, church, city, nation, and the whole of humanity. We are asked to widen our circle of compassion beyond the boundaries of each of these communities, blending and overlapping into the larger community that is this world. We are called to care, and to care is to lead. This is how we get to the other side of the bridge, to a more perfect reality. It is up to each of us to do this, in our own way, and it is within our abilities to do so. It is a lifelong task. Let us rise to that task. May it be so.

Notes:
1 Ravi Janamanci, "Faith in the Borderland", Sermon at GA 2009,www.uua.org/documents/ janamanchiabhi/090628_faith_borderland.pdf
2 Science in Africa on-Line Magazine, http://www.scienceinafrica.co.za/2001/december/ecocon.htm
3 Margaret Wheatley, speaking on Future Tense, ABC Radio National, http://www.abc.net.au/rn/futuretense/stories/2009/2611237.htm
4 From Irene von Lippe Biesterfield with jessica van Tijn, "Science, Soul, and the Spirit of Nature", (quoted in Parabola Fall 2007, p. 52)

The Answers Are Not in the Back of the Book

2009-10-04T19:49:00.004-04:00

4 Oct. 2009 -- Martin Berger

      Our Alternative Services Committee originally intended to offer us this day a commentary on Things We Learned in School That Aren’t True, to be linked with Columbus Day, an observance that comes up in about a week. The service was to feature the bright young historian who now teaches Latin American history at YSU. She will no doubt address this audience in the future, and she will do so splendidly, but as things have worked out, this Sunday you’ll be addressed by me instead.

      I cannot speak with authority about Columbus. I grew up on the outskirts of a city named after that individual, but apart from that I have no professional expertise in the Age of Exploration, the Age of European Conquest and Exploitation, or whatever we should call it. I have touched upon the topic in survey classes, and I have some opinions, but my work as a historian has focused on Europe in the 19th and 20th Centuries.

      So I am going to approach the general topic of what we know, or what we think we know, from different directions than those that Columbus and his three moldy vessels followed in 1492. (Those vessels, incidentally, were cheap and expendable, quite unlike the costly state-of-the art contraptions that we have more recently thrown into space.)
      Of course we know things that are wrong–some from school, some from the vast pool of information and misinformation that’s called Urban Legend or Everybody Knows. There are still a lot of people who believe that eating carrots will enable them to see in the dark. That belief comes from a World War II cover story circulated by the British in order to prevent the Germans from figuring out the British use of radar to find and intercept German night bombers. (The Germans had their own radar program and weren’t fooled about what the British were doing, but the cover story lives on, even though Bugs Bunny didn’t work the night shift.)

      People have been persuaded that draining large quantities of blood from patients almost always improves their medical condition; that the course of future events may be determined by careful examination of the innards of assorted sacrificed creatures; that yelling at a television set influences the flight of a football; and that stock and housing prices could never go down.

      It’s hard to tell which weird assertions, in our weird world, are true and which are false. We can’t just go by the sincerity and general credibility of the person who makes an assertion. We had a President whose gullibility led an aide to say “It’s not what he doesn’t know that’s the problem, it’s what he knows that isn’t true.” But even he was sometimes right; it was morning in America, once every day.

      Of all our many sources of error, I am going to focus on one that I find especially pernicious. It is also a relatively easy target. It is dogmatic assertion, as backed by authority and cast as faith.
      My examples are mostly drawn not from the academic learning that I’ve made a living explaining to students, but from personal observations. This is in keeping with the ways that this church is accustomed to search for truth; we draw on many sources of inspiration, not only from a single authoritative group of texts, and we tend to distrust authority of all varieties. We routinely respond to statements of opinion by asking for evidence. This pulpit suggests authority, as it stands a bit above pew-level, but that’s the result of church-building tradition and the practical wish to make the weekly spiel easier to hear. We are generally civilized enough to listen without interrupting, but we don’t confuse the voices of our ministers, or our Alternative Service speakers, with the voice of God.

      Not everyone feels this way about authority.

      For some years now I have tried to encourage the same spirit of questioning by asking students to repeat after me the familiar schoolyard challenge: Oh yeah? Says who? It’s a little like a Responsive Reading. With UUs it’s not necessary to do the chant. We already respond to the bumper sticker that says “Question Authority” by thinking “Who says I have to do that?” This insubordinate spirit is a large part of what keeps me in this organization (we haven’t the time right now to discuss whether we should call it an organization), despite my annoyance when members or guests (or perhaps poltergeists–how to disprove that possibility?) put trash in the recycling and vice versa.
      We all have our own stories as to how we came to our present intellectual stances. Probably we forget a lot of our own formative experiences, but one that I recall vividly occurred in 9th-Grade World History. Our textbook began with the human race and its ancestors. That textbook wasn’t creationist, but it reflected what was then known, so the textbook’s version of the human family tree included the celebrated hoax known as Piltdown Man. Now, by the mid-1950s, the new technology of radiocarbon dating had demonstrated that the coffee-stained bits of human and simian bone that had been presented as our ancestor were nowhere near old enough to qualify. Piltdown’s fake ID had been busted, and a fellow student had read about the bust in Scientific American. Our teacher insisted that she would continue to teach Piltdown Man because he was in the textbook. She was entirely uninterested in what was or was not true; the book was her authority. To question the book’s authority was to challenge her authority. She would hold to her line as rigidly as any drone in Stalinist East Germany, ritually invoking the wisdom of MELS (that’s Marx-Engels-Lenin-Stalin, the first two of whom were themselves pretty antiauthoritarian).
      Miss Derivan would not recant, but she did back off to the extent of ignoring Piltdown Man. She had demonstrated, at least to some of us, an important principle: do not trust people in authority, particularly stupid people in authority.

      So far as I know, no educational theorist has recognized the usefulness of exposing the young to arbitrary, irrational, dogmatic authority. There must be opportunities for educators (in publications, grants, etc.), for following up this point. But such experiences of being subjected to inane dogmatism, which must be universal, don’t make everyone skeptical. Many people want to be told what to do, and what to believe.

      What a great many normal people seem to want (“normal people” as opposed, perhaps, to “Unitarian-Universalists”) is faith, which can be defined as “insistence on believing something, whether or not there is any reasonable evidence for it.” It can be a desperate thing, this search for faith. A very clever person, Madame de Staël, wrote “I do not know exactly what we must believe, but I believe that we must believe! The 18th Century did nothing but deny. The human spirit lives by its beliefs. Acquire faith through Christianity, or through German philosophy, or merely through enthusiasm, but believe in something.” She was understandably rattled by the French Revolution, but many people can share her distress, and her craving for something to hang onto.

      We humans seem to be predisposed to find significant patterns in what we experience. We generalize, and we attempt to come up with explanations. Noticing patterns is a good thing; apparently-unrelated data may indeed indicate the presence of a people-eating predator, or the imminence of a drought. We also see less vital, less significant patterns, such as faces and animals in clouds, and so on. Most issues of Skeptical Inquirer report new instances of holy apparitions on moldy tacos and so on. (This congregation is less disposed than most to that sort of thing; when we had a persistent problem with paint flaking off the sanctuary ceiling, before we installed the vent fan, I couldn’t sell anyone on claiming that the bad paint was an apparition of Joseph Priestley and charging admission.) We have ways of evaluating apparent patterns and the explanations that people suggest. There’s not time today to expand on the scientific method, etc., but I contend that a major problem arises when our attempts to explain phenomena harden into dogma, or faith.

      Faith is demanding. Maintaining it can be as hard as independent thinking. Finding ways to banish all the ideas or circumstances that don’t fit the program creates strain, and that strain is often expressed in louder and more vehement proclamations, and in more extreme actions. Perhaps at some deeply-repressed level the inconsistencies remain in the faithful person’s mind, and drive the faithful toward more intense fanaticism. Faith that admits of no doubt, that allows for no new information and no adjustments, seems to me to be rooted in panic. There’s nothing between ironclad belief and chaos.
      “We think with our blood,” was a Nazi slogan, which meant “we don’t think, we follow with all our hearts the intuitive wisdom of our leader.” “Führer befehl, wir folgen.” One way to convince onself that faith is pure and doubt is banished is to commit extreme actions. If I blow myself up for my faith, I demonstrate to everyone that I really mean business, and any shreds of doubt are dispersed along with all the other shreds. If I burn people because of disagreements over the finer points of theology, I show the intensity of my commitment. Faith can inspire people to be even nastier than they would be as imperfect, merely-human individuals.

      If my World History teacher had known anything beyond the textbook, she might have done what a real teacher would do. She could have used Piltdown’s blowup as a “teachable moment” (an ed-biz cliché, but a useful one), to riff on the evolution of knowledge. Instead she demonstrated the assurance of the ignorant–often wrong but never in doubt.

      It used to be common practice, in introductory history classes, to assign controversy readers. Students would be required to read scholarly arguments on a topic, presenting opposing views on a topic. Many students actually did the reading. Real authoritative opinions would clash head-on, and students who knew nothing of the topic were required to assess the arguments of learned scholars. It was not uncommon for wretched freshmen to beg their cruel instructors and graduate assistants to tell them, please: which is right?
      It is painful for people to make judgments when their whole previous educational experience has been restricted to memorizing and regurgitating. If they are persuaded to question authority, they may adopt new certainties, sometimes at least as silly than the orthodoxies that they have rejected. Debunking can be followed not by reasoned skepticism, but by rebunking. If the flagwaving indoctrinations of long-ago textbooks are replaced by newer politically-correct orthodoxies, not much has been gained, even if we sympathize with some of the goals of the corrective rants. Even the phrase “critical thinking” becomes maddening when ritually repeated.

      A tougher set of problems is suggested by our second reading, the one from Ron Suskind’s account of his interview with an arrogant political aide who claimed that he and his colleagues could create reality, going beyond the annoying cliché “it is what it is” all the way to “it is what we say it is.” The question of what is truth has engaged the attention of lots of interesting ancient Greeks, Pontius Pilate, and the more recent Postmodernist school. We’ll have to figure out epistemology on some other occasion. For now, I’d like to assume that some approaches to evidence work better than others, on the whole, and stick with how we should deal with uncertainty.

      This sermon began with my encounter, some fifty years ago, with Piltdown Man and my World History teacher. Let us now consider another personal experience, this one from just twenty-some years back. I think of it as the Parable of the Opel.

      After our VW Squareback ignited while I was I was underneath it (practical note: don’t assume that when fuel is pooling all around you, you’re safe in the absence of sparks or flame; the heat from an incandescent bulb will light gasoline just fine), we bought a 1973 Opel 1900 sedan. As a conscientious car-owner, I read the owner’s manual and set forth to do the right thing and change the radiator coolant.
      The manual included a photograph of the radiator and the simple valve that would allow the old stale coolant to be drained out. I looked at the radiator and could not find the drain-valve. I felt all around the radiator’s lower regions and could not find the drain valve. Finally I drove to Wick Avenue for aid.

      Opel, a significant German carmaker headquartered in Rüsselsheim, was at that time a General Motors subsidiary, as it remained till quite recently. In the US, Opel was a “captive import,” and a sideshow of Buick, so it was Buick Youngstown that I made my pilgrimage. I was directed to the sole mechanic who worked on the foreign cars.

      I posed my question about the invisible drain-valve, and the mechanic–a smallish man, surly but wise–delivered a truly illuminating revelation. “They ain’t none,” he said. “You just take off that bottom hose and let it run all over the [bleepin’] place.”
      I had been perplexed by the authoritative text, the owner’s manual, which had lied. No doubt, sometime after the manual was produced, someone figured out that a Deutschmark or so could be saved by omitting the valve. I ought to have generalized from what I already knew about history–that official, establishment wisdom ought not to be trusted too far, that common sense and available evidence ought to be considered.

      It’s good to read the manual. It may well be right. But it’s better to treat the words of official wisdom as probabilaties, at most, and to check things out. The Hellenistic physician Galen advised the aspiring doctor to “learn thoroughly all that has been said by the most illustrious of the Ancients”; and then to “test and prove it, observe what part is in agreement, and what is in disagreement with obvious facts,” the better to “choose this and turn away from that.”
      This policy is more challenging than faith, or following authority. But if we aspire to reasonable action, it is all we’ve got.