Don Skinner has written this piece for the UU World on-line magazine about our Evolution Class last month.

My Easter Sermon delivered three weeks ago has been featured on the web-site of the UU Christian Fellowship.

[A sermon from the archives in honor of the upcoming release of The DaVinci Code movie.]

Nothing these days is trendier, it seems, than Mary Magdalene. She has appeared recently on the front cover of Time and Newsweek. Stroll through the religion section of Borders or Barnes & Noble and there she is, featured in dozens of new books about her, everything from credible texts by some of the world’s finest religious scholars, to popular treatments that seem like they should appear in the super-market check-out tabloids. All of this recent hullabaloo about Mary Magdalene can probably be traced to a single phenomenon, a recent work of fiction by Dan Brown entitled, The DaVinci Code that has sold over 40-million hardcover copies so far.

Last October members of this congregation began asking me if I had read this novel, and what I thought of it, and my opinion about it as someone with formal training in religious studies. I was invited to read it, and invited to share my thoughts about it once I had. This is something I plan to do, from time to time: mix things up a little bit, by offering commentary on books or films or other pieces of contemporary culture that are your mind. And I encourage you to recommend to me books and films and other products of contemporary culture about which you might want me to speak.

And so it is fitting that in the slow moments between Christmas and New Year, a time that is perfect for putting on your wool socks, grabbing a blanket, stretching out on the couch, sedated and contented by so much rich Holiday feasting, and pie, and eggnog, to cozy up and drift away with a good book. This morning’s sermon will really be this kind of a sermon, sort of an indulgent and fanciful sermon, an in-between-one-thing-and-another sermon, kind of an after Christmas, before New Year, escapade sort of sermon.

For those who haven’t read The DaVinci Code, let me set the scene for you with a basic plot summary. While in Paris to give a lecture, a young dashing Harvard professor by the name of Robert Langdon, described as “a Harrison Ford in Harris tweed,” is summoned to a murder scene. The curator of the Louvre has been murdered by a renegade faction of the powerful and manipulative Catholic organization called Opus Dei. Working off a series of vague clues, Langdon, along with an attractive, young French secret agent Sophie Neveu, must race to put together the pieces of the mystery before Opus Dei figures out the clues, and all the while with the French authorities hot on their heals. In other words, all just another day’s work for the scholar of religion. Sort of what they told me ministry would be like…

And did I mention that solving these clues and codes and riddles will lead to the Holy Grail?

That is what makes The DaVinci Code more than a rather pedestrian fluffy action novel; the novel claims to reveal all these secrets and conspiracies about Christianity, namely that Jesus and Mary Magdalene were married and had kids and that the Holy Grail is really not a physical cup, but a set of documents that prove the genealogy of Jesus’ offspring, and that the Catholic church has been involved in a massive cover-up conspiracy to keep the real truth of Jesus’ marriage to Mary Magdalene a secret. Now, maybe it is just me, but the idea of a Church covering up a scandal involving sex is just too far-fetched to be believed.

But seriously, seriously, where do you begin? The book is intentionally misleading in that it claims on page one that all descriptions of artwork, documents, and secret rituals in this novel are accurate. Well, that’s not quite the truth. While it is clear that Dan Brown has dabbled in church history, he has played fast and loose with historical evidence. In fact, Brown appears he could use a qualified researcher with a background in religious studies, not that I would know anybody qualified for that post. As an aside, when I first announced I was going to preach this sermon, I received a call from a member of this church who is fluent in Italian, and she informed me that Dan Brown’s earlier book Angel and Demons, which is set in Rome, contains dozens and dozens of Italian grammar mistakes. And in The DaVinci Code, Brown is far from scholarly rigorous. Margaret M. Mitchell, writing for Sightings magazine, lists dozens of historical errors in Brown’s book and also many gray errors in which complex issues are misrepresented and distorted. There is a reason Dan Brown’s novels sell 40 million copies while the new book about Mary Magdalene, by the world’s foremost expert on Mary Magdalene, Karen King, will be read mainly by seminary students. The scholarly approach to the story is complex, nuanced, ultimately given to uncertainty, and, well, it’s not that sexy. The conspiracy theory that wraps it all up in one tight package is flashy, juicy, sexy.

I was a student of religion for seven years at two of the world’s finer religion programs. While at Harvard I took New Testament from Karen King, who has her picture featured prominently in a recent edition of Newsweek. And one of the major outcomes of such an extensive study of religion, what I am now going to share with you, and what will sort of hold or encapsulate what I want to say to you, is this: as with all things, history is messy; there are layers and layers of complexity and nuance, and there is no simple master narrative. That is because people are nothing if not complicated creatures. And the first reaction to learning about all this muddledness, inconsistency, messiness is to dismiss it, to feel threatened by it, but after time, you can come back to it and glory in the mixed up nature of it all. But rather than caricaturing historical figures, we should come to expect and even marvel in their inconsistencies, quirks, shortcomings, failures, and so forth… for we are equally complicated creatures ourselves, and history would not be able to tell our stories in a simple way either. We long for simple, clear-cut truths that tell us right and wrong, good and bad, pure and impure, hero and villain… but the evidence always points to the contrary, on the one hand and on the other hand.

I want to touch on a couple of things the book points out. First of all, it touches on aspects of paganism that Christianity borrowed, which is true, but The DaVinci Code goes wrong when it makes it all out to be a big conspiracy. It plays on our desire for a clean, consistent story. Teabing and Langdon give Sophie Neveu a history lesson about early Christianity that says, in essence, “Nothing in Christianity is original. It was all stolen from paganism for political reasons.” But scholar Margaret Mitchell counters saying that, “The relationship between early Christianity and the world around it, the ways in which it was culturally embedded in that world, sometimes unreflectively, sometimes reflexively, sometimes in deliberate accommodation, sometimes in deliberate cooptation, is far more complicated than any simplistic myth of cultural totalitarianism.”

The same thing with the Council of Nicea. It is true, the Council of Nicea did establish the Divinity of Jesus as doctrine, did formalize the canon of the New Testament, did set the liturgical calendar and did formalize the ecclesiastical structure – all of this was decided by a bunch of men 300 years after the death of Jesus, by vote. And it was a close vote. As one of my colleagues has said, “Maybe there weren’t any hanging chads, maybe the other side didn’t win the popular vote but lose the electoral college, but it was certainly contentious.” Contentious is an understatement, by the way, most of the bishops attending the council of Nicea came with bodyguards. The bodyguard of the bishop of Alexandria beat up the bishop of Constantinople!

[As an aside, I should mention that I studied as an undergraduate with a leading expert on Shenoute of Atripe, the monk who was the bodyguard of the bishop of Alexandria. (What a claim to fame!) And you may find it interesting to know that this monk Shenoute of Atripe did not just go around beating up bishops. When he wasn’t beating up bishops he was leading the Coptic community on the outskirts of Alexandria that operated a soup kitchen that fed over 10,000 people a month and an orphanage that rescued infants from trash-heaps. What a complicated character!]

So, I suppose my point is this. As soon as we learn how messy and complex it was, we dismiss it. Nothing like a bunch of Unitarian Universalists sitting around saying, “it can’t be real; it was decided by a vote.” Well, so were our Principles and Purposes. So are the statements of social conscience we adopt at the denominational level. The only difference though is that we realize that we are part of a changing historical process, but we can tend to forget that educated Christians are equally aware that their religion has been changing and evolving from day one. No wonder some should find the idea of evolution so threatening – it is a complex theory of change and transformation, variation – it defies the idea that everything can fit into a nice, neat package.

But I want to get to Mary Magdalene. The belief that Mary Magdalene was a prostitute did not surface until nearly 600 years after Jesus had died. This belief was promulgated by a Pope, but it is unclear as to his motivations. As it turns out, Mary was a very common name. There are at least three Mary’s in the gospel accounts. There is Mary the mother of Jesus, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the sister of Martha. There are also a large number of unnamed women including the woman caught in adultery and the “sinful” woman who washes Jesus’ feet with her hair. This Pope just sort of mashed all these unnamed women together and assumed that they were all Mary Magdalene. Was it a case of Biblical ineptitude? Was a smear campaign against Mary Magdalene by men in the church who feared a female disciple? Was a twisted attempt at Augustinian logic, the more seedy the sin the more sweet the salvation? It is unknown.

But here is what the best scholars today have to say about Mary Magdalene: she was definitely not a prostitute (in fact, the Catholic Church declared she wasn’t back in 1969). She was a close acquaintance to Jesus, part of his inner circle, most likely in a relationship in which she was his disciple. She was likely a woman of some affluence, likely inherited, and possibly was a financier of Jesus’ ministry. There is no way to know for sure whether their relationship was romantic.

And this raises the whole interesting issue of women in the early Christian communities. There were. And many of them were in rather prominent leadership positions. And it is probably safe to assume that Jesus and even Paul had more liberal ideas about women than many of their contemporaries, but it is likely that they were not all out radicals, and they likely did not even understand the full significance of some of the radical things they were saying. When Paul said in Galatians 3:28 that “there is no longer Jew or Greek, no longer slave or free, no longer male or female” he probably didn’t even fully grasp what he was suggesting.

One of my classmates in seminary once showed me a feminist reconstructionist version of the Bible. One of the features of it, was that whenever a woman is mentioned but not named, or whenever it was clear that women were present but not mentioned, they put a big bold-faced X right there in the scripture. The point was that the real identities of these women had been erased from these traditions, and one should remember them. Sort of like how Malcolm X took the name X to symbolize how the last name of his ancestors had been lost. It was powerful to see thousands of X’s as you flipped through the pages.

And that is sort of what The DaVinci Code is hinting at, bringing back Mary Magdalene into the story as a female presence; bringing back the female Spirit of Sophia as a balance to the male Logos (by the way, the female protagonist in the book’s name is Sophia Neveu – Sophia is Greek for wisdom and neveu is etymologically similar to new, “nuevo” in Spanish, “nouveau” in French.) But the book is too simple when it gives Christianity all the blame for being sexist and anti-woman. It is true, there have been aspects of Christianity that have been harmful for women, and also aspects of it that were liberating. The pagan culture then was no better, parts oppressive, part liberating. And Judaism is a mixed bag too. And even Islam, even Islam, even though we are more familiar with Islamic oppression of women, there are strains within Islam that are liberating for women. Hinduism and Buddhism have had their parts that were liberating for women, and their parts that were oppressive. And sociology has been sexist and oppressive and liberating. And psychology has been sexist and oppressive and liberating. And science has been oppressive and liberating.

So, how does the book end? Well, I won’t give it away entirely. But I will tell you that they do not find the Holy Grail, or do they… but then again, a literal Grail appearing in a nice, neat package would inevitably turn out to be disappointing. Quoting from The DaVinci Code, “It is mystery and wonderment that serve our souls, not the Grail itself. And the beauty of it lies her ethereal nature. For some, the Grail is a literal chalice that will bring everlasting life. For some it is a quest for lost documents, secret history, literal truths. But for most, let the Holy Grail be simply a grand idea, a glorious yet unattainable treasure that inspires us, even in our world of chaos… Ah, but even this Grail cannot remain hidden and lost forever… look around you, find it in art and music and books. As we sense the dangers of our history, of our destructive paths, we are beginning to sense the need to restore all that is sacred. Those songs are worth singing and the world needs modern troubadours.” (p. 444)

So, we are going to start doing that this morning. Before the sermon we sang Beethoven’s Ode to Joy with the words “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee” addressed to a presumably male Christian God. But after we take the offering and extinguish the chalice, we will sing the original words, “Joy thou goddess, fair immortal, offspring of Elysium.” It was those words of Friedrich Schiller that Beethoven had in mind when he wrote Ode to Joy.

And perhaps that is the Holy Grail we seek… a world large enough to contain multitudes with Moses and Miriam, Jesus and Mary Magdalene, Einstein and Madame Curie, Bill and Hillary, Krishna and Shiva, Zeus and Athena, “Joyful, joyful, we adore thee, God of Glory, God of Love,” and “Joy, thou goddess, fair immortal, offspring of Elysium.”

“I suspect the Holy Grail is simply a grand idea, a glorious unattainable treasure that inspires us even in this world of muddled chaos… may we sing such a song, may we be modern troubadours of such a song.”

I hope you'll join me this Sunday afternoon for this important event:

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

MAINstream Voices of Faith: A Call to Action Rally

(Olathe, KS) Mainstream Voices of Faith (MVOF), a program of MAINstream Coalition, announces that it will hold a rally on Sunday, May 7, 2006 at St. Andrew Christian Church, 13890 West 127th Street, Olathe, KS from 3:00 pm – 5:00 pm. Keynote speaker The Rev. Dr. Bob Meneilly will energize people about ways to be an alternative religious voice to those who the media has named the “Religious Right.”

“Mainstream Voices of Faith is a fairly new program of the MAINstream Coalition and was developed at the request of our membership,” said Boo Tyson, its executive director. “Our members often express their frustration with having their faith questioned because they are more moderate than the radical right. In America, especially, religious liberty should be celebrated rather than denigrated.” The rally was planned to bring moderate/liberal people of faith together.

“We need to organize, mobilize, and empower the silent majority — those for whom the vocal Religious Right does not speak,” said Rev. John Tamilio III, co-chair of Mainstream Voices of Faith. “This rally is just the beginning of the work we will be doing to bring mainstream religious views back into the mainstream.”

Date: May 7, 2006
Time: 3:00 pm – 5:00 pm
Location: St. Andrew Christian Church
13890 West 127th Street
Olathe, KS 66062
(913) 764.5888

Peter Bowden is a UU who operates as a free-lance consultant to UU congregations. Peter specializes in Small Group Ministry, Growth, Leadership, and more! His web-site, UU Planet, is a wonderful resource.

This month he is featuring an essay I wrote on UU Growth. Thanks Peter!

This event is happening because of the vision and passion of one of our members here at SMUUCh:

I hope you will attend the upcoming public forum featuring Dr. Paul Farmer on Thursday, May 18 at the Jewish Community Center's Lewis and Shirley White Theatre, 5801 West 115th Street, Overland Park, KS. Dr. Farmer will speak on "AIDS in Africa: What's to be done?" Dr. Farmer is founding director of Partners in Health, the international charity organization that provides direct health care services and undertakes research and advocacy activities on behalf of those who are sick and living in poverty.

Admission is free but RSVPs are required by calling (816)221-1100 Ext 239 or emailing bioethic@practicalbioethics.org.

For more information, click on www.practicalbioethics.org.

[I delivered this sermon on 8/15/2004, my 27th Birthday. A month earlier I had visited with my friend, colleague, and one-time pastor Rev. Tim Jensen who serves the First Unitarian Society in Carlisle, MA. Tim had asked me how my first year in the ministry had gone. Then he asked me what I was reading. The darnedest things, I answered: Ben Mezrich’s book about Princeton grads trading on the Asian stock-markets, Michael Lewis’ book about the founder of Netscape, and I had even thumbed through a copy of the Harvard Business Review. “Ah,” Tim responded, “Uva uvam vivendo varia fit.” He then recommended I read Lonesome Dove and told me the same stuff about it that I say about it in the first third of the sermon below. Become a grape and the grape changes… thank you, Tim! This sermon is dedicated to your wisdom and support.]

Epigraph

“I am now 33 years old, and it feels like much time has passed and is passing faster every day. Day to day I have to make all sorts of choices about what is good and important and fun, and then I have to live with the forfeiture of all the other options those choices foreclose. And I’m starting now to see how as time gains momentum my choices will narrow and their foreclosures multiply exponentially until I arrive at some point on some branch of all life’s sumptuous branching complexity at which I am finally locked in and stuck on one path and time speeds me through stages of stasis and atrophy and decay until I go down for the third time, all struggle for naught, drowned by time. It is dreadful. But since it’s my own choices that’ll lock me in, it seems unavoidable – if I want to be any kind of grownup, I have to make choices and regret foreclosures and try to live with them.” – David Foster Wallace


Sermon

“Uva uvam vivendo varia fit.” Actually, this Latin saying does not come from Cicero, or from Virgil, or from Dante. However, if you guessed that the phrase comes from the great cowboy-Western novel Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry, you’d be correct. In the novel, the Latin saying is found on an old weathered sign in front of a South Texas ranch, that reads, “Hat Creek Cattle Company and Livery Emporium, For sale cattle and horses, for rent horses and rigs, goats and donkeys neither bought nor sold, we don’t rent pigs, Uva uvam vivendo varia fit.”

Not that the novel is any help translating this saying. According to the story, one of the protagonists, Augustus McCrae, while serving as a ranger carried with him on the trail a Latin primer. The primer turned out to be quite a bit more useful at starting campfires than it was at teaching Latin, and McCrae was soon left with only an appendix of Latin sayings, un-translated, and indecipherable. “Uva uvam vivendo varia fit” was chosen because it was the most handsome looking saying.

Incidentally, this caused some consternation back at the ranch when McCrae’s partner discovered that he didn’t have the slightest idea what the Latin saying meant. As the dialogue between the two partners goes,

"I don't see why you had to put them greek words on there"
"By God Woodrow, I've told you before, it ain't GREEK, it's LATIN."
"What's it say then?"
"It's a motto, it says itself..."
"You ain't got any idea what it says! Heck, for all you know it could be an invitation for people to rob us!"
"As far as I'm concerned any man who can read Latin is welcome to rob us. I'd like the chance to shoot at an educated man for once in my life."

Now, I am not going to be spending the entirety of this morning rehashing the plot line of Lonesome Dove. But I do want to use this obscure Latin saying as a kind of jumping off point for my return to the pulpit this morning. Fortunately for me, as a Latin saying goes, “Uva uvam vivendo varia fit” is complete grammatical nonsense, which means I am more or less free to decide on whatever meaning I want it have.

The words which I am going to play around with are these, “uva uvam vivendo varia fit” which essentially mean as follows, “grape grape living changing becoming.” And I am going to suggest that there are some meanings I can tease out from these words, meanings that have to do with what it means to be a religious community together, and perhaps even some deeper meanings as well. So, these are my reflections on becoming a grape.

Here’s one translation: “Uva uvam vivendo varia fit. A grape ripens when it sees another grape.” Or, translated another way, “When a grape is in the presence of other grapes, wine is made.” In other words, this is an affirmation of community. It is the aphoristic opposite of, “one rotten apple spoils the batch”; it says the influence of others upon us is enriching, is beneficial, is good for us. A grape ripens, matures, its finer qualities are drawn out from it, become manifest and evident, when it sees another grape. This is an affirmation of the transformational nature of community. I want you to say it with me: “A grape ripens when it sees another grape.”

Now, I want you to turn towards your neighbor. Not the person you came to church with. I want you to turn towards somebody you don’t know too well who is sitting near you. And I want you to say to one another something like this, “A grape ripens when it sees another grape. I can learn something from you. Your being here affects me.”

Did you really believe it when you said it? I have to tell you. There are probably some here who are ambivalent about this idea that a grape ripens in the presence of other grapes. There is perhaps a tension between the individual and the community, the solitary and the corporate. Do grapes in the presence of other grapes produce fine wine, or fine whining? Or, put another way, how is truth found – by oneself or with the influence of others? I actually think it is a little bit of both. The great thinker about Faith Development James Fowler suggests that the process of faith development, of spiritual growth, includes periods of inner reflection, self-examination, and individualized expression AND community participation, identification with others, and association with a group. Fowler argues that there are aspects of human development, events that cause our faith to deepen that are impossible without the encounter with others in community. Turn again to your neighbors: “I am grateful for the opportunity to encounter you.”

There is a second translation: “Uva uvam vivendo varia fit. The changing vine becomes the living vine.” This aphorism is true. It speaks to one of the inherent realities of human living, an inherent reality affirmed time and time again by liberal religion: That life involves flux and change. That revelation is not sealed and that there is still more light to break forth in the world. That tomorrow will be different from today and that we should look forward to tomorrow. The changing vine becomes the living vine. Uva uvam vivendo varia fit.

I think that this principle is affirmed in the wonderful poem by Carl Dennis, in which he describes that our soul exerts a force in our life as strong and as imperceptible as the moon’s force upon the ocean.

Now I’m ready to posit a tug
Or nudge from the soul. Some insight
Too important to be put off till morning
Might have been mine if I’d opened myself
To the occasion as now I do.

Here’s a chance for the soul to fit its truth
To a world of yards, moons, poplars, and starlings,
To resist the fear that to talk my language
Means to be shoehorned into my perspective
Till it thinks as I do, narrowly.

“Be brave, Soul,” I want to say to encourage it.
“Your student, however slow, is willing,
The only student you’ll ever have.”

The church and our lives are opportunities for transformation, where our ideas and our habits don’t petrify, calcify, fossilize, but where like the green growing vine we are constantly putting out tendrils that grasp in shadiness upwards towards light and life.

Now a few minutes ago I had you all turn towards your neighbors and declare to your neighbors that you were glad and grateful for the opportunity to encounter them. I was wondering what action I could request that you do in order to symbolize this translation, this meaning. I was thinking of, but quickly and wisely scrapped the idea of something along the lines of interpretive dance where I asked you to embody the motion of a living vine. (Relax folks; it’s a joke.) So, I decided that sometimes for some of us it is easier to speak words of affirmation and acceptance to other people and that sometimes some of us have a much harder time speaking words of affirmation and encouragement to ourselves. So taking a cue from Carl Dennis’ poem I invite you to turn towards yourselves and say these words of encouragement to yourselves: “Now I’m ready to posit a tug or nudge from the soul.” Ready? “Now I’m ready to posit a tug or nudge from my soul.”

A grape in the presence of other grapes makes fine wine. We should be grateful for the opportunity to be transformed by the encounter with others in community. The changing vine becomes the living vine. There is an invisible but real pull on us towards change and life.

But there is a third translation to the Latin saying. It is probably the most incorrect of the translations, but it is also the most Zen and also my most favorite. “Uva uvam vivendo varia fit. Become a grape, and the grape changes.” A little paradoxical ain’t it.

So even though this translation is probably the least accurate, it may have the truest meaning. In the novel Lonesome Dove, we encounter the two protagonists going through something of a late-onset mid-life crisis. They had set off fixin’ to settle the wilderness. They had dreamt of civilizing the frontier. And like any good pair of heroes, they had been remarkably successful. They hung all the horse thieves and defeated all the desperados. And having done this, having fulfilled their ambition and realized their goals, having civilized the frontier, they were faced with… well, they were faced with a civilized frontier that was not nearly as interesting now that there were no horse thieves left to hang or desperados to drive off.

There is an old-saying that a congregation would be well to ask what happened in the minister’s life this past week that made him decide to preach what he preaching. For me, this past week saw two related cognitive shifts take place. The first was the realization that this was the first time since I was seventeen that I had gone an entire year without packing up all of my possessions and moving them to a new living place, whether across town or across the country. This was actually somewhat of a relief. Four time-zone changes in five years is a lot. But it was a bit of realization… oh, so I don’t need to box up all my books, fill out a change of address form, or dig out that box that the stereo goes in.

The second realization was related to the first. “Wow,” I said, “I’m beginning my second year here at this church.” You see, for years and years it was my dream to be a minister, my dream to serve a church and now that dream is realized. Uva uvam vivendo varia fit. Become a grape, and the grape changes. I don’t mean this saying in any sort of “grass is greener” sort of way. I mean it only in the sense of a dream or desire fulfilled means a loss of one thing. In this way, a dream realized involves a dream lost. A longing fulfilled involves the end of longing. You chase something and catch it and you lose the chase. What do you do with a dream realized? And believe me, being the minister here at SMUUCh, fulfilling this dream is amazingly wonderful. A dream come true.Become a grape, and the grape changes.
Well, those are my reflections on becoming a grape.

NPR correspondent Bailey White tells this story (buy her book!) about deciding to plant a wildflower meadow:

“About six years ago, like so many romantic gardening fools, I fell for it: the wildflower meadow. I don’t know whether it was the pictures on the seed packets, or the vision I had of myself, dressed all in white, strolling through an endless vista of poppies and daisies.

“’A garden in a can,’ the seed catalogs said. The pictures showed a scene of rolling hills and dales, an area about the size of Georgia and Alabama combined, covered solid as far as the eye could see with billowing drifts of lupine and phlox.

“But I wasn’t born yesterday. I had been tricked by those pictures before. I come from down south, where vegetation does not know its place. I knew what Lady Bird Johnson was talking about when she gave the wildflower romantics a look and said, ‘You can’t just scatter the seeds around as if you were feeding chickens.’ Even the more responsible plant catalogs, in their offer of wildflower seed mixes for the various regions of the country admitted, ‘We have not been able to develop a mixture suitable for Zone 9.’ So I knew it wouldn’t be easy.

“But it’s hard to squash a romantic. I made a plan. I would prepare my ground, about a half acre, and plant the wildflowers in rows. I would keep the weeds out for five years, by cultivating between the rows with a push plow and a hoe, and weeding by hand within each row. By the end of those five years, I figured I would have eliminated any perennial weeds and weed seeds.

“Then the garden would be on its own. The wildflowers would spread, eventually taking up the spaces between the rows, and I would get out my white dress and begin my leisurely strolls.

“My garden’s first spring: the seeds arrived. I planted by hand. The rows, neatly set out with stakes and string, seemed endless. I crawled up and down and up and down every afternoon examining each seedling as it sprouted. My hands got hard and callused. They took on the curve of the hoe handle so that everywhere I went, I looked as if I were gripping a ghostly hoe.

“The first summer, my annual plants bloomed. The Coreopsis tinctoria was spectacular, a glowing red, and the cosmos was shoulder high. Its lavender petals brushed my face as I scritched and scritched up and down each row. I loved the sight of the clean brown earth stretching away from the blade of my hoe. On my hands and knees I weeded between plants. My knees ached, but the smell down there was nice, damp ground and bruised Artemisia. I developed a gardener’s stoop and a horticulturist’s squint.

“That first winter, I could relax only a little. Bermuda grass can establish itself during a winter and get away from you the following spring. So every evening at dusk, I would stalk up and down my garden like a demented wraith, peering at the ground for each loathed blue-green blade, my cloak billowing in the wind and my scarf snagging on the bare gray branches of last summer’s sunflowers.

“At night, I would lie in my bed under the quilt listening to the wind outside and pinching and sniffing the little bunches of sweet Annie I had harvested and dried in July. I dreamed of that summer, only four years away now, when the garden would be finished. My white dress would be linen, I decided.

“The second summer was very fine. Some of the annuals had reseeded, and the perennials and biennials bloomed for the first time. But I had a real problem with something called Old Horrible Snakeroot, one of the terrifying mints, creeping in around the edges. Every afternoon, dressed in a wide straw hat, big boots, and little else, and pouring sweat, I violently hoed the perimeter of my garden. I wore out my first hoe that year with sharpening the blade, and the handles of my Little Gem cultivator became as smooth as ivory.

“During the third and fourth years the rows began to close in. There were great irregular patches of gaillardia spanning several rows, with Queen Anne’s lace and moss verbena weaving themselves among clumps of black-eyed Susans

“When I stood up to ease my back and looked across the garden, I could see that it was truly as beautiful as the picture in the Park’s seed catalog. I wiped the sweat out of my eyes and washing my face in the watering can. My white linen dress would have lace.

“The fifth summer, I had to go to the doctor about my knees. ‘You’ve got to quit squatting down,’ he told me. ‘I can’t quit squatting down,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a garden.’ He sighed and gave me a pair of elastic bandages. I had a problem with thistles that year. The seeds must have blown in from somewhere. I wore gloves to pull them out, and every time I took out a thistle, I would transplant a wildflower in its place. Every one of the transplants thrived and multiplied, and by the end of that summer, there was not a spot of bare ground for a weed seed to settle in. My garden was complete. That winter I bought the linen and the lace and sewed my white dress.

“In March I went out to the garden. The linaria was the first thing to bloom. I knew it would be. I knew that a week later the verbena would show up, then the Shasta daisies and the gaillardia – a clump here, here, and here. In midsummer the Queen Anne’s lace would begin to bloom. I knew exactly how it would be. I knew the name of every plant. I could recognize each one even before it got its true leaves.

“I sighted down the length of the garden. There was no trace of the neat rows I had worked and worked for all those years. The garden had taken over itself, just as I had planned. I walked back to the house. I looked at my soft, limp hands. I looked at my white linen dress, with lace. It seemed like the stupidest thing I had ever thought up. ‘The fact is,’ I said to myself, ‘I want something to hoe.’ I’ve started reading about intensive gardening. It involves double digging and raised beds. Every season you pull out the old plants and put in new ones. It’s a garden that never gets finished.

“I gave the white dress to my sister, Louise. Sometimes she comes for a visit and strolls in the wildflower meadow. She ooohs and aaahs and brings her friends to see it. They pick armloads of flowers. I sit on the edge and draw diagrams of my next season’s garden in the raised beds. I’m learning about companion planting. In the wildflower meadow, the Queen Anne’s lace waves its filigree heads over the marsh pinks, and the sweet alyssum tucks up neatly around the clumps of painted daisies. But I hardly notice. I’ve got a new garden now.”

No one ever told us we had to study our lives, make of our lives a study. Listen for and posit tugs and nudges from the soul, that we may respond to if only we open ourselves to the occasion. A grape ripens when it sees another grape. The changing vine becomes the living vine. Become a grape, and the grape changes. Uva uvam vivendo varia fit. May it ever be so.

Opening Words (From “How to Want What You Have” by Timothy Miller)

This is the precious present. When you were younger, you probably longed for many of the good things you now possess. If you have a home, a job, a car, a spouse, a child, a stereo, an education, or things of this nature, there was probably a time in your life when you thought, “If only I could have these things, I would always be happy. I would want for nothing more.” There have probably been times when you suffered severe worry or severe pain, and you thought, “If I could just have a normal, secure, and comfortable life, I would be contented, and I would always appreciate it.”

This is the precious present, but strangely, few people know it. Chances are, when you are older, you will look on back on those days back then and think, “I was younger then. I was thinner. I had better health. I had more sex. I was more spontaneous. I worried more than I should have, but I wish things could be a bit more like that now.”

Reading (From “A Supposedly Fun Thing I’ll Never Do Again” by David Foster Wallace)

For this essay, the author is sent by a magazine to take a Caribbean cruise. At first he is dazzled by the opulence, excess, and extravagance. But then, a few days out, they pull into a port right next to a more opulent, more excessive, more extravagant cruise ship. Wallace writes:

“Because the other boat is lined up right next to us, almost porthole to porthole… I can stand at the rails and check each other out… The other boat is blindingly white, white to a degree that seems somehow aggressive and makes our boat’s own white look more like buff or cream. The other boat’s snout is a little more tapered and aerodynamic-looking than our snout, and its trim is kind of fluorescent peach – and the beach umbrellas around its pools are also peach – ours are light orange, which has always seemed odd given our white-and-navy motif and now seems to me ad hoc and shabby. The other boat has more pools… On all its decks, the other boat’s cabins have little white balconies for private open-air sea-gazing.

“The point is, standing here, I start to feel a covetous and almost prurient envy. I imagine its interior to be cleaner, larger, more lavishly appointed. I imagine its food being even more varied and punctiliously prepared, the ship’s Gift Shop less expensive and its casino less depressing and its stage entertainment less cheesy, and its pillow mints bigger. I spend several minutes fantasizing about what the bathrooms might be like on the other ship.

“This saturnine line of thinking proceeds as the clouds overhead start to coalesce. I am suffering here from a delusion, and I know it’s a delusion, this envy of the other ship, and still it’s painful. The Dissatisfied Infant part of me – the part of me that always and indiscriminately WANTS… is insatiable. In fact its whole essence lies in it’s a priori insatiability. In response to any environment of extraordinary gratification, the insatiable infant part of me will simply adjust its desire upward until it once again levels out at its homeostasis of terrible dissatisfaction…

“Once again, I become perturbed. The absence of 22.5 pound dumbbells in the Health Club’s dumbbell rack is a personal affront… And they don’t even have Mr. Pibb; they foist Dr. Pepper on you with a maddeningly unapologetic shrug when any fool knows Dr. Pepper is no substitute for Mr. Pibb, and it’s an absolute goddamned travesty… or at any rate extremely dissatisfying indeed."


Sermon

You wait for summer then you wait for rain
You wait for darkness then you wait for day
You wait for August then you wait for May
You wait to get up then you wait to play
You wait for someone who will make the wait worth the wait.
(Lyrics from the song “The Wait” off new Built to Spill record, “You in Reverse”.)

I'm not sure how many of you read self-help books. I don't all that frequently, but when I do, I have this tendency to turn them into "other-help" books. Maybe some of you do this too. Like, there may be a chapter on compassion and I'll think to myself, "You know who could really stand a lesson on compassion is so and so..." Or the book will bring up the subject of living generously. And I will think, "I should lend this book to so and so. He could stand to learn a thing or two about generosity." You get the idea.

I say this, self-deprecatingly speaking, so as to let you know my original chain of thought when I sat down to read the book entitled, How to Want What you Have by Dr. Timothy Miller. I ate it up. Precisely, I thought. The last person to criticize a sermon of mine: "That person should just want what they have." The last woman to break up with me. Certainly she could have used a book about wanting what she has... well, HAD if truth be told. And for that matter, my favorite baseball player who took more money to play for a rival. He could definitely stand to read this book, then he'd still be playing for my favorite. You get the idea.

So, why was I reading this book, How to Want What You Have anyways? The answer is that I had been assigned it. For the last year, a group here at SMUUCh led by a couple of psychologists have met as a small group to study this book and to try to apply its teachings to their lives. Then, at last November's Auction, a consortium of folks purchased the sermon that I annually offer to the highest bidder and gave me this topic to preach on. In preparation for delivering this sermon, I read the book and experimented with applying its principles to my own life (as opposed to applying its principles to other people's lives as I was repeatedly tempted to do). I also had a phone interview with Dr. Tim Miller who lives in California, and finally, I met with the How to Want What You Have Class and interviewed them on their experience of applying the book to their lives.

I should probably take a little bit of time and try to explain to you what this book is all about. How to Want What You Have is written by Tim Miller, a cognitive psychologist who borrows from Buddhist teachings as well as the science of psychology. When people hear the title, they tend to conclude that the book is about anti-materialism, voluntary simplicity, not being greedy for material possessions, not wanting stuff. But it is actually quite a bit deeper than that. Miller suggests that the basic Buddhist teaching that "Desire is the root of all suffering" is accurate. In fact, he says that "desire" is a biologically driven instinct within human beings. Western philosophy and religion tell us that we should cultivate our desire for and inclination to do things that are good for us and the world and that we should curtail or resist our desire (or temptation) for things that are bad for us. But Miller, following the teachings of Eastern religions, rejects such dualism insisting that almost all desire is the same. He is talking about a wanting what you have that cross-sects all parts of life. Wanting the stuff you have. Wanting the life you have. Wanting the pain you have. Wanting the negative and the positive.

Let me pause right here and say what a counter-intuitive idea this is. To say that all desire is the same is to say that your desire for a yacht is the same as someone else's desire for universal health care. It is to say that your desire for a humongous diamond ring is the same as someone else's desire to be loved. A middle class person’s desire to make enough to save a little for their children's college fund is the same as the desire of the baseball player making 10 million dollars per year to be making 12 million dollars per year.

How to want what you have would say, counter-intuitively, that after only the most very-basic conditions of your existence are taken care of (essentially having a source of food and shelter) that all desire after that is the same and it is the root of all suffering.

This is still troubling, isn't it? Because, after hearing this you are probably thinking the same thing that I was thinking: “Well, so, then what is the incentive to do anything? Why should the person who wants that promotion work hard for it? Why should the person who wants – oh, I don't know: gender equality or racial equality or no more homophobia – why should they bother to work for it? Why should we get married or stay in a relationship? And what about all those kinds of wanting that we might tend to believe are legitimate expressions of desire? – wanting to be treated with respect; wanting a healthy relationship; wanting justice to roll down like waters and peace like an ever flowing stream?”

Just when you think you've outsmarted him, Tim Miller gets all Zen on us and explains that desire can get in the way of, can sabotage, our deepest desires from coming true. The person who is so consumed by a desire for, say, prison reform, may not be able to fully appreciate a small victory, may drive off or alienate potential allies. A person who wants someone else so badly may cling to them such that they pull away. The best way to get something, may be not to want it too badly.

David Foster Wallace writes that inside each of us there is a Dissatisfied Infant that will adjust its level of dissatisfaction in order to find fault with even the most pleasing of environments. "Why can't our beach umbrellas be more like theirs? How dare you not have Mr. Pibb?... the audacity!" Doug Martsch, the lead singer of Built to Spill (this is called a point of ministerial privilege) sings that sometimes desire leads us to want to be wherever we're not. When school is in session you wait for summer vacation. When it is vacation you wait for school to be in session. You wait for the weather to get nice then you complain that it is too dry.

In the place of desire, Timothy Miller suggests a course of three spiritual disciplines designed to help you to want what you have, and to re-enchant yourself with the magic and grandeur of ordinary existence. These three disciplines are compassion, attention, and gratitude.

We naturally desire for others to be different than they are. We wish to control the way they are and take their actions personally. Miller suggests practicing compassion to others. For each person who annoys you, Miller suggests theorizing reasons to help explain, or humanize their behavior. The person who cuts you off in traffic – they probably have something extremely important to do requiring them to drive aggressively. The person who is inconsiderate: they probably misspoke, or didn't realize how hurtful their words were, or didn't intend them.

We naturally desire things to be different than they are. We spend time regretting the past or worrying anxiously about the future. We fixate on how much better things could be or how much worse they could be and, in doing so, we waste the present. Tim Miller suggests practicing Paying Attention... telling ourselves that these are the good old days. These are the good old days.

Finally, we naturally want things to be better, different. We take the world for granted. Miller suggests practicing Gratitude in order to help overcome desire. At one point, Miller suggests that if you can think of nothing else to be grateful for, be grateful for earthworms that churn the soil and helps the grass to grow.

In speaking with members of the class about their experience practicing the principles of "How to Want what you Have", all agreed that their lives were better as a result as a result. All agreed that to do it well required practice. All agreed that it was something that you can't just do once and find benefits down the road. It was something you needed to work at for years. And finally, each disagreed as to which element was more difficult to practice. One person felt that paying attention to the present moment was the hardest. Another felt that compassion was her biggest obstacle.

When I asked members of the class what part of the book was most important to share, most of them felt that I should send you away with some homework. If you were wanting to give this How to Want What you Have thing a go, here are two simple exercises I might recommend. The first exercise is to try keeping a gratitude journal. Each day, pick a different thing to try to practice gratitude for. On day one, practice gratitude for every bite of food or drink of water that passes your lips. On day two, practice gratitude for any entertainment you experience: music on the radio, etc. On day three, practice gratitude for public utilities: that you get water when you turn on the faucet, that you get electricity, that you get to drive on paved roads. On day four, practice gratitude for plants that give us the oxygen we breathe. On day five, you get the idea....

A second exercise I might recommend has to do with compassion, which is truly a difficult thing to practice. To give you an example, Tim Miller describes trying to imagine your family visiting a public park and winding up setting up your picnic right next to a group of unfamiliar, unattractive people who play loud, unpleasant music, build illegal smoky bonfires, and allow their trash to blow around in the wind. In response to this situation an uncompassionate thought would be: I just wish all the unpleasant, unattractive, bad mannered people in the world would just disappear. The compassionate response would be to think: these people wish the park was all theirs, in exactly the same way I wish it were all mine.

Your homework, if you choose to accept it, is to keep track of the people at whom you get annoyed and frustrated and angry. When you feel yourself getting this way, put yourself in their shoes and try to imagine what circumstances would lead you to behave in the way they behave.
When I spoke on the phone with Dr. Miller, he called this "universalizing": what is it only human for a person in that situation to do? Of all the things in the book, this is probably the most difficult thing to, in my opinion.

Last December I had an hour-long phone conversation with Tim Miller. I assume you're interested in what he had to say. The first thing I told him was about my tendency to transform self-help books into other-help books. He laughed. He concurred with me that it was true that other people's problems are always easier to solve than your own. He offered that most people are predisposed against being persuaded. He offered an aphorism from Samuel Johnson: "Never expect agreement if a person's livelihood requires disagreement." What that means is that most people have good reasons for doing things the way they do them. Forces and factors that lead them to think their strategy for dealing is best. Montaigne once said that "If someone asks you for advice, find out what advice they are looking for and give it to them."

Another question I asked Dr. Miller was about the nature of desire. Can desire be contained within a single functional area while compassion, attention, and gratitude are practiced in another. He seemed to think that in most cases, desire in one area will cross-contaminate other areas. Take for example a person with a stimulating, successful professional life and a disappointing family life. This person will tend to develop a resentment against the former, blaming it for contributing to the former. He gave me the example of someone who long-dreamed of being the CEO of his corporation only to find, once this desire was realized, that his position was lonely, and grueling, and exhausting and that what he desired was to spend more time with family. (You could easily imagine someone with neither of these of these things -- neither family nor meaningful work saying, “If I had even just one of these, I would be happy.”)

So, based on what I've said this morning, are you buying it? Do you buy that it is possible to want what you have? And further, do you buy that you can actually want what you have without turning into a lazy, shiftless, directionless person?

I think I do and I would further note that some of the world's greatest figures – Gandhi, King, Mandela – seemed to be able to demonstrate tremendous compassion, powers of attention, and fierce gratitude in the midst of leading ambitious social change movements. Paradoxically, wanting what you have empowers transformation.

When it is August, be in August. When May, be in May. When in darkness, be attentive to the darkness. In day, be in day. These are the good old days. This is the precious present. Amen.

On Sunday, June 11 I plan to preach a sermon about The Da Vinci Code movie and reactions to it by religious group in the United States and around the world.

For background reading, you may wish to consider the sermon I delivered on the book in December, 2003. You also may be interested in the wonderful UU World article on Mary Magdalene by Rev. Liz Lerner.

I plan to title my sermon "Misplaced Offense." I plan to examine the "controversy" created by the Da Vinci Code movie in light of two guiding lights:

First, University of Chicago Religion professor Bruce Lincoln's assertion that "Those who sustain [an] idealized image of culture do so, inter alia, by mistaking the dominant fraction (sex, age group, class, [dogma] and/or caste) of a given group for the group or 'culture' itself. At the same time, they mistake the ideological positions favoured and propagated by the dominant fraction for those of the group as a whole (e.g. when texts authored by Brahmins define 'Hinduism', or when the statements of male elders constitute 'Nuer religion')."

And second, this famous quote from a sermon by Tony Campolo: "I have three things I'd like to say today. First, while you were sleeping last night, 30,000 kids died of starvation or diseases related to malnutrition. Second, most of you don't give a shit. What's worse is that you're more upset with the fact that I said shit than the fact that 30,000 kids died last night."

Finally, a bit of shamelessness for the search engines: Dan Brown, The Da Vinci Code, Opus Dei, Robert Langdon, Sophie Neveu, Catholic Church, Jesus, Mary Magdalene, Holy Grail, Tom Hanks, Audrey Tatou, Ron Howard, conspiracy, boycott, protest, controversy, France, Knights Templar

A big thank you to my colleague Rob Eller-Isaacs for introducing me to this wonderful poem: "At the Smithville Methodist Church" by Stephen Dunn.

Last month, a group from SMUUCh's Quarterlife Quorum (Young Adult Group) walked in the Kansas City AIDS walk. Here are a few pictures:

It is only appropriate, on the Sunday that we gather for our Annual Congregational Meeting, that I offer some thoughts and observations. And, whereas we value such things as conciseness and brevity at our Annual Meetings, and whereas those qualities of conciseness and brevity are not traits that ministers tend to embody, I decided to exercise a bit of privilege and share my report as a sermon.

Many of you, especially those of you who are newer to this church, may be wondering what a congregational meeting is all about. It is the time in the year when the congregation votes to elect officers, hears other brief informational presentations, and, occasionally, votes on other matters of congregational importance. We do this because our model of governance is rooted in democracy. The fifth of our seven principles impels us to affirm and promote the use of the democratic process in our churches and in society at large. It has been said that democracy is the human realization of a theological idea.

One thing is certain about democracy: It has worth only to the extent that it is exercised, to the extent that it is practiced. The same thing, by the way, is true of faith. And like our faith development, our system of congregational governance and organization is a hands-on enterprise. This church, right here and right now, is whatever we cause it to be. What we are, or what we fail to be, is directly correlated to whoever shows up, or doesn't show up. It is the day-to-day efforts of all of us that cause this church to be what it is, every day and in every way.

It is only proper to begin by thanking those who have been Board members, task force members, committee chairs, and committee members. These words of thanks need to begin with the work of the Strategic Planning Committee who led us in forming our Mission & Vision statements, and the next incarnation of that work, the Facilities Task Force, who are currently working to translate what our Mission and Vision mean for us in terms of our facilities. Their work is incredibly important. We should all be interested and anticipating the work of this group.

I also need to thank several people who are on their way to concluding several years of distinguished service in leadership positions here at SMUUCh. In particular, I lift up the efforts of our outgoing treasurer and Finance Committee Chair. If you aren't serving on a committee, I'd like to encourage you to pursue a position of leadership and service.

I said this sermon is going to be a report from me, and that is sort of a truth. But while I could supply a list of my various activities (this many sermons; that many committee meetings; a certain number of hospital visits and counseling sessions; some weddings; some classes taught; some work with the youth; some leadership in the community) most of the things I am excited to report are not things for which I can claim any special credit. These are things, like the Evolution Class, Rev. Barbara Pescan visiting as our Distinguished Guest Minister, our New Mission & Vision statements, our many, many service projects and collections, for which various among you can take credit.

If I had to lift up three key themes from this past year, they would be Generosity, Growth, and Engagement. Conveniently, they all begin with G (well, except for the last one.) OK, so Generosity, Growth, and Getting Out There.

First, Generosity. This is a very generous congregation. That is the truth. I refer not only to our successful stewardship campaign, of which we should be proud. We are now a financially healthy congregation, which could not always be said of us. We are moving towards a culture of abundance, where the answer is "yes" and we look forward, rather than a culture of scarcity, where we are paralyzed by anxiety and we worry about making it through the week. We are generous with our lives, generous with ourselves, and generous with our time. We are generous with the welcome we extend.

That leads me to the second thing to mention: Growth. Thirty-seven new members joined the church this year. Thirty-seven. That is very cool. Welcome! What this says to me is that we are a church that people want to come to. People are hungry for liberal religious community. People want transformation, connection, to be a part of the good things we are about.

And finally, Engagement, Getting Out There. Increasingly, we're doing this. From a member going to Rwanda and Haiti, and then bringing the major business players in Kansas City together to make a difference in global health, to a new member leading us in Habitat for Humanity, to putting up signs for Evolution, to Sara Sautter leading the children in community projects – as a congregation we are increasingly outward-facing. This is a sign of health. According to many of the best and brightest thinkers on religious systems, being too inwardly-focused is a sign of narcissism, privilege, and poor faith. These experts say that the more outward-facing a church is, the easier the work of internal institution-tending becomes.

I said I was going to give you a report, but before I do so, I'm going to do some theology with you. This theology is important. This theology we're going to do has to do with the theology, the meaning, of what we're all about when we get together as a church.

We all are familiar with Abraham Lincoln's famous quip about government being of, by, and for the people. Many of us don't know he plagiarized that line from a sermon by the Unitarian minister Theodore Parker. But I want to talk about the of, by, and for of church. So, my three theological questions are these: Who runs the church? Who is the church for? And, who are the stewards of the church?

To answer these questions, I want to go back nearly 400 years to a wonderful and tedious piece of writing called "The Cambridge Platform". That is the document written by our religious forebears, that spelled out to our religious forebears, how churches organized and operated. We've been doing church in this way for nearly 400 years. Some of you may say, “Well, who cares about this four hundred year old piece of paper?” Please, don’t head for the exits just yet. This document informs the way we organize, why we choose ministers the way we do, why we have annual meetings. We don't make board members and committee chairs read it anymore, only seminary students, but it is what shapes the way we do church. Go look it up. By the way, this document spelling out how we organize as a church is almost 150 years older than the constitution! And almost 100 years older than the Methodist system of governance.

First question: Whose church is this? What do you think? Well, according to the Cambridge Platform, the church actually belongs to God, and Christ is the head of the church. Clearly, that is not the theology we tend to use today. But I think our religious forebears were onto something. You notice, they didn't make the minister the head of the church. They didn't make the board president head of the church. They didn't make the loudest voice, or biggest pledger, the head of the church. Today, I think it would be more appropriate to say that the spirit of the liberal religious tradition, the great hope and vision of liberal religion, the principles of liberal religion – that is what we report to, that to which we owe our responsibility, our dedication, our commitment. We answer, finally, to the great hope of liberal religion. We answer finally to something larger than ourselves.

Next question: Who is the church for? I want to tell you how the biggest church in our district answered that question. Their board went on a retreat together and wrestled theologically with this question. They came to the conclusion that nothing in our theological tradition tells us that the church is solely for those in the congregation. This was a surprising discovery. They came to the conclusion that “the moral owners of [the church] are those who yearn for the Beloved Community and see [the church] as an instrument for its realization.” These moral owners included not only members, but also, “Potential members seeking an open, liberal, and inclusive church community. This includes but is not limited to those who do not have a church because of systemic oppression, sexual identity, race, economics, or incompatible theology…Community outreach partners… [and the] people served by community outreach partners.” Their church has decided that it is not accountable only to itself, but to the community, as well as to all those whose lives would be enriched by participation in their community. What would it mean for us to be able to say that? That the worship service, the music program, religious education, the group you're in, is not for you, but for a broader community than those presently gathered.

The final question: If the church is of the hope and vision and promise of the liberal religious tradition; if it is for all those who hunger and thirst for such a world as this vision would create, then, who is it by? The answer to this question is: all of us. We are the stewards, the co-creators, the foundation, the builders, the tenders, the midwives working to bring about such a world. We do this work together not for ourselves, not for our own amusement and benefit and enjoyment, but for all those who need what we envision. And we do this work not to meet our own approval, but to meet something that is asked of us that is challenging and intense and terribly demanding, but is rewarding in equal proportion to its demand.

So, that theological excursion aside, here is the minister's report: And in some ways, it has very little to do with you. That's not a slight. Actually, in many ways we are going extremely well as a congregation. We are growing in our membership. That means we are serving those who come to us seeking a meaningful community. We are looking outward, beyond ourselves. That means we understand who we are called to serve. Those are reasons why I am so happy to serve as the minister here.

But I need to tell you, my heart is restless. I have been a UU for 28 years. In that time, I have belonged to nine different UU congregations, the last four of which I've provided with professional ministry. I've served on two district committees, and I've just been asked to serve on a national-level committee. I have professional certification in its history, theology, and tradition of liberal religion. I love this faith. Some of you may even know about my flaming chalice tattoo.

But I have grave concerns about the future viability of Unitarian Universalism. As a congregation, we are growing; we’ve grown 50% in the past four years. As a movement, we are shrinking. The Unitarian Universalist Association has had flat membership for the past forty years. There are actually about 15,000 fewer UUs today than there were at merger in 1961. That's real numbers, not adjusted for population growth. More troubling, religious education enrollments are declining throughout our denomination, which is directly related to the average age of our adult members, which is climbing. The average age of an adult UU is almost sixty years old.

Beyond demographics, our denomination has not had broad program of planting new churches since the end of the Fellowship Movement thirty years ago. It hasn't had a broad national program for growing churches since the Extension Program was scrapped nearly five years ago. Increasingly, our national leaders have said, "If you’re growth oriented, you’re on your own." I consider that the anti-thesis of leadership.

For the past year I have been involved in conversations about growth with an impressive cast of characters. I've been talking with Davidson Loehr, of the UU church in Austin, TX, one of our more brilliant and more controversial ministers. I've also been talking with Stephan Papa, who has served several large UU churches. At the end of June, I have been invited to participate in a conversation about growth with members of the UUA Board, who have read a thought-piece I authored on the subject.

You might ask, what does this have to do with us as a church? More than you might think. I offer these thoughts to you as a reminder that what we do here matters – and to give you a larger context of the importance of how we do things here at SMUUCh. Unitarian Universalism is a small pond. And the ripples we make might turn into big waves.

I wonder, what if we made it our goal to effectively welcome to membership in this church one person every week? One person every week. Do you think we could transform one life a week to the extent that they would freely affiliate with the tradition of liberal religion. What if in the next year every member of this church took it upon themselves to invite in one friend who you know would grow from being here?

Here we are growing in faith. We are developing in our faith. We are actively in conversation with our history, and wise in our understanding of our roots.

Here we are generous, and generative, and growing. We welcome those seeking the hope and the vision of that the liberal religious tradition promises.

Here we are outward-looking as well as inward-looking, outward-serving as well as inward-serving. We realize that Unitarian Universalism is for more that those here gathered.

Here we know that our commitment matters. That the church, indeed the liberal religious tradition, is there for a reason that is greater than to serve us. When we gather, we help to determine the future of Unitarian Universalism and the future of the liberal religious tradition. It is far more important than we might ever realize.

Coming to church is more important than we might realize.

Serving on a committee is more important than we might realize.

Visiting one another in joy or sorrow, for celebration or comfort, is more important than we might realize.

Welcoming one who seeks us is more important than we might realize.

With the knowledge that what we do now means this church will be stronger 100 years from now.

Keep it up! Amen.

Very cool news from my Alma Mater! Read the press release (here, here) about the creation of the Emerson Unitarian Universalist Professorship at Harvard Divinity School. Philocrites is already speculating on candidates.

Last night I found myself watching the coverage of the National Spelling Bee which, I have to tell you, was riveting television. Talk about impressive 13- and 14-year olds! Unfortunately, our local contestant from Olathe, Kavya Shivashankar, was one of earliest eliminated in the Final 13.

I have to tell you that I was playing along at home - and doing rather poorly - until the word "weltschmerz" came up. This was the word that eliminated the runner-up... AND I KNEW IT!

Weltschmerz: sadness concerning the evils of the world, or, romantic pessimism.

On the other hand, "hukilau" would have really tripped me up.

Peacebang is at it again with her hilarious and prophetic blog: Beauty Tips for Ministers. Check the archives.

[Remarks made at the Dinner, Hymn Sing, and Annual Meeting of the Unitarian Universalist Christian Fellowship on Saturday, June 24, 2006 at the Episcopal Christ Church Cathedral in St. Louis, Missouri.]

It is an honor to be asked to speak this evening. Thank you Ron for this honor. Before I launch into what I had planned to say, there are a few people who are worthy of mention. I was first made aware of the UUCF seven years ago by my then pastor and now colleague Rev. Tim Jensen, a past board member of the UUCF. While on a road trip from Portland to Salt Lake City, Tim spoke so highly of this organization calling it the best hope for the future of our UU movement. I also want to mention my parishioner, Michele Gaston, who is here this evening. And finally, I want to mention Rev. Roger Butts; the seeds of this talk came from a conversation we had one evening on an organic farm on the windswept prairies of southern Minnesota. As a born and bred New Englander now living in the Midwest, sentences like that one still don’t strike me as natural to say.

This past year I launched my own blog, and joined the community of UU bloggers. Many of my favorite blogs are written by UU Christians, an interesting phenomenon. Something that I’ve noticed spending time in these circles is that a good proportion of these UU blogs tend to approach Unitarian Universalism with an attitude of criticism. This is true of both the Christian blogs and the non-Christian blogs. The criticism they offer is diverse. Some of the criticism is earnest; some of it is sarcastic and edgy; some of it is plaintive; some of it is angry; some of it is a cry of mourning from the depths of the soul; some of it could be described simply as “snarky.” But, from a fair sampling, it is clear that the critical spirit is present. And I want to explore what this says about our identities. This line of thought caused me to wonder. Would Martin Luther have had a blog? “95theses.com” or something? Would Michael Servetus have posted his letters to Calvin on-line?

But seriously, I want to talk about the spirit of reform, and the spirit of critique, which are both aspects of the prophetic spirit. I want to talk about how we embody and identify with this often restless aspect of the religious life. And, finally, I want to suggest a way of understanding our identities as UU Christians in relation to this restless aspect of the religious life.

To begin, I want to get a little bit nerdy. Since about half of you are ministers, you’ll probably think, “Oh, I remember this from seminary and it was boring then.” The other half of you will be bored by this for the first time. There was once a guy named Joseph Priestley, a British Unitarian minister and scientist who emigrated to the United States and became something of a spiritual advisor to Thomas Jefferson.

In 1782 Priestley published a book called “The Corruptions of Christianity.” What the book did was to give a history of early Christianity and to attempt to expose the various corruptions, impurities, and errors that found their way in over the years. The implication was that if you simply stripped away all those impurities and corruptions you would be left with a perfected church.

The scholarly term for such a perfected church is the “primitive church.” Here the word “primitive” does not hold those politically-incorrect connotations we might associate with the term. Rather, it means original. There is an “in-the-beginning” sense to it. Reform is intended to correct the corruptions that human beings have wrought.

This spirit of critique and reform is as old as Protestantism. It is as old as Christianity. It is as old as religion itself. It has surely been a facet of Unitarianism and Universalism since the beginning.

In the early days of Unitarianism, people like Priestley imagined a primitive church, cleansed of non-Biblical ideas which introduced error. Since then, the spirit of reform has suggested other corrections. Some of these corrections have claimed the power of the human mind and some of them have exhorted us to guard against idolatries of the mind. Some of these corrections have claimed the power of the Divine Spirit and some of them have exhorted us to guard against idolatrous images of the Divine.

Whether Humanist or Christian, whether Earth-centered or Goddess-based, the reforming spirit has been and continues to be alive and well in Unitarian Universalism. And UU Christians have surely been a part of this. UU Christians have offered corrections and called for reform when our movement’s imagination of the Divine has become too limited. UU Christians have offered corrections and called for reform when our movement takes its heritage for granted. UU Christians have offered corrections and called for reform when we would make idols of our own human faculties of thought and intellect.

But isn’t it something to daydream – to daydream of a church 200 or 2,000 years ago that didn’t do any of these things that we find fault with today. But then we remember that Jesus was a reformer. And John the Baptist was a reformer. And Paul, of course Paul was a reformer. Someone once suggested that reading Paul was like reading only the answers to a Dear Abby advice column – you get the answers, but at times the questions aren’t entirely certain.

What I want to suggest, leaving this boring history lesson aside, is that our strength as UU Christians is not located in some great acumen we might possess as reformers. Our strength is not the power to return it to some primitive condition, free of error. (Such a utopian community has never existed.) Rather, I want to ask you to imagine that your strength is found in your ability to be the “not-so-primitive” church.

The “not-so-primitive church.” What does this mean? I think it means being able to understand your past, both the good and bad of it, and being willing to see how you are a part of it. I think it means being able to identify with your history, even if you don’t always agree with it. And, I think it means realizing that churches are homes of the imperfectly human, just as they are places to grow in the grace of God. Understanding this is what keeps us from imposing arbitrary litmus tests on those who would join our communities.

Why is it natural for UU Christians to be the not-so-primitive church?

… Because our theology tells us of the reality of human shortcoming. And by shortcoming I do not mean only sinfulness, or being fallen, or missing the mark. I mean an incompleteness, which is what opens us to grace.

… Because we are willing to enter into relationships with our religious past, not flee from it. I think of that way of interpreting the parable of the Prodigal Son, where the inheritance that is squandered is not a sum of gold, but a religious heritage. What if we were to interpret this parable as an allegory for our relationship with the living tradition?

… And finally, I think it is natural for UU Christians to be the not-so-primitive church because of a realization that God is there whenever two or three or four are gathered. God does not wait to arrive until the cathedral is completed.

Several years ago I was lucky enough to get to travel to Barcelona. There is Barcelona is one of the world’s greatest architectural miracles: Gaudi’s La Sagrada Familia. This absolute marvel has been under construction for over a century. As you stand there in front of it, you first notice how exquisite it is. Then you notice the cranes, scaffolding, and construction equipment. Part of you can’t help to imagine what it will look like completed. It is perhaps a metaphor for faith – that in some way our faith and our religion is always “under construction.”

Mine certainly is. As someone who tries to take seriously Jesus’ life and death and resurrection, and as someone who tries to take seriously those who take Jesus’ life and death and resurrection seriously, and as someone who tries to live intentionally as a result, mine certainly is.

Let us close together is prayer:

Amidst this gathering of earnest souls, help us to grow in fellowship and in greater faith. Help us to love one another as Jesus taught.

We offer thanks for our meal this evening, for the bread that sustains, as well as for the faith that fills us in ways that bread cannot.

Help us to make our lives a witness, both within this meetings and outside of it, both within this week and beyond it. Remind us that selfless acts of love are better representatives of faith than well-spoken words. Help us to remember joy, laughter, and celebration – that our faith is a source of gladness and that we should share this by showing this.

Most of all, we pray we are forgiven for our shortcomings and errors, loved for who we are despite our blemishes, our human imperfections, and even our foolishness. Bless us not only in moments of clarity, but also in uncertainty; bless us not only in vocation, but also in discernment.

[According to a wonderful prayer I once heard] remind us that God has room for all people: the faithful, the faithless, and those of dappled faith… and the Lord so loves dappled things. Amen.

Picture taken from this site.

Opening Words
[These opening words were inspired by a post on the UU minister’s list-serve. A comment about Jesus in India inspired this riff…]

I imagine we are all familiar with Dan Brown’s book, now a movie, The Da Vinci Code which suggests that Jesus was married to Mary Magdalene, who fled with child to present day France, where the line of Jesus’ biological descendants has continued to this day.

But, to suggest this is clearly offensive to some religious people who insist that wasn’t the case at all. For example, if you travel to Sringar, in the Kashmir region of India, you will find the tomb of Jesus. There, Hindus believe that Jesus survived the crucifixion and then journeyed to India where he became a Hindu holy man and had seven children. He died there at an advanced age and is buried there.

Hold on just a second. That isn’t what happened. At least, it isn’t according to the residents of Shingo, Japan. In Shingo, they would tell you that Jesus didn’t stop in India, how could you believe that? To them, clearly Jesus journeyed all the way to Japan, where he married, had a family, died, and is buried.

Hold on just a second. That’s not how it happened – that’s what a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints would tell you. When they tell the story, Jesus did die on the cross, but then came back several hundred years later in South America. That’s what it says in the Book of Mormon.

Which of these scenarios is true? Perhaps a more important question to ask would be: Who owns this story? Who gets to decide which version of it may be told? How does one version become official? And, how do you arbitrate when one group insists its version is the right one, and the existence of any others is offensive?

Sermon
About two and a half years ago, I preached to you about the book version of The Da Vinci Code and talked all about early Christian history, gnosticism, pagan influence, and the idea of the Divine feminine. This morning I want to take a different tack on the whole Da Vinci Code phenomenon – I want to explore the popularity aroused (note the double entendre) and the controversy engendered (double entendre again) by the book and movie. I want to explore how The Da Vinci Code came to be the latest territory battled over in the culture wars.

If you drive around town looking at church billboards you can’t help but think that every church in town has caught Da Vinci Code fever. The last movie to cause such an uproar was Mel Gibson’s depraved, ultra-violent, and embarrassingly misguided The Passion of the Christ – which I preached on as well when it was released a little over two years ago. In hindsight, that phenomenon, like this one, was such a mingling of pop culture, marketing savvy, and religious group-think. If you remember, Mel Gibson exploited his supporters by getting evangelical Christian ministers to exhort their flocks to return to see the Passion over and over again, telling them that it was their Christian duty to keep Jesus number one at the box office. And if you remember – something I believe I was the first to point out – the film that finally toppled Gibson’s Passion was a remake of George Romero’s zombie-classic Dawn of the Dead. Yes, a violent gore-fest about returning from the dead… eventually got bumped from #1 by a zombie movie.

This time around, the churches are less happy about the movie. They are criticizing it and calling it offensive. Some are protesting it. Some find its depiction of Catholicism offensive. Others are offended because of what it claims about Jesus. This time the Evangelical churches are worried about whose faith it may “destroy” or “misguide” or “weaken,” calling it a danger to their faith. They worry that it may lead potential, if not faithful, Christians astray and away.

Of course, on one level, The Da Vinci Code is fiction. Opus Dei doesn’t run around killing nuns and museum curators. But, just as The Firm with Tom Cruise succeeded by playing with our anxiety about corrupt workplace ethics, and the new version of The Manchurian Candidate succeeded by playing with our anxiety about power-hungry politicians and corporations, so too does The Da Vinci Code play with anxiety about cloaked religious secrecy. If the Cardinals can meet in secret to elect a Pope, what else the imagination wonders might take place in secret? In that vein of thought, one would really have to question whether defensiveness is actually the best strategy.

But then there is that other level, the outrage and taking offense about what The Da Vinci Code says about who Jesus was. While the wrappings – the setting, plot, context, etc. of The Da Vinci Code may be fiction, like all art (even some pop art) the artifice of the wrappings does not mean that we aren’t asked important and serious questions. That is perhaps the nature of art – even formulaic, gimmicky art: A representation of reality allows us to ask questions about what is real.

These are the real questions, and our reactions to them, that I want to explore with you this morning.

The first thing I want to explore with you is the nature of offensiveness. To a degree we live in an “in your face” time when attitude is a supposed virtue. Ours is a time when homophobic ministers protest at the funerals of soldiers, when the Vice-President of the United States tells a Senator to “F___-off” on the Senate floor and act smug about it, and when, just this past week, Ann Coulter viciously attacked women whose husbands died in the World Trade Center on September 11 suggesting that they should pose for Playboy.

And at the same time, we paradoxically live in a world that claims sensitivity to offense. Though often maligned, Political Correctness – in its most basic, essential form – was concerned, and I believe rightly so, with altering language to make it more inclusive and more compassionate. So, what are we to do with offensive things? And, how are we to respond to the claim that something is offensive?

I think we ought to begin by looking at the intent, the motivations, of what is causing offense. There are times when what causes offense seems to exist for no other reason than to offend – to get a rise out of somebody. This seems to be the case with those drawings which appeared in a Dutch newspaper, you know, the ones that depicted the Prophet Muhammad as a terrorist. These drawings were clearly intended to incite. In this way, they are like the creations of shock-jock Howard Stern: they are designed to titillate, provoke, shock and/or disgust.

Of course, one can say shocking and outrageous things for personal gain – be it attention, sales, or whatever, but this strategy can also backfire. Witness the poor box office turnout for the latest Mission Impossible sequel starring Tom Cruise; people now are more turned-off than seduced by his tendency to do and say shocking, offbeat things.

Similarly, there are times when calling something offensive serves a purpose. Again, I return to the idea of political correctness, the aim of which is to make public discourse more inclusive, more accessible for those who are usually excluded. But claims that The Da Vinci Code is offensive are not in this line. At least I don’t think they are. Claiming that something is offensive can be a way of silencing dissent and claiming authority and power.

In 1998 I had the opportunity to attend a program on religious scholarship with Professor Bruce Lincoln of the University of Chicago. A few dozen of us were invited to spend an afternoon in discussion with him. We got to talking about questions of authority and Bruce Lincoln, referring to a piece of his writing, had this to say:

“Those who sustain an idealized image of culture do so, inter alia, by mistaking the dominant faction of a given group for the group or ‘culture’ itself. At the same time, they mistake the ideological positions favored and propagated by the dominant faction for those of the group as a whole.

“The same destabilizing and irreverent questions that one might ask of any speech act ought to be posed of religious discourse. The first of these is, ‘Who speaks here?’ ‘To what audience?’ ‘In what immediate and broader context?’ ‘With what interests?’ ‘And should the speaker persuade the audience, what are the consequences?’ ‘Who wins?’ ‘How much?’ ‘Conversely, who loses?’”

What Prof. Lincoln is saying is that there is a tendency for the powerful, the dominant, to try to speak on behalf of the less powerful. Another great scholar of religion, Robert Orsi, studied groups of ethnic Catholic women in Chicago. He found that their religious praxis centered on the Virgin Mary; Jesus was clearly subordinate. However, if you would have asked their Priest, or Bishop, or Cardinal, or Pope about the degree to which the church venerated Mary,. you would get a different and contradictory answer. These groups of ethnic women, though, would tell you that they were devout practicing Catholics. So, who is right? “Who speaks here?” “With what interests?”

So, with The Da Vinci Code, when someone says that it is offensive to Christians, or that it challenges the beliefs of Christians, we would probably be wise to ask: “Which Christians?” “Whose beliefs?” and “Who speaks here?” “With what interests?” and “Whose voice is silenced?”

It is a power play. It is to say, “Those of us with this theology, this interpretive system, this version of scripture, this version of history, this concept of salvation – we are the ones who get to decide what the official version of the story is. We are the ones who get to decide what the true version of the story is. We’re official. And to tell the story differently is not just unorthodox, it is offensive to us and to our official version.” To call it offensive is to say, “You’re not allowed to challenge our dominant view; you must be silenced.”

Which is really ironic, because if you want to read The Da Vinci Code at all generously – looking for what wisdom can be mined – the best thing about the book and movie is that they succeed in asking these sorts of important questions: “Who owns the story?” “Who decides?”

I might spend just a minute on the history of things here. When I was an undergraduate student, I learned Coptic in order to earn the favor and attention of a religion professor who was, in my estimation, about as cool as Robert Langdon. Coptic is the language of those excluded gospels, including the Gospel of Thomas, Phillip, Judas, the Gospel of Mary Magdalene. The Nag Hammadi Library was composed in Coptic. Coptic was also the language of even weirder holy texts, such as the Apocryphon of John in which truth is revealed, not through Jesus, but from the spirit of the feminine Divine, Sophia, the incarnation of wisdom. It is important to note that these unofficial gospels, like the official ones, tell very little and with little certainty about who Jesus actually was. But what they do tell us, and with tremendous certainty, is that among the spiritual options available in late antiquity were versions of the story in which Jesus and Mary Magdalene had a special relationship, as well as versions in which a Divine Feminine Spirit embodies wisdom.

Being offended by something can serve to expand our circle, can help us to welcome and include. Or, being offended by something can be used as a tool to exclude. To push away. To limit. To control. To silence. We can attempt to remove the obstacles that prevent voices from being heard. Or, we can attempt to silence other voices on account of their being threateningly other.

Causing offense and taking offense are neither inherently good, nor inherently bad. For a good example of this, we might turn to the Hebrew Prophets and consider their antics and rhetoric. The Hebrew Prophets were not exactly the type of people who you would like to invite to a dinner party. They would be more likely to overturn the table, or start a food-fight. According to the Jewish tradition, some of their behaviors included dressing in sack-clothes and covering their bodies in ashes, public disrobing, and neglecting conventions of personal hygiene. As I said, these guys were offensiveness personified. Yet at the same time, I have a difficult time condemning these antic. The role of the prophets was to recall religion and government to a moral standard – not to exploit the weak and vulnerable, not to ignore the poor and sick, not to make war for greed and conquest and then call it peace.

Saint Augustine once famously said that the twin daughters of hope are anger and courage, anger that things are the way they ought not be, and courage to work to make things as they ought to be. I don’t think it is too big of a stretch to say that our central problem is neither an excess of anger, nor an insufficiency of anger, but an intensity of emotion directed to where it ought to be directed: Offense taken by those things that are, in fact, offensive rather than mistaken offense.

The example here that I cannot help but include is from Tony Campolo, a progressive evangelical minister, who has been known to begin a sermon this way,

“I want to tell you three things. The first thing is that while you were sleeping last night, twenty-thousand children died of starvation and curable diseases. The second thing is that none of you give a shit. And the third thing, is that many of you are more upset that I said the word shit than you are that twenty-thousand children died of starvation and curable diseases.”

And so we pray that we take all things – all offense and trespass – in correct proportion, not making mountains of molehills, not worrying over splinters while neglecting motes. That we may treat all things in life with the intensity proper to them. We express gratitude for the wonder of stories, imagination, and mystery. We affirm: Life is too serious for it to be solemn. Truth, too abundant to be clung at. And grace, resolute even throughout all our worries.

Here's what I've been reading this Summer:

I've continued on my David Foster Wallace binge, reading his first novel, The Broom of the System, as well as his book on the mathematics of infinity, Everything and More.

I'm embarrassed to admit that I finally got around to reading Tracy Kidder's biography of Dr. Paul Farmer, Mountains Beyond Mountains, which had been sitting on my bookshelf for far too long. I wish I had read it months ago!

In the world of Unitarian Universalism I am reading the new collection of essays by Rebecca Parker, Blessing the World (which I will be preaching about on August 13) as well as the collection of essays edited by Kathleen Rolenz, Christian Voices in Unitarian Universalism. The latter was the fifth highest selling title at General Assembly.

Still moved by Bill Schulz's lecture, "What Torture has Taught Me", I decided to pick up Torture and Modernity by Darius Rejali. A sermon on this subject is forthcoming.

Finally, I'm hoping to find the time to get around to reading Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami.

Since I'm going to be talking about Universalism this morning I thought it appropriate to begin with a story from our Universalist heritage. The story goes that a Universalist and a Baptist church in the same town were having a kind of feud. They did battle by posting messages on the sign boards outside their respective churches. Hosea Ballou, who some would consider the father of Universalism, came to town to guest preach at the Universalist Church and they posted the title of his sermon, “There is no Hell.” The next day, the Baptists had responded, changing their sign board to read, “The Hell there ain’t.”

My sermon this morning is the first in a three part series that I’ve titled “Universalism Today & Tomorrow.” What we’re going to do in this sermon series is explore three traditional expressions of Universalist theology and apply them to our situation today. Maybe that sounds boring to you. I don’t think it is. And not because I’m some kind of religion nerd who enjoys theology, but because this has to do with our lives and our world.

This sermon series is going to introduce three expressions of Universalist theology, and it will introduce them in reverse historical order. We’ll be working our way backwards. Two weeks from now, we’ll be looking at the earliest expression of Universalist theology, the doctrine of Universal Salvation. Universal Salvation, the narrowest of these theological statements, said simply this, that all souls will be reconciled and reunited with God. What a powerful thing to say. Not all souls, except for people of this religion or that nationality. Not all souls, except for this scoundrel or that criminal. Not all souls except for that neighbor, the one I cannot stand. Not all souls except for that person whose entire existence seemed of no redemptive value to anybody whatsoever. All Souls are reconciled with their Creator. Everybody goes to Heaven. Everybody gets in. That was the theological position of our religious ancestors. Two weeks from now, we’ll talk about what that means for those of us living today.

Now you can imagine that if those earliest Universalists believed everybody would get into heaven, the consequence of such a belief would be not a suspicion of other religions, but an open-minded curiosity directed towards them, and a desire to see goodness confirmed by them. In one UU church I once belonged to, a prominent poster displayed versions of the Golden Rule as contained in the scriptures of different religions of the world. When Rev. Ken Patton put symbols from the world’s religions around the sanctuary of his Universalist Charles Street Meeting House – much like the world religions symbols we used to display around the entrance to the Barn Chapel thirty years later – it announced a new understanding of Universalist theology, the understanding that the religions of the world had, at root, a common dream, vision, wisdom that was available to us. I’ll be talking more about this next week.

So, if the religions of the world had something in common, if dialogue between religions and nationalities was possible, if there was some connection we shared, then it was possible for Universalists to broaden that way of thinking, and to imagine that there is a shared connectedness that is a reality between all people and between all beings. This became the third major understanding of Universalism. And this understanding gave us our seventh principle. The seventh principle, which says that there is an interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.

What does this principle mean: “An interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part”? I would say it means that we are connected to everything, and everything is connected to us. This is a theological statement. I can’t prove it to you, even though I can give you examples that would support it. It is a theological statement, meaning it helps us to form the meaning we make out of the world in which we live, and as a result of impacting our meaning-making, it helps to determine our actions, our deeds, and our choices.

So, let’s look at this principle, this idea that our lives are part of, “an interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.” What does this mean? First of all, it is such a broad concept. When many read this principle, they first think to environmentalism. We recognize, for example, that if a factory puts toxins into a stream here it causes cancer there, and if you spray DDT to kill insects, the chemical gets carried up the food chain and kills birds. This is basic cause- and- effect thinking.

But the principle is even broader than that. We all recognize these interdependences – webs of existence – in our lives. To an extent, at least. The problem is that this web of all existence is too big for us to fully comprehend, fully grasp, and so it can be our tendency to only see the connections that are most obvious to us, to value the relationships that we already value, to hang out in our nook of the web, maybe sensing the vibrations from events that occur a seemingly long way off, but all the time hanging out in the neighborhood of interactions we are familiar with, and meanings already made. I want to suggest that this way of being in the web is not sufficient to the task of living a life that makes the whole system better, and is not in line with the larger truth of what it means to live in the world. In reality, our connections are both more intimate and more expansive than we tend to accept.

What I want to do is offer some helpful observations for living interdependently in this web of all existence of which we are a part. All this so far might seem abstract, but we’re going to try to make in plain.

The first observation I want to introduce is something I call the rule of indirectness. We are used to thinking of cause and effect between things directly. But the rule of indirectness says that all sorts of things impact us and others indirectly. My favorite example of this was given at a church leadership convention I attended a couple of years ago. The presenter, Rev. Kenn Hurto, was talking about a church that was always horribly off-key in its singing. This fact was a great sore spot to many in the congregation. They fixed their problem by painting their nursery. It turns out the nursery had been kind of a dingy, dreary, uninviting place, but after it was painted, it was much more inviting, and several weeks after it was spruced up a new family with a small infant visited. Impressed by the bright and friendly nursery they felt comfortably welcome and decided to stay. It turns out that the couple had extensive training in leading singing groups, and the congregation’s singing soon improved tremendously as a consequence of their leadership. The presenter made the point to those of us there that it would be wrong to think that doing likewise would guarantee similar results, but rather, that changing one part of a system will change other parts of a system. Changing one part of a system will change other parts of a system, indirectly.

The rule of indirectness is “a butterfly flapping its wings in Africa will cause it to snow in Kansas City”-style thinking; it’s quantum physics compared to Newtonian physics (or so I’ve heard.) The rule of indirectness says that the effects of actions have an expansive, and unpredictable, rippling effect.

In any event, another observation that is important to consider when we think of Universalism as interconnectedness is the rule of intimacy. The rule of intimacy says that we are actually a lot closer to other people than we imagine we are. One writer [Tracy Kidder in his biography of Dr. Paul Farmer] observed that a person can get on a jet plane in a third world country and land in a first world country, or for that matter, take a different highway exit than the one they usually take, and remark about this journey, “I feel like I am in a different world.” In which case, the writer remarks, such a feeling would be absolutely wrong. That feeling, he explains, is a way of distancing yourself from the fact that someone else’s living in a third world country has something to do with your living in a first world country. The feeling is a way of distancing yourself from the fact that the type of life found off of one highway exit is connected to the type of life found off of another highway exit.

Intimacy, rather than distance. Unitarian Universalist theologian Rebecca Parker calls the artificial distance which prevents us from understanding our actual connection with others “fragmentation”. She says that there is a kind of culturally sanctioned and enforced ignorance which fragments our inter-relatedness, and she writes that, “to become an inhabitant of our own lives and society [and world], we need a different theology. A new theology must begin here, a theology that assists in a healing of the fragmented self, supports a new engagement with social realities, and sanctions a remedial education into the actual history and present realities of our country [and world.]” She continues, arguing that such “a fragmentation of knowledge—a splitting of mind, body and soul; neighbor from neighbor; disciplines of knowledge from disciplines of knowledge; and religion from politics… results in apathy, passivity, and compliance.” [Blessing the World, pp. 29, 33]

There is the rule of indirectness, which teaches that changing one local part of a system can result in expansive changes in other parts of a system. There is the rule of intimacy, which teaches that we are closer to parts of the web than we perceive and that we should challenge the fragmentation that insists we are separate and different.

The third observation we might apply is what I call the rule of reflexivity. I apologize for the jargon. Reflexivity is just a fifty-cent word that I use to mean the capacity to be a present part oneself of the interdependent web. Let’s look at the verbiage again. The seventh principle calls us to have “respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.” So far I’ve been talking about indirectness and uncertainty; I’ve been talking about this absolutely enormous expansiveness; I’ve been talking about a radical intimacy that unites all that has been fragmented. It is easy for ourselves to start to get lost in this theology. But those last six words of the seventh principle are important. They’re reflexive. “Of which we are a part.” Of which we are a part. That is an affirmation, folks.

In your order of service today, you’ll notice a letter from Kendra Schlebusch. As a member of the board, Kendra is the liaison to our social action vision. That vision states that as a church we will invite and inspire people to get involved in working for a peaceful, fair and free world… and that our congregation will grow to be seen as a social justice and community service leader in the Kansas City metro-area. We’ll do this by partnering with other congregations, community organizations, and by working collectively and individually. The piece of paper in your order of service will kind of set a bench-mark, knowing where we stand right now: where SMUUCh is at in the whole big interdependent web of all existence, of which, individually and collectively, we are most certainly a part.

I want to end with a brief story from earlier in this month. Back at the beginning of July I was privileged to be invited to speak at a Reproductive Justice conference which took place a few blocks away from the Capitol Building in Washington D.C. The group hosting the conference was ChoiceUSA, an organization created by Gloria Steinem. Unfortunately, the portrait of Ms. Steinem in the National Portrait Gallery was as close to her as I was able to get. What was so cool about the conference was the framing of the issues: that reproductive justice was an aspect of social justice and that it was necessarily linked to racial justice, economic justice, environmental justice, gender justice, immigration justice, et cetera. I spoke to a group of about fifty diverse young people who were actively organizing and fighting for reproductive justice on their campuses and in their communities. Very impressive.

Part of my talk was the interdependent web talk. I spoke about the importance of involving clergy and religious communities in the struggle and talked about what those connections could add to the advancement of justice. I also talked to them about the dangers of a fragmentation in which activism was divorced from religious community and vice-versa.

What impressed me so much was how some of the conference attendees were linking various forms of justice in their work. One participant was working to link reproductive justice with racial and immigration justice, working to bring attention to policies that deny entrance to visibly pregnant women at airports. Another participant was combining reproductive justice with economic and racial justice working with Vietnamese nail salon employees who, if pregnant, are exposing their unborn children to harmful chemicals that may cause deformities. I conferenced with one young person who was running for office about how to get churches involved in her justice work which has inspired her bid for public office. The courage, the connections these young people were making in their activism work was inspiring to me.

Let us remember, as we leave this place, to take the wider view, aware that our lives not only affect others in our local spheres directly, but touch others indirectly. In that way, our reach is expansive. Let us remember that feeling that another is far away is a sign of our own fragmentation, and that repairing that fragmentation leads to intimacy. And finally, let us boldly and audaciously claim our part in this interdependent web of all existence.

Benediction
Expanding on a passage from Deuteronomy, Rev. Peter Raible composed these words:

We build on foundations we did not lay.
We warm ourselves at fires we did not light.
We sit in the shade of trees we did not plant.
We drink from wells we did not dig.
We profit from persons we did not know.
We are ever bound in community.

For those of you who wonder "What has RevThom been listening to lately?" I bring you a round up of concerts and shows I attended this Summer.

Yesterday I went to the Bleeding Kansas Arts & Music Festival in Lawrence. Death Cab for Cutie headlined and put on a fantastic show. The double drum-set solo and guitarist Chris Walla's friendly earnestness were memorable. They offered up a great version of "What Sarah Said" and brought a new power and depth to "Transatlanticism" as their encore.

However, I was most impressed by the set from Broken Social Scene. This 10 member outfit put on a lively and layered show, at one time featuring a line up with four electric guitars and two drum sets. Band members entered and exited the stage in the middle of songs and traded instruments constantly. Along with guitar, bass, and drums they also featured trumpets, a trombone, keyboards, a violin, tambourines and maracas.

In contrast Mates of the State consists of just a keyboard and drum duo, but played a fine afternoon set. I ran into keyboardist Kori Gardner later in the day and she was just a down to earth individual.

British rockers Keane, who I'd never really gotten into before, were surprisingly good. I'll have to listen to more of them.

Off the main stage, local band Davan put on one of the most enjoyable sets of the afternoon. The quirky trio seemed like Devo for the 21st Century. At one point, the drummer employed maracas as drum sticks while the guitarist opted for a triangle and a cabaca.

Rounding out the day, I also checked out parts of enjoyable sets by local rockers Appleseed Cast and Ghosty, as well as Langhorne Slim, Fourth of July, and Boy Kill Boy.

Other Shows

On August 3rd, after spending the afternoon writing my sermon I checked the early shows at the Pitch Music Showcase in Westport. I saw a great set from avant garde rockers namelessnumberheadman, as well as sets from the emo-core group Super Black Market and the Lawrence hip-hop outfit Archetype.

A trip home to Boston in July happened to coincide with a visit from the 6 piece Austin, TX band Sound Team. Known for their dense sound - at times they employ three keyboard/synths - the high light of their show was that their lead guitarist, Sam Sanford, was a classmate of mine and fellow religion major at Reed College. Sound Team was supported impressively by the frenetic Cold War Kids and art-rockers Midlake.

Other Summer shows included one of the final performances by Lawrence ska band Matfield Green (featuring SMUUCh member Cambria DeLee on trumpet), local shows by The Architects and my good friends National Fire Theory, and The Reverend Al Green down at 18th & Vine.

Back when I was twenty-three, I worked at a hospital that served as a level-one trauma center and served the indigent population of Dallas. During my time there when I was a hospital chaplain I learned a helpful technique, known as a verbatim. Following a conversation that is provocative or difficult or unsatisfactory, you employ a verbatim to help you understand your role in the conversation better. What you do is simply sit down and transcribe the conversation as it happened, that is, literally, "verbatim."

The key to it is honesty: writing down what you actually said, not what you meant, not what you wish you had said, not the right thing to have said at the time (that you thought of only two hours after you had said what you actually said which now you realize was clearly not the right thing to say at the time.) No, you write down what you actually said.

Those of you who are psychologists, therapists, or social workers might have encountered the "verbatim" technique during your formal training, but any of us who are the type of people who replay conversations in our head could probably attempt this. You look at what is written on the page and think, “How could I have said that?”

All of this just a lead in to say that the sermon this morning is going to focus on one of these verbatim exchanges. It is a conversation I had about four years ago, that I still replay in my head not because I said something I regret but because of how fascinating and memorable it was.

It was my final year at Harvard Divinity School and I was taking a class on the Muslim experience in the United States. (I was also taking two counseling courses and a seminar on topics in ministry.) I didn't like the Islam class very much, but I did find my classmates stimulating. The class was about fifty percent Muslim with those students representing an astonishing diversity from black power, Nation of Islam, Malcolm X Muslims to Muslims from north Africa, the Middle East, central Asia, south Asia, and Indonesia.

During the class I sat next to a group of young Muslim women who kept hijab – that is, covered. I'm not talking full-body burqas here. The group of young women wore flowing, loose fitting garments and head coverings. One of them wore a veil. And they were there at Harvard Divinity School because of its world-renowned women's studies program. They were studying feminist theology and self-identified as feminists.

I should say that in the conversation that follows that those four women do not represent the final, authoritative voice of Islam or feminism. Feminist theory might dispute that any single person gets to be the final, authoritative voice. And at the time I certainly wasn't the final, authoritative voice of the Western world and modern liberalism, and between then and now that fact has certainly not changed.

To make it easier to follow, I've combined the voices of the four feminist Muslims, giving them a kind of the eerie mono-vocal quality, which didn't actually exist. Also, in the verbatim I come across as kind of aggressive, but please remember two things: First, I was out-numbered four to one. Second, more importantly, the educational context of my Divinity School (with five hundred students representing one hundred different religious groups and nearly one hundred countries) told us we would be tremendously stupid not to take advantage of this wonderful diversity of perspective, background, and experience around us. We were expected to talk to each other. Here goes:

Me: So, you are feminists and you keep hijab... some people would say there is a tension between those two things. Is it a tension for you?

Them: Not at all.

Me: Okay, but many Westerners have this image of Islamic countries as male-dominated where women are forced to cover themselves up.

Them: Well, the Koran instructs Muslims to dress modestly, both women and men. It is up to each individual to interpret what constitutes modesty. The burqa is a fundamentalist thing and we definitely don't support that. A lot of Muslim dress is based in regional culture, but the basic commandment is modesty... and the expectation is the same for a man as it is for a woman.

Me: So, let's talk modesty. What's wrong with the human body?

Them: Nothing is wrong with the human body. It is a good thing. Because it is good it means we shouldn't objectify it. Hijab is a way of refusing to objectify it.

Me: I’m not sure I buy that. If there’s nothing wrong with the human body, and it is a good thing, say it is positive. Hiding it leads to fear and shame.

Them: So, Western Culture treats the body positively, does it? Let's see: sexy billboards, eating disorders, plastic surgery. Maybe it would be more accurate to say the Western World treats the body immaturely, sensationally, or as a commodity. Would you describe objectification as positive?

Me: OK. So, objectification exists but I see that as a by-product of freedom. If people are allowed to dress as they want to, there will be people who exploit that freedom and don't make good choices within it. Its the price of letting people be who they are.

Them: So, you really believe women are free in Western Culture? The decision to wear painful shoes, or get your nose broken by a surgeon, or starve yourself is not a naturally occurring decision. Nobody chooses these things freely. And we don't see Western Culture valuing women or men for who they are, but for how they dress, how they look. And that divides self from body. How does a woman in the West know whether she is valued for her ideas or for her looks, or whether her physical appearance has prevented her from utilizing her skills? Women in our society know that their achievements are based on merit, not on points that get added or deducted based on hair-color, fashion, or body type.

Me: Oh, so your culture has it figured out then?

Them: No, but Indonesia has had a female president. How many of those have you had in the United States?

Me: But, you see, that worldview assumes the worst... that in a free society human nature will lead us to objectify, and judge, and mistreat each other. I don't buy that assumption. I find that it is degrading to humanity to assume the worst of human nature.

Them: That's hypothetical, though. Look around at what actually happens.

Me: But because objectification and oppression happen doesn't mean they have to happen. You might say that a history of repression and inequality means that we need to learn how to be wise in our freedom. Freedom misused doesn't mean freedom is bad. It means we need to learn how to use it better, which we'll only figure out if we are actually free to use it.

Them: I don’t find any consolation in that. Especially not when the system I know seems to work. And, Western Culture has treated the body out of proportion. Look at all the money you spend on fashion, on vanity, on expensive elective medical procedures, on makeup, on the salon. That is a sign of a culture that has completely lost the ability to discern what is important and what is good. You see the wrap I'm wearing: not tight, not restrictive. Shoes: comfortable. Hair? Didn't spend time worrying about it. That's freedom, in my opinion.

End of Verbatim...

So, last week I debuted this sermon series, "Universalism Today & Tomorrow" and I said that I would be examining three major stages of Universalist theology, and looking at what they mean for us today. I described how the earliest articulation of Universalist theology - Universal Salvation – insisted that all people would be saved. Last week I talked about how the doctrine of Universal Salvation, the belief that all people would be saved, led Universalists to approach other religions not with suspicion or contempt or condescension but with open-minded curiosity and big-hearted appreciation.

I used to belong to a Unitarian Universalist Church that displayed a poster which contained versions of the Golden Rule as it appears in their respective scriptures. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you." "Do not do to others what you would not have done to you." And so on. The implicit message in the poster was that all religions in the world, in their truest instantiations, wanted the same thing.

In the 1950's a quite famous minister, Rev. Ken Patton, was the minister of the Universalist Charles Street Meeting House in Boston. Behind the chancel, he painted a wall size portrait of a galaxy - a swirl of stars. He decorated the sanctuary with the symbols of the world religions. (Our church imitated this thirty years later, displaying symbols of the world's religions around the entrance to the barn chapel, in the 1970’s.)

Ken Patton's term for what he was attempting here was, "the religion for one world.”. A poetic stanza of Patton’s sums it up nicely: "Ours be the poems of all tongues / All things of loveliness and worth. / All arts, all ages, and all songs / one life, one beauty on the earth." The message here was implicit: all religions point to a larger, more universal reality.

Some UUs even went so far as to make ourselves central, saying all religions are a part of us, or that we are bigger than any particular religion. A big ego trip, that is. We're bigger than Christianity - no we're not. We're bigger than Hinduism - no, we approach Hinduism with respect, appreciation and open-minded curiosity. Not bigger than – respectful of, accepting of, not against.

I've never cared for this "bigger than" talk. That I've never cared for it has, I think, something to do with my conversation with the feminist Muslims. Whether I lost or won the conversation is not the point. Perhaps it is a conversation that is not “winnable.”

What was interesting about it, what was so striking to me was the way it seemed to destabilize this Universalist notion of our relationship to world religions. This wasn't like that Golden Rule poster. We didn't say the same thing with different words. This wasn't like that portrait of the galaxy. Our distinct symbols didn't point to the same “universal.”

We are used to saying, "Hey, we're different than some religions, like fundamentalist religion. We're different than hateful religion. We're different than totalitarian religion. We're different than bigoted religion... but those are not true religions. They are the hijacking of true religion." And if you take the form of the faith that isn't hijacked, we can put it on a poster or put it up in our sanctuary.

But, in the conversation with the feminist Muslims, I was confronted with a religion that wasn't hateful, fundamentalist or totalitarian. In fact, it was thoughtful. It was profoundly intelligent. It valued human dignity. It encouraged equality and wanted justice. And it answered questions about life in society very, very differently than I answered those questions. In fact, their answers challenged my answers. They weren't trying to force me to take their answers, just as I was not forcing them to accept mine, but their answers challenged my answers.

So, what is the right way? The Western way? The non-Western way? A different way? A pluralistic mix of both? Like I said, answering this question is not the point this morning. It may not even be fully answerable.

But it does lead me to wonder: What else that I take for granted does not necessarily need to be so? What else can be called into question? There's a parable in which two fish are swimming along when an older, wiser fish swims by and asks, "How's the water, boys?" The two fish swim on for a while until one turns to the other and asks, "What's water?" If anything, the life of someone like Jesus or Buddha exemplified calling things into question that we don't usually call into question. Jesus told his followers to renounce father and mother and sell everything they owned. Buddha taught that this world is an illusion. Like David Foster Wallace’s fish parable, they remind us that we live in water though we are not always aware of it.

All of this so far today has probably seemed kind of abstract, kind of “heady” stuff. It might seem a little bit distanced from day to day stuff. (The third part of this series will be much more heart than abstract philosophy.) But, if you feel like this has been somehow distanced from day to day stuff, that is because we’re trying today to open up a wider view, a wider view that causes us to think differently about the day to day life stuff we find ourselves in.

I want to leave you with a passage from the Upanishads: “You could have golden treasure buried beneath your feet, and walk over it again and again, yet never find it because you don’t realize it is there. Just so, all being live every moment in the city of the Divine, but never find the Divine because it is hidden by the well of illusion.”

With the beginning of August I have returned from all my Summer travels. Here is the travelogue:

In late June I spent a week in St. Louis attending the UUA General Assembly and Ministry Days professional development programs. My time their included meeting with the UU Minister's Association Executive Committee (to which I was elected), having a conversation on growth with the UUA Board Growth Working Group, and delivering the keynote address to the annual meeting of the UU Christian Fellowship.

In early July I was flown to Washington D.C. to speak about working with faith based constituencies at the national Gloria Steinem Leadership Institute sponsored by ChoiceUSA. I stayed the weekend and visited with two friends from high school. We toured the National Portrait Gallery, Spy Museum, and took in a Washington Nationals baseball game. (I'll be returning to D.C. in September to perform a wedding ceremony for my friend.)

In July I also took a trip to Portland, Oregon and the Oregon Coast. (See the picture below.)

Finally, I also went home for a few days to visit my parents. As always, this meant a scrabble tournament with my mom. (I won 4 games to 3 but needed a seven-letter, triple word on my final move to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. This avenged the tournament loss to her last November.) Just call me the David Ortiz of scrabble.



Me in front of the world's largest fir tree.

Just a little blogging about my Summer:

Click Here to read about my travels.

Click Here to read about books I've been reading.

Click Here to read about the music I'm listening to.

Yes, that was my voice you heard on the radio if you were listening to KCUR 89.3 yesterday afternoon. I gave a "person-on-the-street" interview when I exited the polling station yesterday morning. Asked about Missouri's new voting equipment (I filled in circles on a paper ballot and fed it into the ballot box) I replied that my voting experience had been positive and I was glad to know that a paper record had been left of my vote.

There are a million ways to commit voter fraud. Parties and candidates can spread voter misinformation, telling voters that polling places and dates have been changed, or that eligible voters are ineligible. Poor precincts can be improperly supplied with insufficient or faulty equipment. You can "create" voters illegally and stuff the ballot boxes. You can employ the brute-force technique and physically remove ballots or machines before the votes are tallied, or change votes on the sly. But shouldn't we all agree that there should be a safety in place whereby it is possible to verify that all votes cast are correctly tabulated? How else can you do this without a physical record of the vote? It worries me that electronic "touch-screen" voting machines don't create a physical record.

Meanwhile, later yesterday afternoon I was in line at the grocery store overhearing a conversation about the Missouri primary. One patron said she was planning on voting but had decided not to after getting calls from candidates. "That'll show them for bothering me at home. And shouldn't it be illegal for them to call?" I was aghast. Asked if I agreed, I gave another impromptu "person-on-the-street" interview.

"Actually," I said, "I think voting should be required, a condition of citizenship. To promote democratic participation Voting Days should be national holidays and businesses, schools, and government offices closed for the day."

Opening Words

Of all the theological concepts that might cause us to squirm, maybe “Salvation” is the one that causes the most discomfort. Who among us hasn’t been asked, “Are you saved?” The question behind the question is often dirty: “Do we think the same way?” or, “Are you in or out?” or, even, “Are you someone for me to embrace or despise?” It all gives salvation a bad name.

It doesn’t help that we’ve participated in a battle of bumper-stickers:

“Born-again Christian” vs. “I don’t need to be born again, I got it right the first time.”

“Warning: in case of rapture, car will be unmanned.” vs. “After the rapture, can I have your car?”

“Repent! The end is near!” vs. “God is coming, and she is ‘disconcerted.’”

It’s hard to believe that salvation was once the central theological lynch-pin of our religious tradition.

We gather for worship amidst wars and strife, amidst plagues and inconvenient truths, amidst the descendents of violence and oppression: poverty, discrimination and fear. Maybe salvation isn’t that bad of an idea after all. So we gather once again in this tradition of truth-telling. We gather to explore together and to worship.

Sermon

In nineteen sixty eight, when our church was celebrating its first anniversary, a sociologist named Milton Rokeach published the results of his study of a diverse sampling of American Protestants, Catholics, and Jews. In the study, he asked them to rank various religious values in order of importance. His research neglected Unitarians, so a minister, Robert Miller, duplicated Rokeach’s research, asking Unitarians how we would rank the same values in order of importance.

The highest ranked value, according to Miller’s study of Unitarians was “honesty.” At the other end of the spectrum, the three least important values were, from greater to least, cleanliness, obedience, and salvation. One interpretation of the low ranking that cleanliness received is that it scored so low not because we don’t value it, but because we take for granted. Obedience, on the other hand, ranked right where we would expect it to rank. (During my first year at SMUUCh I preached a sermon on obedience. This sermon is going to become the first chapter of the book I’m writing.)

The lowest ranked value, reportedly, was salvation. Not only did it come in dead last, many respondents had refused to enter it on their response sheets. Still other Unitarians lodged their protest by writing the word upside down! “Salvation” was the only value to receive a negative score. [Thanks to several of my colleagues for pointing me in the direction of this research.]

This morning I deliver the final sermon in the three part series, “Universalism Today & Tomorrow” in which we look at classic manifestations of Universalist theology and examine what they might mean for us, in our daily lives, today. In this final sermon, we turn to the doctrine of salvation and what it might possibly mean for us today.

To the earliest Universalists, salvation was very important. In fact, theirs was a theological system formulated around the workings of salvation. Like their more orthodox counterparts, they explicitly believed that salvation came through Jesus Christ; however, unlike their more orthodox counterparts, they understood that salvation was not limited or conditional. That is to say they believed that everyone was saved.

If you are interested in the history of it, these early Universalists actually did believe in Hell. However, for them Hell wasn’t infinite or eternal. These forebears of ours thought there would be a period of punishment after death, but that all souls would eventually be reconciled with God. Now, before anybody goes running for the door, I might add that this form of Universalism was short-lived, and that it was soon replaced by a form of ultra-Universalism which did away with this notion of temporal punishment, and favored a speedy, and guaranteed reconciliation with the creator for all people unconditionally.

And, if I can be historical for just another minute or two, I might add that while Salvation was central to these early Universalists, the notion was certainly not considered irrelevant to our lives here on Earth. To the contrary, salvation was supposed to inspire us to ethical lives here on Earth. The central image was of a loving, merciful God – not jealous or wrathful – and our human response naturally to the knowledge of such a God would be live lives of joy, mercy, and love. If God was merciful to us when it could be otherwise, we should be so merciful to one another. If God is gentle and loving to us when it could be otherwise, we should be so gentle with one another. If God didn’t condemn us for our faults when it could be otherwise, we shouldn’t be so quick to judge. Salvation wasn’t taken for granted; it was central to their lives.

If you like this stuff, you will surely love the old Universalist stories. One of things that were handed down from our Universalist ancestors were folksy stories combining theology with domestic images.

One story involves a traveling Universalist minister passing through a town who stops in at the inn. He talks theology with the innkeeper, who is mopping the floor. The innkeeper tells the minister that he was wrong, that a unrepentant person could not be accepted into heaven. The minister turns to the innkeeper and says, “Do you require for your floor to be clean before you will consent to mop it?” “Clearly not,” replies the innkeeper, “I clean it as it is.” The minister adds, “Just as God takes us as we are.”

Another story: In this one, a Universalist preacher gives a eulogy and announces that the deceased shall go to heaven. This clearly displeases a man, who asks the minister, “How could you proclaim his salvation? That man was a liar and thief!” The Universalist preacher countered, “If your own son were a liar and a thief, would you go tie him to a stake and burn him.” “I could never do such a thing to my son,” responded the man. “But you expect God to do it to one of God’s children?” replied the minister.

So, how did we get to where we are then? If “Salvation” was such a major shaping force back then, why does it receive a low score in these modern times? And more importantly, what could it mean for us Unitarian Universalists today and tomorrow?

A new book of essays by Rebecca Parker called "Blessing the World: What can save us now" [Buy it!] takes up questions like these. Parker is the President of our UU seminary in Berkeley, California. Before that, she was a Methodist parish minister and turned to the old writings of Universalists like Hosea Ballou to inform a theology of salvation that made sense to her. The question of salvation might be said to be her life’s work, of which a major project was an earlier book disputing the notion of redemptive suffering and redemptive violence.

To give you an idea of how she thinks, I want to read from one of her essays where she takes issue with the “substitutionary theory of atonement” which is the fancy theological term for the idea that Jesus’ death atoned for the sins of all humanity. Here is what she says,

“The substitutionary theory of atonement generates a series of substitutions. Crusaders slaughtered Jews, who substituted for Muslims, who substituted for earlier “Jews” accused of killing Jesus, who substituted for the Romans who actually killed Christ. Jesus substitutes for sinful humanity to pay the debt owed to God… And committing violence substitutes for spiritual rebirth as the route to paradise.

“This theology, like violence, obliterates distinctions and replicates itself indiscriminately. Now Afghanistan can substitute for al Qaeda. Saddam Hussein can substitute for Osama bin Laden… Iraq can substitute for Afghanistan. Any Muslim can substitute for any terrorist.” [Parker, 71]

Remember, according to Pat Robertson, gays and feminists can substitute for September 11 hijackers. According to Education Secretary Rod Paige, the NEA can substitute for a terrorist network. And according to the rhetoric of the day, anybody can substitute for a nazi. Parker writes that, “Times, places, and people merge. Mass violence, in particular, fails to distinguish realities and excels at false identifications.” [Parker, 71]

How are we saved? “Not through substitution,” Parker answers. What I really want to share with you is a different essay by Rebecca Parker, by far the most thought-provoking one in her collection. The title of it is “After the Apocalypse.”

When I lived in an apartment complex just down the road, I used to receive a postcard about once a month. It was a glossy postcard with one side depicting cartoonish monsters with multiple heads and fangs and claws and forked tongues breathing fire and smoke and the other side would have the name of a Pentecostal church and an invitation to join them for a free evening seminar at the Overland Park Convention Center, where I could learn to decode the secret signs of the apocalypse. I always thought to myself, “I should go to that.” But then, I always asked myself after that thought, “Now Thom, can you promise to behave yourself there?” And I always thought that I better not go.

This would be funny, except for the fact that a whole bunch of powerful people – including people who serve in congress, who advise the President on national and international policy, and who command branches of our military – fully expect that Christ’s return to Earth according to the accounts in the Book of Revelation is imminent. They predict that his return will trigger a cosmic holy war, an apocalypse. And some of these people would love nothing more to see Iran and Syria and Egypt declare war and turn the Middle East into a full scale nuke fest. After all, if Iran substitutes for the beast with seven heads in the Book of Revelation, then we get to substitute for Christ. And it is all so completely insane and terrifying.

In her essay, Rebecca Parker describes this idea of apocalypse and says that there is a liberal version of it. The liberal apocalypse doesn’t have the violence or bloodshed or Left Behind novels. To paraphrase her,

“It involves the idea of us joining hands to dismantle the evil empires of racism, homophobia, poverty, ignorance, militarism, and environmental destruction, and build up a land of peace, equity, freedom, justice, and sustainability. This version of apocalypse doesn’t contain all the chaos or craziness of the more familiar image of apocalypse, but it does involve the end of the current world and the birth of a different world than we have known today. As one of our hymns goes, ‘We’ll be a land building up ancient cities, raising up devastations from old, restoring ruins of generations, come build a land of people so bold.’” [Parker, 17]

But she examines these two alternatives and suggests something different. What if, she wonders… what if we were to live as if the apocalypse had already happened?

After all, we live in a crazy world. Parker notes that the City of Seattle’s emergency disaster plan includes this helpful bit of advice, “In case of an evacuation due to nuclear attack, citizens may ride the metro buses without exact change.” [Parker, 20]

“We are living,” writes Parker, “in a post-slavery, post-Holocaust, post-Vietnam, post-Hiroshima world. We are living in the aftermath of collective violence that has been severe, massive, and traumatic. The scars from slavery, genocide, and [misbegotten] war mark our bodies. We are living in the midst of rain forest burning, the rapid death of species, the growing pollution of the air and water, and new mutations of racism and violence.” [Parker, 20]

“How do we live in this world? What is our religious task?” Parker asks. If we see the 20th Century as the apocalypse, what does it mean for us now? What would that kind of salvation look like? Parker imagines salvation consisting of four aspects: truth-telling, memory, salvaging, and choosing guides.

She imagines life after the apocalypse as living among the ruins. To do this, to redeem the world in this kind of environment, the first thing that is necessary is “truth-telling”. I find this to be an interesting aspect of salvation, especially since it connects the highest-rated virtue, “Honesty” with the lowest-rated, “salvation.” Truth-telling involves simply being able to see the world as it is and tell truths about what it is that we see. What does it mean, for instance, that our church is located in an area of the city that is known as Shawnee Mission? What does that name mean?

Related to the idea of truth-telling, Parker suggests that we are also saved through memory. She calls on us to remember the voices of those who have survived devastation. To quote her again, “Without memory, society can succumb to war’s false promise…. We have allowed ourselves to forget what we know, what we have seen, and what we have experienced.” [Parker, 65] In particular, Parker is concerned with how we remember war, particularly with how we remember the effects of war on individuals, families, and communities long after the fighting has ceased. If we did a better job remembering, we would live differently here and now.

Parker also connects salvation to an act she calls salvaging. Salvaging involves creating an inventory of what is essential, important, and valuable. Sifting through all of the rubble of so many claims of what will bring us happiness, security, and transcendence and using our powers of discernment and wisdom to differentiate between false claims and true, between what is life-giving and what is life-damaging.

Finally, Parker suggests choosing and learning from guides. She stresses in particular learning from the words and deeds of those who have been historically marginalized. She informs us that they have discovered what it means to live after the apocalypse.

If I could summarize Parker’s ideas about salvation, I would probably turn to the poet Wendell Berry, and his poem, Wild Geese.

Geese appear high over us,
pass, and the sky closes. Abandon,
as in love or sleep, holds
them to their way, clear,
in the ancient faith: what we need
is here. And we pray, not
for new earth or heaven, but to be
quiet in heart, and in eye
clear. What we need is here.

If I’ve drifted too far away from theology and certain answers and precision, please excuse me. Salvation for us is not a matter of the right formula of words. It is not a matter of orthodox doctrine. Salvation, for us is also not a matter of one-liners, and dismissive witticisms found on bumper-stickers.

Consider salvation this way: Imagine that we are living after the apocalypse. We are called to live amidst the ruins, to live in the aftermath of all that has been torn and scarred and broken. Imagine living in that sort of world. And also this good news: what we need is here.

So, if someone asks you if you’re saved, go ahead and tell that person that we are all saved.

If someone asks you how you can be sure, tell that person that like Paul instructed, you have worked out your own salvation with fear and trembling.

And if that person tells you, “We’ll see about that when the rapture/apocalypse comes,” you can tell that person that it has already come, and what we need is here.

Here are the answers and scoring system for Stephen Prothero's religious literacy quiz:

1) Matthew, Mark, Luke, John (1 point each)
2) Answers can include the Vedas, Brahmanas, Aranyakas, Upanishads, Puranas, Mahabharata, Bhagavad Gita, Ramayana, Yoga Sutras, Laws of Manu, Kama Sutra (1 point if you could name any of these)
3) Quran or Koran (1 point)
4) Bethlehem (1 point)
5) The Good Samaritan (1 point)
6) Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy (1 point each)
7) "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you" (Matthew 7:12) or a similar sentiment from Rabbi Hillel or Confucius. ("Love your neighbor as yourself" is not the Golden Rule.) (1 point)
8) No, this is not in the Bible. In fact, it is contradicted in Proverbs 28:26: "He who trusts in himself is a fool." The words are Ben Franklin's. (2 points)
9) Yes, in the Beatitudes of Jesus' Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:3) (2 points)
10) The Protestant, Catholic and Jewish versions of the Ten Commandments differ. Give yourself credit for any ten of the following 12 commandments, each of which appears in at least one of those three versions:

1. I the Lord am your God who brought you out of the land of Egypt, the house of bondage.
2. You shall have no other gods before me.
3. You shall not make yourself a graven image.
4. You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain.
5. Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy.
6. Honor your father and mother.
7. You shall not kill/murder.
8. You shall not commit adultery.
9. You shall not steal.
10. You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.
11. You shall not covet your neighbor's wife.
12. You shall not covet your neighbor's goods.

11) The Four Noble Truths are: Life is suffering; Suffering has an origin; Suffering can be overcome (nirvana); and, the path to overcoming suffering is the Noble Eightfold Path. (Give yourself one point for each noble truth.)
12)The seven sacraments are: Baptism; Eucharist/Mass/Holy Communion; Confession; Confirmation; Marriage; Holy Orders; and, Last Rites (1 point each)
13) The establishment clause and the exercise clause. "Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof." (1 point each)
14) Muslim holiday characterized by a month of fasting (2 points)
15) The following matches are worth 1 point each, up to 7 points:

Adam and Eve: Garden of Eden
Paul: Road to Damascus
Moses: Exodus and Parting of the Red Sea
Noah: Olive Branch
Jesus: Road to Damascus, Garden of Gethsemane
Abraham: Binding of Isaac
Serpent: Garden of Eden

Scoring: Add up total points, multiply by two. A is 90 points or higher; B is 80-89; C is 70-79. A passing grade is 60 points or more.

How did you do? Be Honest!!!

On account of being out the pulpit last Sunday and not having a new sermon to post, this blog has been dormant for a while.

I wanted to invite readers to send me thoughts and feedback. What sorts of things would you be interested in finding here? Also, if you are a person who stumbled here through a search engine, was what you found helpful?

Comments, feedback and suggestions may be sent to: minister@smuuchurch.org

It seems to me like the most common search engine hit is from people trying to figure out the meaning of the Latin saying "Uva Uvam Vivendo Varia Fit" from Larry McMurtry's Lonesome Dove. It leads them here.

Seen recently in an Overland Park parking lot:

A car with both a Christian fish emblem and a bumper sticker that proclaims "Tree Hugging Dirt Worshipper."

If the car belongs to a couple, I praise their interfaith commitment. If it belongs to a single individual, I commend this individual's constructive approach to faith.

My respected colleague The Lively Traditionalist offers a heavy, heavy review of the movie Little Miss Sunshine on his blog. He interprets the movie as a vehicle for portraying "generational antagonism" with the Baby Boomers receiving the accusing finger. LT can get away with statements like this - he's got 30 years on me. I got something different from the film:

Even if you don't buy what LT writes you can't deny that Little Miss Sunshine is one symbolically rich movie. Consider the teenage son, Dwayne, who we discover has taken a vow of silence and is reading Thus Spake Zarathustra. Get the irony? Spake. Now, I don't claim to be up on my Friedrich Nietzsche (or my Proust) but when I think of Nietzsche I think of two things. First, the declaration that "God is Dead." And second, the idea of the "will to power." Could Dwayne's silence be a refusal to deny the existence of God? More likely, it is a declaration of the power of the will. When will battles fate in this film, will always comes up short. Greg Kinnear's Richard is perhaps the best example of this. His 9-step program is all about will (in this way, it is the exact opposite of the more familiar 12-step program) but his will is powerless to get him a business deal. Fate wins.

Little Miss Sunshine has other kinds of symbolic richness. Take for instance the barren and desolate landscape through which the characters travel. I cannot recall a road-trip movie in which both the natural and human-created landscape is as empty. From the harsh desert of the American Southwest to a landscape dotted with overpasses, ugly motels, and blacktop - emptiness is the dominant motif. (Anti-patriotic symbolism is another recurring theme. There is the hotel scene where listening to your parents scream at each other is found preferable to listening to a Bush press conference. There's also the creepiest version of "America the Beautiful" you could possibly imagine.) In no scene are these images of desolation stronger than in the scene where Dwayne and Frank have a turning moment. This scene takes place on an ocean pier as the characters gaze out on the empty horizon of a seascape that is every bit as harsh and desolate as the desert through which they've driven.

Existentialism is the conclusion of this film. Life is miserable. Happiness is an illusion. If you're not miserable, you're not really living. The secret is that we don't have to be miserable alone.

Of course, it is not the landscape or the symbolism that make the movie a fun one. The characters make it what it is. The characters, with the exception of Olive, each represent a flawed strategy for making it through life:

Grandpa's flawed strategy is hedonism ("selfishness" according to LT). Life is about doing whatever feels good, without much concern for how it impacts others.

Richard's flawed strategy is ideology mixed in with a bit of tragic hubris. Life is about following the right formula.

Sheryl's flawed strategy is permissiveness and fascination with the world. She shows no boundaries about what is appropriate for Olive to be exposed to.

Frank struggles with jealousy, despair, anger, and detachment. He requires others to confirm his specialness.

Dwayne represents nihilism and solipsism.

Each of these characters competes to expose Olive to their worldview or impose it upon her. All of the characters are flawed, but all of them are likable. You want for them not to remain trapped in the situation in which they are trapped.

The movie is about each of them discovering the inadequacy of each of these approaches to life, and finding another, one that isn't perfect. The secret is about being together in spite of being perfect.

Plus, the soundtrack features two songs by Sufjan Stevens.

The new meditation manual by Jeffrey Lockwood features a wonderful mediation about traveling. He begins by mentioning all these exotic and wonderful places he has visited, and all of the stomach-churning food products he’s been offered, including horse steaks and vodka made from fermented mare’s milk. Lockwood concludes that from these extensive travels he has learned the art of being a good guest. It is what he has learned that is the important part. The place itself is incidental. He could have learned the exact same lesson from visiting his aunt in Peoria, as long as we assume that his aunt is a disaster in the kitchen.

This same point was made in a slightly different way a while back by Sports Illustrated columnist Rick Reilly. Writing about mountain climbers on Mount Everest, Reilly chronicles that it is now common for hundreds, even thousands, of climbers to attempt Everest each climbing season. It is normal for dozens to die attempting to reach the top.

Reilly explains that to put together a climbing team, you are looking at an expense of, at the very least, $100,000. Half of this amount goes to the Nepalese government in exchange for a permit to climb. What this means is that you get the real life scenario, played out dozens of times each year, in which someone attempting to reach the summit, who has already shelled out a small fortune, has to decide between going for the summit, or stopping to offer assistance to a person certain to die without help. If you stop to give that person oxygen and help them down, you will forfeit your chance to reach the top. It is now routine for dying men to be passed by those seeking the summit.

What you learn is more important than where you’ve been.

Today we hold our "gathering of the waters" ceremony. Traditionally, we've said simply the place from whence the water we contribute comes. But place names are seldom descriptive. Imagine water from the Gulf of Mexico. Did it come from a service trip to New Orleans? Did it come from a cultural exchange trip to Mexico? Did you make a final visit to a dying relative in Florida? Or, maybe, it was celebrating a honeymoon in Belize, as I know two members of this congregation did? But, the mind wonders, couldn’t the water be from some ill-begotten trip? After all, you could be bringing the water as a souvenir from your drug smuggling adventure, or from your trip you took to set up an offshore banking account into which you siphon the funds you're embezzling from work. Its all the same water, but it is different water.

To say it is from the a place, like, say, the Gulf of Mexico, doesn't say much. Always, always there is context that has to be taken into account. There is also the change, or growth that happens in your heart and in your soul. Did you learn something about what it means to be a gracious guest? Something about privilege? Something about solidarity, or compassion? Something about love? Something about your family? Do you come back committed? Do you come back inspired, determined? Do you come back renewed? Reacquainted? Bonded in deeper intimacy? A good tan?

Not to put too fine a point on it, but not all trips are equal. If you don’t believe me, go watch "Snakes on a Plane" or “Little Miss Sunshine.”

The title of my homily is "The Deep End." The title is taken from an image that was shared by a colleague of mine. [And truthfully, I forget the source of this image.] The image is of two ways of getting into a swimming pool. One way is to gradually ease into the shallow end. The other way is to jump into the Deep End, over your head. As my colleague explains this image, it is a parable about community. That is to say, there are two ways to enter into community. One way, you ease in, getting deeper as it feels comfortable, pulling back when you feel a little discomfort, getting out when you feel like it. This way doesn't lead to close-knit community. There is no reason for people to stick together. If you are holding onto another person, and you let go – it doesn't matter. Traveling together is more or less optional, because the stakes just aren’t very high. Of course, I am describing the shallow end.

But in the Deep End, everything is different. In over your head, you hang onto others for dear life. Sticking together is a matter of survival, your own and others'. Your participation is not a matter of personal preference, convenience, or whim. It is a matter of necessity. The stakes are high.

In the Deep End, intimacy is a function of the importance of the moment, of all being in the same important and urgent situation together. In the shallow end, intimacy is a matter of personal preference, even choice. Think back to climbing Everest.

Now, I’m going to bring up a subject that can be a touchy one in church company. The subject I am going to bring up is privilege. So, I am going to ask us to be in the Deep End together while we talk about privilege a little bit.

Now when I bring up privilege, I’m going to guess that you thought one of two things. One thing you may have thought is of the types of privileges you have that lots of other people don’t. Or, maybe you thought about the types of privileges that lots other people have that you don’t. I want to make an observation. Everyone here is less privileged than somebody else, that is, unless Bill Gates has become a new member of our congregation. If you are Bill Gates, please speak to me after the service. There’s enough peanut butter and jelly for you at the picnic. And, everyone here is more privileged than somebody else in the world unless we happen to have any political prisoners from North Korea visiting us this morning.

Which is to say that awareness of privilege generally leads to feelings of on one hand: shame, guilt, or embarrassment, or, on the other hand, resentment, self-pity, jealousy, or indignation. Going down this whole route is often a destructive exercise, because these types of shallow-end emotions aren’t helpful. They lead us away from the whole point, which is to lift up the deep end truth of the amazing possibility and potential that exists right here, in this room, our real power to make a real difference in the world, our ability to have such an amazing impact in the lives of each other, our children, our elders, our families, our community, our city, our schools, our government. That’s the deep end way of being together.

Today is the ingathering of our church community. In just a few moments we will hold our Gathering of the Waters ceremony. I imagine Jeffrey Lockwood pouring out his water and saying, “This water is for the art of being a good guest.” I imagine water poured for renewal, for beauty, for family connection, for justice and solidarity, for taking care of somebody, for remembering where you come from, for the love of nature, for remembering what’s important.

I imagine an Everest hiker who chose to forego the summit in order to help a fellow human being pouring out water and saying, “I bring what it feels like to be a good Samaritan.” We are so deeply in need of all of the gifts we bring that make this church a community.

Epigraph
"If indeed we love the Lord with all our hearts, minds, and strength, we are going to have to stretch our hearts, open our minds, and strengthen our souls, whether our years are three score and ten or not yet twenty. God cannot lodge in a narrow mind. God cannot lodge in a small heart. To accomodate God, they must be palatial." William Sloane Coffin

Reading and Commentary
This past week I had been looking for a reading to go with this morning’s sermon. I decided to select a passage from the Bible, but which one? My topic was welcome, invitation, and hospitality, and I considered the parable of the Good Samaritan and the parable of the Prodigal Son. Then I remembered the passage in Matthew about a king throwing a wedding banquet. I looked it up and it was awful. So I chose it. I consulted with a friend of mine who attends a quite moderate Christian Church, asking her if her church has ever taken up this passage. She told me her church doesn’t take on difficult passages from scripture. Next, I wrote to a liberal Christian minister across town and asked him, “If you were preaching on Matthew 22, what would you say?” He replied, “I avoid that passage like the plague. Seriously.”

The reading this morning is not intended to give you inspiration. In fact, the material is troubling and loathsome, rather than heartening and sublime. To understand it, you may wish to consider that many people make the mistake of thinking a passage of the Bible is prescriptive, when it is really just being descriptive. I think this passage should be read this way, not as saying how things ought to be, but rather how things tend to be.

So, without further ado, Matthew 22:1-13:

Once more Jesus spoke to them in parables, saying, “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding banquet for his son. He sent his slaves to call those who had been invited to the wedding banquet, but they would not come. Again he sent other slaves, saying ‘Tell those who have been invited: Look, I have prepared my dinner, my oxen, and my fat calves have been slaughtered, and everything is ready; come to the wedding banquet.’ But the invited guests made light of it and went away, one to his farm, another to his business, while others seized his slaves, mistreating them, and killed them. The King was enraged. He sent his troops, destroyed those murderers, and burned their city. Then he said to his slaves, ‘The wedding is ready, but those invited were not worthy. Go therefore into the main streets, and invite everyone you find to the wedding banquet.’ Those slaves went into the streets and gathered all whom they found, both good and bad; so the wedding hall was filled with guests.

But when the king came in to see the guests, he noticed a man there who was not wearing a wedding robe, and he said to him, ‘Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding robe?’ And he was speechless. Then the king said to the attendants, ‘Bind him hand and foot, and throw him into the outer darkness, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’”

Sermon
The kingdom of heaven is like this?!? The reading may be a little odd and certainly disturbing, but the message of the sermon is straightforward, simple, basic, fundamental, elemental, foundational. The message is this: that being welcoming, being inviting is not just a good thing. Without it, all the other good you do is not as good. Being welcoming and inviting is the indication – it is the proof – of the condition of your heart. It is the test of your soul.

Being hospitable, inviting, and welcoming is not just some abstract, perennial, universal religious virtue – it is also something that our church has explicitly taken as our central mission. “To invite everyone into caring community.” The invitation is primary. The other parts of our core mission – inspiration and involvement – would be less if we bypassed the original invitation, if we skipped over the welcome. That’s because being welcoming is not just a good thing. Without it, all the other good you do is not as good. Being welcoming and inviting are the proof of the condition of your heart and the test of your soul.

And now for the bad news. To some degree we all fall short in this business of invitation. Now of course, most of us don’t fail as badly as the king throwing a wedding banquet. Let me count the ways: First he invites many guests to his wedding banquet. But, let’s face it. He doesn’t seem to be friends with a good crowd. Not only do his friends make excuses, they kill his servants! As retaliation, the king proceeds to destroy their city. Having killed off all his friends, the king decides to turn over a new leaf. He casts a broad, generous invitation, and then, when they arrive, the King finds some of his guests undesirable and wanting, so he has them removed and cast out.

The traditional interpretation of this passage is that God is highly selective. It reads the passage allegorically, where the King is God, the groom is Jesus, the good guests are those who accept Jesus, and the bad guests are those who reject Jesus. Many are called; few are chosen. The proverbial narrow gate. But I’m not sure this interpretation stands the test.

To Jesus, the Kingdom of Heaven did not mean a foreign place that you needed a special VIP ticket to enter. Jesus might as well have invented the phrase, “You can’t get there from here.” Because for Jesus there was no there, there’s only here and you are here. The Kingdom of Heaven is all around you. You hold the ticket. We just fail to accept the invitation that is ever before us.

Now our everyday inhospitalities are not as severe as the King’s, but the welcoming business is hard work. The narrow gate of which Jesus spoke is really only as narrow as we make our own hearts.

And if I might follow this line of thought for just a few more moments, I might say that the interpretation of God as this highly selective person doesn’t make a lot of sense. If there is a God, clearly that God has got to be more welcoming than I have the capacity to be. If this were the not the case, then that would make me more welcoming than God is. And that would in turn make God no God at all. If there is a God, clearly that God has got to be more welcoming than I have the capacity to be, not less.

A classmate of mine from seminary became an Associate Minister at an Episcopalian Church in Boston. The title of her position: “Minister of Radical Welcome.” That is the best job title ever! (But the title of her position is not “God of Radical Welcome” because God’s welcome ever exceeds the capacity of our own imperfect, less-than-fully radical, welcome. But we’re working on getting better.)

I want to talk about a few examples of welcoming. The first that comes to mind is the Welcoming Congregation program within our own Unitarian Universalist Association. This program focuses on helping congregations to become more informed and more welcoming to gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people. For the past twenty months, we have had a Welcoming Congregation team that has put together a survey, workshops, classes and a forum. The board voted to endorse the process. There will be a congregational vote for our congregation to be recognized as a Welcoming Congregation on October 15.

The Welcoming Congregation program has existed in our faith since the early nineties. There are only a measly 1,000 UU congregations in the United States, but over 500 of them are Welcoming Congregations. When I say that, you may wonder why only 500? You need to take into consideration that in our movement, the median church is only one hundred and twenty members. (We’re two and a half times the size of the median UU church.) That means that there are hundreds of tiny UU congregations with only a few dozen members. As you may guess, it is difficult for a congregation of a few dozen members to put together a Welcoming Congregation committee. Of UU Churches 500 members and more, over 80% are Welcoming Congregations. The same can be said for congregations closer to our size of which about the same percentage are Welcoming Congregations. [Here is a story from the UU World magazine.]

If you grouped all five-hundred plus of the welcoming congregations together and all four-hundred something of the ones that have not been through the Welcoming Congregation process together and you compared the two groups in the most general way possible you would find that the Welcoming Congregations tend to thrive, tend to be future-oriented, tend to have visibility and impact in their communities, tend to look beyond themselves, tend to be leaders in our UU movement, and tend towards health and creative vitality.

On the other hand, these words would describe (in the most general of ways and there are exceptions) congregations that aren’t Welcoming Congregations: declining, struggling, impotent, conflicted, unhealthy, inwardly-focused, difficulty retaining clergy, invisible in their community, failing, and dying.

Now, I am not saying that there is a cause and effect relationship here. If anything, I would say that it is the opposite: that healthy, thriving, visible, future-oriented, successful, clergy-retaining, and vital congregations are more likely to successfully go through the welcoming congregation process. But that just confirms what I said: Being welcoming is an indication of the condition of your heart. It is a test of your soul.

This has been the case not only for our Unitarian Universalist movement. It has been the case for our nation. From the Puritans – who sent Quakers to the gallows, accused witches to the stake, Anne Hutchinson to the wilderness and Roger Williams to Rhode Island – to slavery and the civil war, to the civil rights movement, to the internment of Japanese in concentration camps, to the women’s rights movement, to the marriage equality movement, to the current issues of immigration and citizenship, welcoming and the idea of how broad an invitation to full participation and humanity is extended to each person in society have been questions that have gone to the very fabric of our national identity. It has been a test of our very heart and soul. Invitation lifts all boats. The wider the invitation, the better our nation. As I have said before, it is no coincidence that health and welcome go together. They’re interconnected.

You may have wondered, as I wondered when talking with my friend across town who is a minister of a liberal Christian congregation, why I didn’t pick a safe parable about welcome, invitation, and hospitality. The Good Samaritan… now there is hospitality. The Prodigal Son… welcome home, the invitation is yours. But these stories are awfully convenient, perhaps even cliché. After all, these stories portray the outsider as down-trodden, needy, even immoral. Either a victim or a lost soul who has given in to vice and bad choices. These parables make the other person, the one receiving the invitation, a charity case, a recipient of our own gracious benevolence. But welcome doesn’t really work that way. For one thing, often it is the one holding the power to invite (the Church, the club, the government, the institution) that has been guilty of sin.

Marge Piercy writes in her poem, “The Low Road”, that,

Alone, you can fight…
but they roll over you…
Two people can keep each other
sane, can give support…
Three people are a delegation,
a committee, a wedge. With four
you can play bridge and start
an organization. With six
you can rent a whole house,
eat pie for dinner with no
seconds, and hold a fund raising party.
A dozen make a demonstration.
A hundred fill a hall.
A thousand have solidarity and your own newsletter;
ten thousand, power and your own paper;
a hundred thousand, your own media;
ten million, your own country.

It goes on one at a time,
it starts when you care
to act, it starts when you do
it again after they said no,
it starts when you say “We”
and know who you mean, and each
day you mean one more.

Without welcome, what are we left with? “Alone, they roll over you.” Marge Piercy’s poem inverts our normal conception of welcome and invitation, from being something we do for someone else’s benefit and something we, the insiders, can choose to do or not to. This she turns upside down telling us that being inviting is what moves us from aloneness, powerlessness, and self-pity to leverage and possibility. Piercy’s poem says that being welcoming and inviting is our great need. Being welcoming is the indication of the health of the condition of your heart. It is the proof of your soul.

It goes without saying that it would be wrong to take an overly idyllic view of welcome and invitation. Invitation does mean utopia or anarchy. Welcome is not the same as anything goes. Welcome does not guarantee that we will agree. It does not mean the absence of limits or boundaries. I think sometimes we become confused on this subject.

Perhaps we could rewrite the Marge Piercy poem, “With two you can have disagreement, with three you can triangulate and take sides, with four you can each have an advocate. With twelve you can have a hung jury. With one-hundred, a whole number disapproval percentage.”

I jest… probably the single best piece I’ve ever heard on the subject of welcoming was a sermon delivered at the last General Assembly by Gail Geisenhainer. (I also got the great Marge Piercy poem from this sermon.) In this sermon she details the risks she underwent to enter community, the breaking of community with a moment of ugliness, and the discovery, in the aftermath, of an even deeper community through covenant, engagement, refusal to dehumanize one another, and a spiritual discipline of remaining open in a way that doesn’t mean giving in or being inauthentic. Real welcome doesn’t remove our own agency. It places our own agency in a creative tension with others beyond ourselves, and in so doing, creates possibility.

Some people, even some of us who are Unitarian Universalists, tend to perpetuate the understanding that because we are such a broad faith, because we are so theologically diverse, because we are such a welcoming and inviting faith, we must be pretty vague and a bit shallow. A half-way home for the orphans of organized religion. A theological Triple-A for spiritual seekers. And this misunderstanding always bothers me a great deal. This always gets under my skin because my experience tells me the opposite: I have always felt that welcome and invitation are at the very core of what is necessary for spiritual depth and growth. I’ve always felt that broad theological engagement is at the very core of what is necessary for true wisdom. And, I’ve always felt that it is possible to be as theologically serious, as Biblically-literate, as spiritually developed, and as practiced in your faith here as anywhere.

If this is not the case, then that is a big problem. Plenty of religions have their own self-righteousness. A lot fewer have their own inferiority-complex. What is needed is a good medium that eschews both the self-righteousness and the inferiority complex.

I will end by reading a passage from Victoria Safford’s excellent meditation manual, Walking Towards Morning. [I only give you the out-line version here.]

The story involves John, a parishioner of Rev. Safford’s. John is an elderly man, fairly typical of a Unitarian in that he is extraordinarily involved in his community. John also attends church every single Sunday, always sitting in the first row because he is hard of hearing. Asked why he comes every single Sunday, John replies, “Someone might miss me if I wasn’t here.”

Safford describes that John is the epitome of welcoming, always helpful. He isn’t this way because he wants more friends (he has more than he can manage.) He isn’t some driven evangelist (in fact, he misses the small church his church once was.) He is welcoming because, well, because how else can one possibly be when guests are in your home?

On the Sunday after John’s memorial service a new family who never knew John and will never have the chance comes into the sanctuary and sits down in John’s seat as if they own the place. If he could have been there, John would have been delighted.

Indeed, welcome is foundational. It is the test of the condition of your heart. It is the proof of your soul.

Reading
Terminus by Ralph Waldo Emerson

Sermon
I begin with a pair of true stories:

When I was sixteen I spent the Summer as a grunt-work youth staff person at Ferry Beach, a Universalist conference center on the coast of Maine. All summer-long, UU guests would come to participate in the weeklong retreats and camps hosted by the conference center. I still remember the coolest guest we had that summer. He was seventy-five. In his late sixties, according to him, he took up mogul-skiing (a kind of downhill skiing over dangerous bumps.) In his early seventies, he took up body piercing. And I'm not just talking about facial piercing. I think this septuagenarian Unitarian was an inspiration and role model to many of the youth staff members of the conference center.

And then there was the time I got snookered in pool by a man in his late eighties. This is a story worth telling. When I was eighteen and home for the Summer after my first year in college, I was asked to join the caring committee of my home congregation. As a member of that committee, I was asked to visit regularly with an elderly man. He was living at home; his wife was in a nursing home wasting away from cancer. His day consisted of visiting her for an hour each morning, then meeting the meals on wheels driver. That was pretty much the entirety of his daily routine. I was asked to visit him. It was suggested to me that we play pool. Fortunately, he lived literally a stone’s throw from the town Senior Center, which boasted an ornate and perfectly maintained, donated pool table that was seldom used. Fortunately, I had spent my first year of college in a pool hall... (conducting extensive anthropological research, of course.) The man I visited was in his late eighties. He was overdue for cataract operation. His hands badly shook. He used to play semi-professionally and was still very much the pool shark. He'd aim for a bizarre shot which would cause me to wonder if maybe he wasn’t also having a bit of dementia, but then he’d strike the cue ball with serious english, banking it off three bumpers and always knocking one into the pocket.

This morning I am going to speak on the subject of growing old gracefully. When I was first learning how to preach, I was instructed by one of my older colleagues that when preaching to a group of Unitarian Universalists, that no-matter what my subject, no matter how obscure, that I should expect that there is at least one person listening who is far greater the expert on the subject than I. Accordingly, I should try not to embarrass the ministry too severely. Well, this morning there are many more experts than I.

The idea for this sermon began last January, when we hold our annual question and answer Sunday. One of the most striking question cards from that morning asked, "What is the silver lining to being old and infirm?" I mentioned that this question deserved a full sermon and a member of this congregation held me to my word, encouraging me to preach on it, and even supplying me with an excellent book on the subject.

I have taken a straw poll of many of you in the past few weeks, asking you for your advice. Some of you gave me books and magazine articles. Others of you shrugged at the question, saying, "It is a fact of life, not a choice, you know?" Still others have bristled, saying, "I don't intend to grow old gracefully. I intend to fight it every step of the way."

So, let me talk about the easy part of the formula: Grace. In traditional theology, grace is the term for what God gives that comes to us undeserved and unearned. It is another term for managing better than we should rightfully be expected to manage. (“God give us the grace to accept with serenity the things that cannot be changed” begins the familiar prayer.) Like some theological terms, the word has been co-opted and domesticated. Now we use the word “grace” to describe the motions of ballet dancers and ice-skaters, an abstract noun we employ to talk about agile athletes and actresses and aristocrats.

From what I can tell, in this more modern sense, "grace" refers to those who make good use of the gifts with which they've been blessed. A celebrity is graceful when they refrain from boorish behavior. An athlete is graceful when they transcend mechanical perfection, when their performance has emotion, inspiration. Grace seems to have something to do with the preservation of a mystique.

True, for some the term grace does have connotations of being "proper", "well-behaved", or even compliant, passive, or demure. In that sense, it may be worth rejecting. But in the sense of making the best of what fate deals, in the sense of transcending the facts of circumstance, “grace” may be a word worth reclaiming.

But, I think I’ve gone wide a-field of the topic. In preparation for this morning I read through a book called, What are Old People for? by Dr. William Thomas. The book was kindly loaned to me from the library of the Lakeview Retirement Village by a member here at SMUUCh. Thomas, an expert on geriatrics, subtitled his book, “How Elders Will Save the World.” Indeed, Thomas predicts that changes in how we age and in how we face the second half of life will have a profound impact on the future of our planet. He really believes that those sixty-ish and up are to be the saviors of the world. Which lets me and my generation off the hook, about which I am a little ambivalent.

Dr. William Thomas imagines an change in how we think about aging, where the second half of life is not about relaxation but revolution – where retired people claim (or reclaim) power and purpose. He believes that it is those sixty-five and up who are most developmentally able to lead the revolution. His book is varied and expansive. He combines the fields of developmental biology, developmental psychology, mythology, sociology, cultural criticism, and more. It contains wonderful little observations: Did you know that the words “senile” and “senate” have a common etymology?

But what is most impressive about Thomas’ book is the way he dares to boldly challenge dominant modes of thought. He takes on two big ones: What he calls: “The Cult of Adulthood” and “The Doctrine of Youth’s Perfection.” I should explain what he means by these:

The “Doctrine of Youth’s Perfection” is the term that William Thomas gives to the misleading notion that life involves building up to some zenith, some climax of potential and strength which is followed by a slow, gradual decline. It is from this way of thinking that we get the term “over-the-hill.” Thomas calls “declinism” a myth. “Hardly a straightforward decline from the apex of youth, growing old is actually a complex, richly detailed phenomenon.” For example, he presents research that shows that older people tend to be less likely to experience persistent negative emotional states, are better at regulating emotional states, experience emotion with greater complexity, and have greater capacity to experience poignancy.

Another researcher finds that with aging, comes deeper ways of relating to the self, to others and society, and to the universe. These findings showed that:

· Older people tend to grow in their capacity for self-confrontation.
· Older people tend to decrease in self-centeredness, moving from egoism to altruism.
· Older people tend to think of childhood more positively.
· In relationships, older people tend to become more selective and less interested in superficial relationships.
· Older people tend to find solitude less threatening.
· Older people tend to have greater differentiation between self and role.
· Older people tend to find joy in transcending nonsensical social norms.
· Older people tend to develop a deeper appreciation for the gray areas that separate right and wrong.
· Many older people grow in their capacity for cosmic insights.
· Older people tend to have a greater interest in genealogy emerges.
· Older people frequently have a renewed interest in nature.

Of course, Thomas cautions, this does not necessarily describe every older person. But what a list!

Far from “declinism,” this view of aging undermines the doctrine of youth’s perfection. My last year at Harvard, I studied “adult development” with Robert Kegan at the Harvard School of Education. Early in the semester, we broke the class down into caucuses by age. All those in their twenties met together, as did those in their thirties, forties, and fifties. Following an activity, each group had to come up with a question to ask the group immediately older. The twenties asked the thirties, “Does it get any better?” The thirties asked the forties, “Does it get any better?” The forties asked the fifties, “Does it get any better?” The fifties answered, “Yes, it does.”

William Thomas not only addresses the “doctrine of youth’s perfection.” He also talks about what he calls the “cult of adulthood.” The cult of adulthood sees adulthood as normative and superior. Children are considered to be future adults. Elders are considered to be adults past their prime. Thomas explains how our culture has “adultified” children, treating childhood as a period of preparation and training for being a successful adult. “The cult of adulthood does not and cannot value childhood except as a staging ground for the real purpose of human life. Under attack is the idea of childhood as a time of exploration and play, enriched with vast quantities of time from which no outcome is expected.” Members of this congregation who are teachers report that they know of high school students who select extra-curricular activities not out of any interest but in order to pad a resume and look good for colleges. One student in our high school youth group confessed her hesitancy to take a class that interested her because it would be weighted in a way that would adversely effect her grade point average.

Predictably, the cult of adulthood also changes our ideas of what it means to be an elder. Thomas notes that obituaries often give a disproportionate account of careers, accomplishments, and awards and say nothing about stages of life that are not “doing-oriented.” The cult of adulthood is achievement-oriented and goal-directed rather than meaning-oriented and concerned with intrinsic satisfaction. Adults, Thomas says, value information in proportion to what they can do with it, rather than knowing for the sake of knowing. They also structure their personal relationships and hobbies around hoped-for economic benefits. Just this last week a study was released that showed that social drinkers earned more than non-drinkers, all other factors being equal. The study suggested that joining co-workers at cocktail parties and social functions is an important aspect of networking and has career track ramifications. Now you even socialize to get ahead. That is the cult of adulthood.

Thomas describes in his book his vision of an “eldertopia” in which old age is not considered an appendage to human life or society. In his vision, the presence of elders is essential to and completes a vision of society. Elders offer warmth, wisdom, and stewardship to communities and society. They keep in check an out-of-control world.

Thomas also describes some ingenuous innovations, like the Green House concept. The Green House is a third way, beyond the dualistic thinking that holds two options available to older people, either independent living in your own home or institutionalization in a retirement center or nursing home. Green Houses represent a third way: intentional communities of older people living together interdependently, where they take active control of their care. I’m informed by some of our residents at Lakeview that they are experimenting with the Green House concept.

On Saturday, September 30th we will be holding a new type of event at SMUUCh. The Committee on Ministry is sponsoring a “shared ministry luncheon.” It will be brown-bag. This pro-active luncheon will focus on an aspect of the shared ministry of this congregation. “Shared Ministry” is the concept that the ministries that this church offers are too grand to be accomplished by one person. Our first shared ministry luncheon will focus on “caring for one another.” We will come together to see how we are or are not succeeding. We will come together to identify what needs and opportunities there are, and to think creatively about how we might better care for one another. I hope you will come and join me on Saturday, September 30th.

I want to end by re-invoking the spirit of Ralph Waldo Emerson. At first reading, his poem “Terminus” seems to be an example of “declinist” thinking. “Take in sail.” “Accept the terms.” “Economize the failing river.” But, I think that our old Unitarian bard is saying something different. His message is one of separating the essential from the inessential. “There isn’t time for this and that.” His trimming himself to the winds of time, his reefing of the sail is not to quit sailing, but it is to focus energies and attention – to obey the same voice at eve as at prime. I like this image. Any of you who have had to pare down your possessions; any of you who have had to choose priorities; any of you who have had to focus and decide what is important now and what is not as important, probably understand these poetic words of Emerson’s. And there is a grace, I think, in this. A wisdom.

In these few minutes this morning, I hope what I have done is started a conversation. My words are not intended to silence discussion, but to begin it, to invite sharing. I hope it will lead those with greater wisdom than I to speak out and the rest of us to see in a new way and listen with a wider mind. I hope we will talk, after the service, in two weeks, in all time to come.

The late William Sloane Coffin wrote about aging, “There is a Zen paradox whereby we may lack everything yet want for nothing. The reason is that peace, that is deep inner peace, comes not with meeting our desires but in releasing ourselves from their power. I find, in aging, such peace is increasingly mine. It’s not that I feel I’m withdrawing from the world, only that I am present in a different way. I’m less intentional than “attentional”. I’m more and more attentive to family, friends, and nature’s beauty. Although still outraged by callous behavior, particularly in high places, I feel more often serene, grateful for God’s gift of life. Albert Camus said that ‘to grow old is to replace passion with compassion.’ And, so, for the compassions that fail me not, I find myself saying daily to my loving Maker, ‘I can no other answer make than thanks, and thanks, and ever thanks.’”

And my thanks to all of you for your support, compassion, wisdom, and mostly for your trust. Amen.

Did you ever wonder how political candidates target churches to raise money and garner votes? Wonder no further. Check out this authentic memo from Kansas Attorney General Phill Kline to his campaign staff.

The Mainstream Voices of Faith, an organization on whose steering committee I serve, has issued this statement in response.

Last June I got to hear an address by Rev. Bill Schulz, former UUA President and former Executive Director of Amnesty International.

The sermon on Sunday, October 8 will consider a difficult and timely issue: Torture and our government's role in conducting and attempting to legalize it. As Senators McCain, Warner, Graham, and Collins oppose the President's attempt to rewrite the Geneva Conventions, we will turn to the question of what it means to be citizens of a nation that tortures. While this sermon will contain mature themes, it will not be sensational or manipulative.

Here are some of the sources I'm reading to prepare for October 8th:

Web Resources:
"What Torture has Taught Me" by Bill Schulz
"Torture's Dark Allure" and "Does Torture Work?" by Darius Rejali at Salon.com

Book Resources:
"Truth, Torture, and the American Way: The history and consequences of U.S. involvement in torture" by Jennifer Harbury
"In Our Own Best Interest: How defending human rights benefits us all" by William Schulz
"Tainted Legacy: 9/11 and the ruin of human rights" by William Schulz
"Torture & Modernity: self, society, and state in modern Iran" by Darius Rejali

Get Involved:
Find our about the Unitarian Universalist Service Committee's Stop Torture Permanently campaign.

The books I'm reading at the moment include:

The Mighty and the Almighty by Madeleine Albright. I got to hear her speak last night at an awards dinner for the International Relations Council of Kansas City.

Kingdom Coming: The Rise of Christian Nationalism by Michelle Goldberg. Goldbery, a senior writer for Salon, will be coming to Kansas City on a book tour in November.

What's Liberal About the Liberal Arts? by Michael Berube. I had read an awesome speech by Berube last Spring.

Fausto and Philocrites both recommend that you listen to a wonderful sermon by Scott Tayler, senior co-minister of the First Unitarian Church of Rochester, NY (750 members). I took the time to listen yesterday and found myself deeply moved as well.

In preparation for this morning’s remarks, I was doing a free association brainstorm on the idea of grudges… “holding grudges”, “keeping grudges”, and so on. And from out of nowhere the phrase “grudge match” entered my mind. So indulge me for just a moment, because the first sermon illustration comes from professional wrestling.

I’m serious here. Pay attention. Did you know that professional wrestling story lines involve feuds between characters? At first, those feuds are dramatic. But over time they are bound to become stagnant. And when that happens, the characters will have a grudge match, a final contest, after which, irrespective of outcome, the feud is to be set aside so that each character can be liberated to pursue new avenues of development. Let me say that again, “the feud is set aside so that each character can be liberated to pursue new avenues of development and possibility.” When I thought about this, I was amazed. How many of us are less adept than professional wrestlers at releasing ourselves from the bondage of our grudges?

I am deeply beholden to John Klozik, a member here, who delivered a comprehensive and powerful sermon on forgiveness about a month ago. John presented perspectives from world religions, from popular psychology, and from his own experience that described not only the nuts and bolts, but also the purposes and meanings of forgiveness. My own approach this morning is much more modest. I simply want to talk about grudges and the importance of releasing yourself from the bondage of holding onto them. To do this, I want to draw not so much from the wisdom of professional wrestling, but from wisdom of the Jewish tradition. And I want to talk about the importance of setting aside grudges from a personal perspective, a community perspective, and a world perspective.

In the Jewish scriptures, the law is set forth in the books of Leviticus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, and the second half of Exodus. Taken as a whole, it would seem that there is common theme running through many of the laws against things going on an on for unspecified periods of time. For example, there are extensive laws dealing with debt and the forgiveness of debts. Every seven years, according to Jewish law, debts and obligations are supposed to be released. Every forty-ninth, or seventh-seventh year, is to be a Jubilee year. What this entails is a little bit uncertain according to scholars, but some have interpreted this to mean that there should be a complete redistribution of all property in society. Things are not meant to go on and on without end.

In the book of Leviticus there is a commandment against permanently marking your flesh. It is from this passage we get the Jewish law forbidding tattoos. But this injunction against inscribing meaning into flesh is another way of saying things are not meant to go on and on without end.

And then we come to the Jewish high holy day of Yom Kippur. Yom Kippur is the day of atonement. It is the day of reaching out to those with whom you have not set things right. It is a day of contrition, forgiveness. The most important aspect of Yom Kippur observances is the recitation of the Kol Nidre prayer. The Kol Nidre prayer admits that in the coming year we will all make vows that we will not keep, promises we will not live up to, and that we all will inevitably fall short of what we might be expected to do or be. And for that we ask to be forgiven. But even in this there is a sense that things should not drag on. Yes, we’ll disappoint one another. But we shouldn’t dwell on it. We should move on. Things are not meant to go on and on without end.

The play that the Coming of Age class presented for us earlier in the service is quite remarkable. Author Barbara Marshman really hits the nail on the head. She describes the citizens of “Grudgeville.” At first they took great pride in their grudges. It was almost a competition to see who could shoulder the biggest. People came from far away to marvel: “My goodness, look at the size of those grudges!” But soon enough, the grudges ceased to make them feel special. The grudges made them feel miserable and people generally stayed away from Grudgeville because it was a miserable place. Over time, the citizens of Grudgeville grew to accept their burdens as a part of them. They forgot how to put them down – some of them even forgot how they formed their grudges in the first place! The story implies that holding grudges is the key to living a wretched and miserable life.

Is this too simplistic? Is this too trite? Say “I’m sorry” when you’ve hurt somebody’s feelings. Say “I forgive you” when someone has hurt you. I don’t think the order is all that important. After all, on Yom Kippur observers ask forgiveness for transgressions not yet committed and forgiveness for the breaking of vows not yet made.

We all know the Golden Rule: “Treat others as you would be treated.” There’s also, according to one of my colleagues, the Platinum Rule: “Treat others as they want to be treated.” And then there is my favorite, a liberal paraphrase of Jesus’ words: “I don’t need to like you. I don’t need to agree with you. But I do have to love you as much as either God or myself, whichever I love more.”

I hope my title this morning has not been too much of a bait and switch. There are all sorts of ways to live a wretched and miserable life. I could turn this into a sermon series. But a certain way to do this is to hold on to your grudges.

We need only look at the world, rife as it always is with ethnic strife, religious intolerance, and the hostilities passed down by groups over generations. How many younger generations willingly pick up the burdens of their parents and grand-parents and ancestors, adopting those grudges as a force that gives life meaning? A few weeks ago, Rev. Scott Tayler, co-minister of the First Unitarian Church of Rochester, New York delivered a sermon on a related point. Rev. Tayler preached on what he called the myth of salvation by elimination – which is the idea that the world would be great and we would be safe if we could only get rid of all the bad people. (It is not possible to do this.) Tayler’s sermon suggested that since we can never get rid of all the bad people, we should learn to love our enemies.

In the same way, and more germane to this morning’s topic, we may be seduced into the belief that our lives would be wonderful if only all of the people who have hurt, disappointed, wronged, or offended us would only realize how very wrong they were, make amends to us with interest, and berate and castigate and flagellate themselves mercilessly for having had the gall to ever have dared to offend us. Or we could just learn to say, “I forgive you.” And learn how to mean it. Love your enemies. Forgive those who disappoint you.

This is of course a radical sort of thing. Some would say, “You know, I am a forgiving person. I have no problem with forgiveness. And as soon as that other person comes to me and makes a sincere and utter apology I’ll gladly forgive.” Is contrition a pre-requisite for forgiveness? I don’t think has to be is. I think their can be a dialectical relationship where forgiveness inspires contrition.

Remember, the Lord’s Prayer goes:

“Forgive our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

not:

“Forgive our trespasses that we’ve apologized for as we forgive those who have apologized for trespassing against us.”

Forgiveness without contrition: Yes, it is radical. And no, it is not fair. If you really want to try something radical, try apologizing to someone for holding a grudge against them!

It is not just the world that could use a lesson in letting go of grudges, offering forgiveness, inspiring contrition. This is actually something that churches could stand to improve at: Ideally, the church should be a crucible, a context, a petri-dish for us to learn to become forgiveness warriors, acolytes of acceptance, and crusaders in love. Church should be place to practice taking spiritual risks, a place to always assume the best and try to see the best in other people. But, like all imperfect institutions on this earth, churches don’t always live up to their highest principles. They’re human in this regard. We’re human in this regard.

I will always remember the first sermon I preached. It was that prime, high-attendance date of the Sunday after Christmas… during a snow-storm… but a few hearty souls attended. I delivered an earnest sermon about New Year’s resolutions. During the sermon I stuck the “love your neighbor as your yourself” line in there. In the receiving line after the service, one individual passed me and glared. “You don’t know my neighbors. I hate my neighbors and you can’t tell me to love them.”

People hold their grudges, even in church. I won’t go to that because they might be there. I can’t do this because of him, because of her. I don’t go to church their any more because of that minister, that minister who was the minister five ministers ago, or three ministers ago, or now.

The holding of grudges, the keeping of score, the refusal to forgive always represents a profound failure of religious practice. And, since it is the job of the church to help teach us to forgive, the holding of grudges represents a second kind of failure.


This may be kind of an unusual topic to introduce on a Sunday when we welcome New Members into the congregation. But my message for those new members, and those not yet members… and those who have been members for some time, is this:

Allow this church community to be a context for your spiritual growth. Let this church be a context for expanded sympathies, expanded concern, and expanded acceptance. Let his church be a context for experimentation with greater generosity – of time, talent, and treasure. Let this church be a context for the growth of not only your mind, but also your heart. And let this church be a context for the growth of compassion. Practice forgiveness. Practice laying your burden down.

Churches are not immune from error. They are not perfect. They are made up of real, flesh-and-blood people, after all! Which is a good thing, because each and every one of you is a real, flesh-and-blood person. As am I. And we’re here, with warts and blemishes, and with so much beauty to be found in all the vicissitudes and struggles of life. Amen.

On October 8th I will be presenting a sermon entitled "Citizens of a Nation that Tortures." With new legislation moving towards approval, this will certainly be a timely message. Click Here to view resources.

This was just mentioned on the UU Ministers email list:

According to Hallmark, Sunday, October 8 is Clergy Appreciation Day.

I am outraged and I am ashamed that the government of the nation in which you and I live commits torture. And I am outraged and I am ashamed that the government of the nation in which you and I live would legalize torture through legislation.

Let me back up just a minute. This morning we are going to talk about the gross violations of both human rights and human decency perpetrated by our government in the “War on Terror.” We’re going to talk about extraordinary renditions, secret detentions, Abu Ghraib, Konduz, and Guantanamo Bay. We’re going to talk about habeas corpus and the Geneva Conventions. At the same time, it is important to remember that the current administration is not the first in our country’s history to deal in torture. So, we’re also going to talk about the history of torture in our country. We’re going to talk not only about torture abroad; we are also going to talk about the immense danger posed by the present day legal wrangling surrounding human rights and civil liberties, and about how the erosion of civil liberties endangers us. We’re going to talk about the effect that torture has on our society and our community. And we will finish up by talking about what we can do about it.

I speak today as a minister. I am not a military strategist or historian. Nor am I a legal expert. I am also not a shrill pundit, a cable news talking head, a shouting demagogue, or a partisan shill. As a minister, I try to deal in timeless truths. I try to deal in the realm of higher principles, morality, conscience, and ideals as I deal out to you a life passed through the fire of thought. I try to appeal to what Abraham Lincoln called the “better angels of our nature,” our best-selves. Which is to say that I, like many ministers, am less concerned with what is practical, what’s effective, and more concerned with what is right, what is moral, and what should be. My model for this approach is the Hebrew Prophets.

As one commentator has suggested, when torture is discussed in utilitarian terms or as a matter of legalities, that itself is a sign of profound moral failure. But fortunately, to set up the debate about torture as a debate between practical realities and airy ideals is a false debate. Torture is not only ethically indefensible and morally reprehensible, it does not work!

The literature supports this. The world’s best scholars agree on this. Which only means that the political powers that be ignore more than just the findings of scientists working in the fields of evolution, global climate change, and medicine. They also ignore the historians and political scientists, and those who have studied the history of torture.

Torture does not work. According to leading scholar Darius Rejali, torture represents not a means of gathering intelligence but signals a failure of the intelligence community. Rejali says that practicing torture undermines the intelligence community and results in systemic dysfunction and organizational breakdown. (This should raise red flags to those of us concerned with security who have seen too many signs of systemic dysfunction in recent years.) Some scholars insist that there is not a case in recorded human history where torture has produced even one piece of helpful information that was not as easily available elsewhere. No, instead what torture does achieve is suspect information. This can come in the form of torture which our country oversaw in Central America in the 1980’s in which torture victims implicated innocent neighbors who were then tortured, or the case of an individual in Iraq who under torture admitted to being Osama bin Laden.

It is no surprise that, lacking any historical evidence supporting the use of torture, its advocates turn to a hypothetical case, the proverbial “ticking bomb” scenario. No such case has ever existed. It is an intellectual red herring. The world doesn’t work that way. As Bill Schulz writes, “What the ticking bomb case asks us to believe is that the authorities know that a bomb has been planted somewhere, know that it is about to go off, know that the suspect in their custody has the information they need to stop it, know that the suspect will yield the information accurately, and know that there is no other way to obtain [the information.] The scenario asks us to believe, in other words, that the authorities have all the information that [they never have.]” [Schulz, Tainted Legacy: p. 163-164]

Since the first days of the war on terror, we have often heard the phrase, “winning the hearts and minds of the Arab world.” (Whose hearts and minds we are trying to win is a bit interchangeable.) The phrase has become even a little bit trite and stale – but it is true that good intelligence information is best procured through trust. You need trusted informants. You need to appear worthy of confiding in. Torture undermines the capacity to gather intelligence and drives regular people towards the insurgency. Torture causes far more damage than any good it could ever do “hypothetically.” [Harbury, p. 166]

Abu Ghraib, Konduz, and Guantanamo Bay are but three contemporary examples of US involvement in torture. The history of US torture, though, goes back more than a century, at least, to the US war with the Philippines in which both sides tortured their prisoners of war. As for the law of unintended consequences, consider that after September 11, 2001, the United States sought world-wide cooperation in defeating terrorist groups. The Philippines was highly resistant towards cooperating because of the torture we inflicted a century ago. [Schulz, Tainted Legacy, p. 161-162]

The use of torture was wide-spread in Vietnam, and in the 1980’s the CIA trained governments and guerillas in Central American nations such as Guatemala, Honduras, and El Salvador in the use of torture and terror. These “Dirty Wars” were sponsored by the Government of the United States, and Central American torture squads were flown to our soil to train and learn torture techniques at the School of the Americas in Georgia. Besides torture, what do the Philippines, Vietnam, and the “Dirty Wars” have in common? They are all low points of US international policy. Several prominent figures have suggested that we can now add Iraq to the list. Torture never plays well in the history books.

I do want to make a few points about prisoner abuse at Abu Ghraib and elsewhere. First of all, it is common to hear the excuse that those who are responsible for the atrocities at Abu Ghraib were, quote, “just a few bad apples” or, quote, “acting out irrationally under stress.” This excuse, by the way, is absolutely bogus. The techniques used by the captors were not spontaneous or random – they were learned. These were the exact same techniques – such as the infamous picture of the hooded man standing on a box with wires attached to his fingers and genitals – that were used in Vietnam and repeated in Guatemala. That posture is actually known as “The Vietnam.” [Harbury, 13] The captors had learned this technique from their superiors.

Furthermore, not only did ranking superiors know that the abuses were going on, they knew about it and knew that it was wrong. So they took precautions to avoid having their own neck out on the line. Jennifer Harbury, director of the STOP Torture Permanently campaign of the Unitarian Universalist Service Committee, points out that senior officers signed into their posts at Abu Ghraib under assumed names. Who was supervising the Abu Ghraib prison, you ask: the records say it was, quote, John Doe and James Bond. [Harbury, 13] Why would they do this? Because they knew it was wrong. The equivalent to this would be if Ken Lay and Andrew Fastow ran Enron under the names John Doe and James Bond and the receptionist, besides losing her job and her retirement, also went to jail. Someone like Lynndie England, one of the soldiers implicated in prisoner abuse at Abu Ghraib, is a difficult case. Clearly she violated the human rights of others. But it occurs to me that her superiors and their superiors never had to account for the actions that she and others were most certainly ordered to do. She was left twisting in the wind. She was hung out to dry. She was deserted.

While bullies like Bill O’Reilly and Rush Limbaugh saw it fit to joke about Abu Ghraib, we might consider that we were allowed to see only a handful of pictures. Members of Congress were shown “eighteen hundred additional photographs and videos not made available to the public, depicting yet worse abuses.” [Harbury, p. 12]

Of course, it is not as if the United States is the only nation to practice torture. Amnesty International suggests over 130 violate the human rights of prisoners. [Schulz, Tainted Legacy, p. 156] But, should we aspire to be in the bottom sixty-sixth percentile? Should we aspire to keep company with The Sudan, Syria, Uzbekistan, and Burma? And should the leaders of the free world wish to be held in the same bad company as a group of warlords, thugs, and two-bit dictators?

If we can look past the fear-mongering and security-baiting, torture turns out to be a kind of cowardice. If it were not, then why sign in under assumed names? Then why the legal-wrangling to protect the architects and designers of torture, and those giving the orders? If torture was heroic then shouldn’t its designers be taking credit? And why the secret detention centers? And why the “ghost prisoners”? And why the extraordinary renditions? In this practice, a person is taken into custody and transported to a place like Syria, where the torture and interrogation are outsourced, but overseen by a member of the CIA. [Harbury, p. 6-9] Torture has always been a dirty secret, so ugly that, when seen in the light of day, it is always denounced. Torture has no place in a transparent democracy.

If this morning inspires you to learn more, I have listed all of my resources and references on my blog. One of the links is to a wonderful essay by Bill Schulz. Rev. Schulz was President of the UUA during the 1980’s and they went on to direct Amnesty International for over a decade. Schulz’s essay, which I heard delivered in person last June, deals with the theological issues of human nature and evil which torture raises. I want to talk about a different set of issues that torture raises. How am I, how are you, affected by being a citizen of a nation that tortures?

It is a mistake to think that torture only involves the application of pain, suffering, and anguish to another human being over a discreet period time. The effects are felt through networks of contact and for years and lifetimes later. Torture victims, according to the Center for Victims of Torture in Minneapolis, Minnesota, suffer, often permanently, from insomnia, nightmares, flashbacks, chronic anxiety, inability to trust, deliberate self-injury, violent behavior, substance abuse, depression, and paranoia. [Harbury, p. 145-149] Families of torture victims suffer extensive emotional pain, not knowing anything about their family member. [Harbury, p. 149-152] Torture also destroys communities. It breeds mistrust and paranoia. Obviously torture also destroys goodwill. Torture does so much to turn popular opinion against our country and our servicemen and -women who are in the line of fire. Defenders of torture say that the torture of one may save one hundred lives. But this math is incomplete, short-sighted. Torture of one may, conceivably, save the lives of one hundred but in so doing cost the lives of one thousand. [Schulz, Tainted Legacy, p. 162]

Through sinister logic, torture on one side excuses torture on the other, though it does not legitimate it. Torture destroys any claim to the moral high ground. Our refusal to practice torture is our only ground for condemning it. Mistreatment of enemy combatants on our side endangers our soldiers and civilians who may be taken captive. You may say that al-Qaeda or the Taliban would certainly not live by international law, and it is true that they don’t. But it because they don’t and we do that we are justified in condemning them!

That is not the end of it. Torture actually hurts the torturer as well. By following orders, they face a life that too will never be whole again. [Harbury, p. 152-157] And finally, torture hurts communities back home. Those who committed or witnessed torture abroad do come home. They are left to find a way to reintegrate into this society. Often, the price that is paid is substance abuse and domestic abuse; sometimes it is other kinds of unthinkable, anti-social violence. Darius Rejali writes, "Those who authorize torture need to remember that it isn't something that simply happens in some other country. Soldiers trained in stealthy techniques of torture take these techniques back into civilian life as policemen and private security guards. It takes years to discover the effects of having tortured. Americans' use of electric torture in Vietnam appeared in Arkansas prisons in the 1960s and in Chicago squad rooms in the 1970s and 1980s."

Of course, it would be one thing if one branch of our government practiced torture outside the bounds of law. In such a situation, it would be incumbent on the other branches to hold accountable the renegade branch. But, our current situation is something different. Under the recent bill passed by the House and Senate in the last week of September, 2006, torture is legalized and the rules of evidence and habeas corpus are deemed irrelevant. Let me spell this out for you: the Bill authorizes the government to use interrogation techniques that inflict “serious pain.” The Bill also authorizes the government to suspend Habeas Corpus, to avoid American legal standards on warrants, and to deny the accused the right to examine evidence presented against them. This is not only a violation of the Constitution. It is a violation of the Western legal tradition dating back to the Magna Carta!

I see no good check or balance, no legal or moral restraint, other than the sheer whim and fancy of whoever is giving the orders. I do not trust any President with that kind of authority. It is frightening and it is outrageous and it is shameful.

This legislation has another purpose as well. It is called cover your own tail. As a justification for the Iraq War, President Bush spoke during a State of the Union Address about Saddam Hussein’s torture chambers and rape rooms. But I dare you to go read a depiction of US torture practices. I dare you to read about Konduz, Afghanistan, or Abu Ghraib. I dare you to read the autopsy report of those who died at the hands of American torture. I’ve spared you the gory details and the vivid imagery this morning out of a desire to build my case out of reason and not sensationalism. However, if you can read those depictions without physical revulsion, without faintness, without sleeplessness then you are a colder person than I. There is a word for what these reports describe: crimes against humanity.

What can we do? First of all, learn all you can. On my blog I have a bibliography with lots of resources. Second of all, join the Unitarian Universalist Service Committee and participate in their STOP Torture Permanently campaign. Or join Amnesty International. Third, become politically involved. And by the way, the vote on the Torture Bill was not a strictly partisan vote. There are politicians on both sides of the aisle who need to be told how shameful our nation’s involvement in torture is. And finally, act locally. Talk with those in the armed forces about their experiences; talk with those with families in Afghanistan and Iraq. Find out stories. Keep memories alive. Help to uncover the truth in this day when so much truth is hidden.

I want to end with this quote from the conclusion of a legal decision in Israel as that nation decided to officially ban torture:

“The decision opens with a description of the difficult realities in which Israel finds herself security-wise. We shall conclude this judgment by readdressing that harsh reality. We are aware that this decision does not ease dealing with that reality. This is the destiny of democracy, as not all means are acceptable to it, and not all practices employed by its enemies are open before it. Although a democracy must often fight with one hand tied behind its back, it nonetheless has the upper hand. Preserving the Rule of Law and recognition of an individual’s liberty constitutes an important component in its understanding of security. At the end of the day, they strengthen its spirit and its strength and allow it to overcome its difficulties.” [quoted in Harbury, p.169]

Our country may not always be free. But it is best when it is. Not all churches are free. Our church is and the freedom of the pulpit that you have entrusted to me ensures that you are free to hear sermons like these, delivered without fear of censor.

Resources

click here

As a part of our Congregational Meeting this Sunday, October 15th, we will be having a congregational vote on whether our congregation wishes to be recognized by the UUA as a Welcoming Congregation.

If you haven't been following along for the past 18 months, let me trace our steps.

● In February 2005 a committee of about 10 members formed to help lead SMUUCh towards becoming a Welcoming Congregation.
● In the Spring of 2005, the Board of Trustees voted in support of this program and to endorse the Welcoming Congregation committee's efforts.
● On April 3, 2005 I spoke in front of over 600 people at rally held at Colonial UCC opposing the Marriage Ammendment in the State of Kansas.
● In April of 2005, the Welcoming Congregation Committee began leading a series of montly workshops based on the Welcoming Congregation Handbook. These workshops continued until October 2005.
● In September of 2005, the Second Sunday Forum featured a panel including a transgender woman, a lesbian woman, a gay man, and the mother of a lesbian woman. The panel discussed a wide variety of topics including their experiences in faith communities. Approximately 80 people attended the forum.
● In the Spring of 2006, the Welcoming Congregation Commitee offered a repeat series of workshops.
● In September of 2006, I preaching a sermon on The Importance of Being Welcoming.
● In October of 2006, Micheline Burger authored a DrumBeat column on the Welcoming Congregation.
● On October 15th, the service is fittingly titled "Where Our Faith Has Stood on Equality." You won't want to miss it!

But there are probably a few people who have questions. If you want to do research, visit the UUA site on the Welcoming Congregation program. Or check out this History Timeline.

Here is my own FAQ based on conversations that I'd had with some members of the church.

Q. How many UU congregations are Welcoming Congregations?
A. Over 500. The Spring of 2006 marked the date when over 50% of UU congregations had gone through the Welcoming Congregation process. Additionally, over 85% of large UU congregations are Welcoming Congregations. The numbers are about the same for mid-size congregations like us. Of the 10 largest UU congregations in the United States, 8 are Welcoming Congregations. Of the two that are not, one is going through the process and the other has been nationally recognized for its public witness challenging homophobia!

Q. Aren't we already welcoming?
A. On one level I believe we are. On another level, we could do some things to clarify our intentions to be welcoming. Consider this: over the past 3+ years I have received literally dozens of calls and emails from people in the community wanting to know if visiting this church is safe for them if they or their family member is gay, lesbian, bisexual, or transgender. Visiting a church is scary and they want to know if they will be rejected or worse. Becoming a Welcoming Congregation helps to make our invitation clear to all. Remember, to be inviting is at the heart of our mission.

Q. How can we ensure that everybody will be welcoming?
A. We can't. Churches are not perfect places. But we can assert what we endeavor to stand for. I believe this vote is primarily an expression of aspiration. It says what we aspire to be. (In this way, it is like when we say that "Love is the docrtine of our church" every Sunday.) If you want to read a really awesome sermon about this, click here.

Most of all, come to worship this Sunday, October 15th at 10:00 or 11:30 and come to the Congregational Meeting at 12:30. By the way, the worship service will feature several very special testimonials you will be sorry to miss.

As Philocrites points out, last week the Boston Globe and the New York Times each ran numerous stories on aspects of church-state relationships. The Times focused on the liberties that religious organizations enjoy in terms of regulation exemptions, employment practices, and taxation. Perhaps this is material for a future sermon!

The Worship Committee is pleased to welcome Rev. Suzanne Meyer to SMUUCh on October 28 & 29 as our second annual UU Distinguished Guest Minister.

Rev. Meyer serves the First Unitarian Congregation of St. Louis - the oldest
Unitarian congregation west of the Mississippi. She has been a minister for 24 years and has served our churches in Texas, Louisiana, Oklahoma and Georgia. She has written and spoken about topics in church growth, postmodernism, and southern religion and culture. She is a native of Texas and a graduate of Meadville/Lombard Theological School in Chicago.

On October 28 from 2:00 to 4:00 in Fellowship Hall, Rev. Meyer will lead a workshop on the "Roots of Our Faith".

"Do you have trouble describing our way of being religious? Would you like to be able to tell newcomers about the historic roots of our faith? Do you get tongue tied when people ask you to tell them about Unitarian Universalism? Do UUs believe in anything, everything, or nothing at all? How do you handle those kinds of questions."

"Roots" is a four part curriculum designed to help you tell newcomers all about our history and theology. It is an excellent refresher course for long time members as well. On Saturday Rev. Meyer will walk you through the curriculum and show you how to use it with newcomers groups and how to adapt it to suit the particular history of your congregation. You will learn how to describe our way of being faithful in positive ways. If you like "Roots" you can download an electronic copy for free and edit it to tell the story of your congregation.

On Sunday, October 29 Rev. Meyer will preach at both the 10:00 and 11:30 services. The title of her sermon is "Witches."

"What were the witch hunts really all about? Was it religious or economic persecution? If those who were hunted down and killed were not really practitioners of Wicca, who were they and why were they persecuted? And what are th modern day implications of the so-called "witch hunt?"

I hope you will join us on October 28 & 29 for this very special event!

In my November 2006 DrumBeat column I wrote about the growth SMUUCh has experienced in recent years. Consider this:

In 2002 SMUUCh had 187 adult members, averaged 95 adults in worship, and had an annual budget of $215,000. At the present time we have 290 adult members, average 175 adults in worship, and have a budget of $320,000.

I also pointed out that growth is more than a matter of numbers. "Experts on growth say that numerical growth is just one of four areas in which churches grow. The other three are Maturational (growing in faith and religious identity), Organic (growing congregational systems, programs, and structures), and Incarnational (growing engagement in the wider community.)"

If this is something that interests you, here are some resources for more information:

Web-Resources:
Growth Workshop at 2006 General Assembly
Michael Durall's Church Consulting page
Nancy Proctor (a UU Church Consultant)

Multi-media Resources (available in my office):
"Breakthrough Congregations 2006": A video showcasing four thriving UU congregations.
"Ideas for Growth": A video about the growth strategy of the Jefferson UU Church in Golden, Colorado.

Check out books by these authors:
Leonard Sweet
Thomas Bandy
Will Easum
Loren Mead
Alice Mann
Gil Rendle

Rev. Kathleen McTigue, minister of the Unitarian Society of New Haven, Connecticut, was a recent guest on Bill O'Reilly's television program. Click here to watch their "conversation."

You can read more about the work of McTigue and a group of other ministers to oppose torture here.

Click here to read my sermon on torture, delivered on October 8, 2006.

I bet that when you got an email this week announcing that I would be preaching against family values you wondered what exactly I could be thinking. So, I brought a couple of props with me this morning that I want to use to frame what I will be trying to explain.

The props are both books written by Senators who are up for re-election in just a couple of weeks. The first book came out in 1996 and was written by now New York Senator ( then First Lady) Hillary Rodham Clinton. The book is called It Takes a Village and deals primarily with public policy that affects the lives and welfare of children. Clinton’s book quotes people like Marian Wright Edelman and the back cover of the dust jacket shows a photograph of Clinton surrounded by a racially diverse group of children. The second book came out in 2005 and was written by Pennsylvania Senator Rick Santorum who is currently trailing by double-digit percentage points in his bid for re-election. The title of his book is an obvious take off on Clinton’s book; his title is, It Takes a Family. Santorum explores what he considers to be the major threat posed to families, namely liberalism. Santorum’s book quotes people like James Dobson and the dust jacket contains artistic renderings of an Asian family and an African-American family.

So, the question I put before you is this: Does it take a family or a village? Now, I know that’s not really a fair question. But it is a question that I hope to use to frame our exploration this morning.

But before I come back to this question, I want to say something about the “family values” discourse that exists in our culture. As far as religion often plays a role in that discourse, I want to explore family values from a religious perspective as well.

Family values, religious values, values voters… this language is nothing new. Indeed, it is often politicized language, coming in to play especially during election seasons. It is my thesis this morning that the concept of the family has not only been made into a political tool, but also into a religious idol, an idolatry of the family. I’ll explain what I mean by that term a little later.

It is normal to hear in this discourse that “families are under attack.” But what exactly is attacking them? If you ask someone like Santorum, who is a conservative Catholic, or James Dobson, who is the head of Focus on the Family, they would tell you that families are afflicted by the consequences of decades of liberal social and economic experiments which have led to relativism, permissiveness, and irresponsibility. (I’m not making this up. That’s their thesis.) If you ask someone like Clinton what families are threatened by, she might say that families are threatened by poverty and inequalities in access to health care, education, and other services.

What I am describing in some sense are the “culture wars.” For example, each side would say that the media has a toxic effect on family life. Santorum might say that the media encourages “sexual deviance”, disobedience, and hedonism: our children cannot stand to be exposed to Janet Jackson’s breast, Teletubbies, or Keith Olbermann. The opposite side’s concern with the media tends to be directed at things such as the effects of advertising on children, messages about body image, and the effects of exposure to violent forms of entertainment. When liberals, or conservatives, or whomever, declare that families are under attack they are often talking about different things.

I bet that what you are expecting me to do is to grapple with what those different things are and separate the wheat from the chaff, the gold from the dross, and the legitimate threats and true family values from those false threats that are not legitimate, but hysterical and ignorant, and those false values that are not holy, but ill. But I am not going to spend all morning dissecting the culture wars. (Although this would be worthy of a sermon all its own.) Nor do I plan to spend a lot more time getting inside these worldviews, critiquing them, and showing why they do or do not work.

Suffice it to say that “Family Values” is a term that means different things to different people. It is a term that usually signifies conservative religious positions. But it is also a term that religious liberals have attempted to reframe and reclaim. Consider the bumper sticker available from the UUA which proclaims, “We are all family & We all have value.” Or the bumper sticker that reads, “Hate is not a family value.”

In 2002, Bill Doherty, a Unitarian Universalist family activist co-wrote a book entitled, Putting Family First. Doherty is a professor of psychology at the University of Minnesota. In this book, the authors write, “Today’s families are sorely lacking time for spontaneous fun and enjoyment, for talking over the day’s events and experiences, for unhurried meals, for quiet, bedtime talks, for working together on projects, for teaching and learning life skills such as cooking and gardening, for visiting extended family and friends, for attending religious services together, for participating together in community projects, and for exploring the beauty of nature. Not enough time to be a family with a rich internal and external life…. A rich family life alone is not enough … because we need strong neighborhoods, schools, communities of values and beliefs, governments, nations, and a cooperative international community. But none of these, alone or together, can substitute for family life.”

Religious liberals have tried to play the family values game. Putting family first. If you drive down to 143rd Street you’ll find someone who claims to put families first. His name is Jerry Johnston and he pastors the extremely conservative First Family Church. Their church insignia features a stylized picture of a family holding hands. The family is a father and mother, son and daughter – and “very white looking” according to a friend of mine who is a person of color who serves a different church in the same part of town. “Plus,” she says, “as a single person, I always feel excluded driving by that church.” “You’re not the only one excluded,” I quipped back, “exclusiveness is central to their entire theology.”

I then go on to comment to her that “First Family Church” is a funny name for a church because we know what happened to the first family in the Bible: They got expelled from the garden, then Cain killed Abel, and somebody had to be sleeping with mom.

For that matter, the entire Bible is not much help in suggesting positive images of family life. Just about every family in the Hebrew Bible is profoundly dysfunctional, often criminally so. We are in deep trouble if we look to families in the Bible as role-models. (Fortunately, that is not how it is meant to be interpreted. Most characters in the Bible, like characters in Greek dramas, are there for warning, not there imitation.) And why limit ourselves to the Hebrew Bible, with Cain killing Abel, and Abraham trying to sacrifice Isaac, and Jacob stealing Esau’s blessing? The Christian Scriptures exemplify no better family values. In Matthew 10:37 Jesus announces, “Whoever loves father and mother more than me is not worthy of me.” “Who are my mothers and brothers?” Jesus asks dismissively in Mark 3:33. Luke 12:53 has Jesus stating, “Do you think that I have come to bring peace?… No I have come to bring division: father against son, son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against daughter-in-law and daughter- in-law against mother-in-law.” And then there is this zinger found in Luke 14:26, “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.”

I want to bring us back to the question, does it take a family or a village? Yes, it is a false dichotomy, a false duality. But, actually, the Bible more strongly emphasizes the village side of things. Biblical theologian Paul Hanson interprets the Bible as a continuous revelation that challenges narrowness and exclusivity in human groups – a family becomes more inclusive to become a tribe, a tribe becomes more inclusive and becomes a people, a people become more inclusive and become a nation, a nation discovers a moral obligation to other nations. According to Prof. Hanson, the Bible should be read as a chronicle of the idea that we require greater inclusiveness.

This is not to say that families don’t face difficulties. If I asked you about difficulties you encounter, the responses might include: geographical dispersion (having family live at great distance); economic factors (the pressures of finance on family); balancing work; balancing all the demands on family from school, sports, and other activities; communication; and reconciling political, religious, and other differences.

But, there are other people who would say that while the family faces hardship, we should not forget that the “village” struggles as well. Several years ago Harvard sociologist Robert Putnam published Bowling Alone about the decline of civic organizations such as bowling leagues. More recently, a non-partisan organization called the Institute for American Values released a report authored by a group of thirty-three leading psychologists, neuroscientists, and social scientists. The report, titled, “Hardwired to Connect” found that American children suffer from a lack of “connectedness” both in terms of close connections to other people and feeling connected to “moral and spiritual meaning.” The report finds that, “In recent decades the US social institutions that foster these types of connectedness for children have gotten significantly weaker.” This is a problem because human beings and children are hardwired to connect and, the researchers argue, a lack of an outlet for connection leads to antisocial behavior and mental health issues.

The report goes on to recommend the creation of what it terms “authoritative communities” which it defines as, “groups that live out the types of connectedness that our children increasingly lack. They are groups of people who are committed to one another over [extended periods] of time, and who model and pass on at least part of what it means to be a good person and live a good life.” So, what title did the Wall Street Journal select when it wrote about this report? “It takes a village.”

Does it take a village or does it take a family? Clearly, the literal answer is that it takes both. But, on another level, what research like the “Hardwired to Connect” report and Bowling Alone make clear is that we should be very, very suspicious of any discourse that puts families first in the sense either of constructing family as a discreet entity uniquely under-siege or of imagining the family as all-powerful unto itself.

I hope you don’t feel that this argument that I have constructed so far is convoluted or confusing. It is kind of a subtle and ambitious argument: That, in fact, the popular discourse about family values has had the unintended effect of narrowing our minds, of causing us to forget the proverbial village, to neglect authoritative communities and chosen communities.

The definition of idolatry is taking the partial as the whole, confusing the partial with the whole. And so the title of my sermon this morning really refers to the putting-of-all-eggs-in-one-basket, lifting up this idea of family as some be all- end all salvation unto itself. Such a discourse of family values actually constitutes an idolatry of the family.

And please don’t go away saying, “Well, Thom was really disparaging to families this morning.” Or “Thom said families don’t matter.” Because that is absolutely not what I am saying. What I am saying is that the way we’ve constructed a discourse about family is too narrow, that it takes a village and a family. The fact that it takes both and perhaps even more is not an insult to the family.

In this disperse nation… in our hectic society… in this context where public space and civic organizations have often eroded, bought up by corporate entertainment… in this era of corporate religion… this church, our church, represents one of the last, best vestiges of an authoritative community, and one that is not an authoritarian community. It is so important that we are here for each other and, increasingly, for more than just ourselves. So we try to be a “group that lives out the types of connectedness that our society increasingly lacks, a group of people who are committed to one another over [extended periods] of time, and who model and pass on at least part of what it means to be a good person and live a good life.” Amen.

One of the best resources available on UU Family Values is the blog of Rev. Phil Lund, Lifespan Religious Education consultant for the Prairie Star District of the UUA. Browse his archives.

This sermon was the 150th I've preached!

My colleague Rob Eller-Isaacs, co-minister of the Unity-Unitarian Church in St. Paul, MN, wrote these words in his October newsletter column (see page 2):

“My hope is that progressive organizations, liberal churches included, will soon experience a growth surge which echoes that experienced by the religious right in the past 20 years. My fear is we won’t be ready.

“I could offer you a laundry list of ways that liberal churches are ill prepared to welcome all the ‘longing, thirsty souls’ who may soon come our way. I could berate us for thinking so small in a time when the need is so great. I could bemoan our tendency to take pride that we have influence far beyond our numbers. We’ve been proud to be the leaven long enough. It is time for us to be the bread.”

Rev. Eller-Isaacs sees crisis, but also opportunity. Perhaps the opportunity he sees is overstated, is too optimistic, is too unrealistic. But can we do anything else but act as if the opportunity is there? We can’t afford to think that he might be wrong.

In my November newsletter column (see page 2), I wrote about the growth we’ve seen at SMUUCh over the past few years. In all four services during the month of November, we will explore “The Future of the Liberal Church: Its Crisis and its Opportunities.”

On November 5th, I will preach “A Word for Certainty.” My title is a reference to the recent book by Paul Rasor, Faith Without Certainty: Liberal Theology is the 21st Century. Rasor’s book explores how twentieth century liberal theology tore down the old assumptions and conventions. Having torn down, we are now called to build up. My sermon will be a challenge to us to construct anew.

On November 12th, I will preach a sermon entitled, “After the seeking, what next?” Having talked about a new theology the week before, this week will deal with a new spiritual development and a new ecclesiology. It is possible to find (and be found.) And when we do, we can lead, build, and transform.

While some perceive the crisis in the liberal church as a sign of opportunity, others want to usher in the demise of all religion. My sermon on November 19th will be a response to Richard Dawkins’ The God Delusion and Sam Harris’ The End of Faith and Letter to a Christian Nation. This morning I will offer a “Letter to Sam Harris and Richard Dawkins.” If you are interested in reading responses to Dawkins and Harris, you might consider Doug Muder’s review of Harris or Warren Ross’ interview with Harris in the UU World. You may also wish to check out Gilead author Marilynne Robinson’s review of Dawkins in Harper’s Magazine, “Hysterical Scientism: The Ecstasy of Richard Dawkins.”

Finally, on November 26th we will be visiting the town of Holmes’ Prairie, Kansas where through allegory and parable we will be revisiting the themes of this month.

(P.S. Robinson's essay in Harper's is brilliant!)

Last night I drove up to William Jewell College in Liberty, Missouri to hear Brian McClaren deliver a lecture on "Faith, Culture, and Higher Education." McClaren is a progressive evangelical, founder of the Emergent Church movement, and author of a number of books including the New Kind of Christian trilogy and "A Generous Orthodoxy: Why I am a missional, evangelical, post/protestant, liberal/conservative, mystical/poetic, biblical, charismatic/contemplative, fundamentalist/calvinist, anabaptist/anglican, methodist, catholic, green, incarnational, depressed-yet-hopeful, emergent, unfinished Christian." (How's that for a subtitle?)

You'll likely encounter references to the talk in future sermons. But, let me say that I was deeply impressed with his abundant generosity of spirit. I asked him to sign a copy of his book and he wrote, "Plotting Hope, Brian McClaren." How cool is that?

This sermon is part one in the series "The Future of the Liberal Church: Its Crisis and Its Opportunities."

Reading
The reading this morning comes from the book Faith Without Certainty by liberal theologian Paul Rasor:

“Religious liberalism often involves a willingness to affirm faith without certainty. This is not the same thing as faith without conviction. It does mean that religious liberals tend to hold faith claims with a certain tentativeness. This is partly a result of a liberal mindset that is always testing and second-guessing itself. It also reflects the liberal commitment to open-ended inquiry and the realization that truth is not given once for all time. This same tendency can produce personal belief systems or theologies articulated in generalized ideals, perhaps sincerely felt, but often without a deep grounding or much specific content.…

“In the post-modern world, there is no such thing as certain knowledge or absolute truth. Things we once thought gave us firm foundations, such as universal human reason or common experience, turn out to be bounded by language and culture and gender. Everything is relativized. What we used to think of as truth is now seen as interpretation. Because of our cultural limitations, all our interpretations are only partial. And it’s not just that each of us has only a partial view of some larger truth. The metaphors we commonly use, such as looking at the same light through different windows or going up the same mountain on different paths, are challenged in postmodernity. In the postmodern way of thinking, there is no larger truth. We are all wandering around on different paths (or lost in the brush) on different mountains. We each have our own truths and our own knowledge, according to our circumstances.”

Sermon
The centuries old project of liberal theology has succeeded in tearing down, in deconstructing (to use its own language), all the old certainties. Paul Rasor describes this as leading us to a place of aimless wandering. There is a joke that goes that you can tell you are driving by a Unitarian Universalist church because the title of the sermon on roadside billboard ends with a question mark.

I want to begin this sermon by cataloging several of the many instances of what I call the Unitarian Universalist “cult of uncertainty.”

For Exhibit A, I direct you to hymn #1003 in the new Singing the Journey hymnal. The lyrics: “Where do we come from? Who are we? Where are we going? / Mystery, mystery, life is a riddle and mystery.”

For Exhibit B, I bring up Forrest Church’s concept of “sixty percent convictions”, a term he introduced after September 11th. “Sixty percent convictions” empower us to take moral stands on complex issues even if we can’t claim absolute certainty about the infallible rightness of those positions. Forrest Church explains that 100% convictions are arrogant and dangerous.

And for exhibit C, I direct your attention to a sermon given by current UUA President, Rev. Bill Sinkford, in which he offered these words on articulating your faith, “I urge each of you to work on your elevator speech. Put a name to what calls you, and ask yourself what it is to which you find yourself called. Do it often; you won’t always necessarily come up with the same answer.” He then goes on to admit that his own elevator speech is “a work in progress… where I am right now.”

Finally, I give you exhibit D. Unitarian Universalist thinker Doug Muder writes about what he sees as the difference between conservative and liberal religion. Religious conservatives, he writes, believe that religion is created by God and therefore is perfect and eternal. Religious liberals, however, believe that religion is created by human beings and therefore reflects their imperfect, changing, and evolving intuitions of the Divine.

These contemporary articulations of uncertainty are the products of the project of liberal theology which, over the course of several centuries, has challenged the authority of the church, the authority of scripture, the authority of the government, the authority of the foundations of Western thought, and, indeed, the authority of foundationalism itself.

So, what are we to make from all these articulations of uncertainty – Church’s sixty percent convictions and Rasor’s postmodern uncertainty and Muder’s idea of religion as evolving human interpretation?

I want to suggest that we can think of certainty as having two opposites. We might think that one of the opposites of certainty is a kind of doubt that is oppositional, even antagonistic. The other opposite of certainty is humility. The practice of declared agnosticism, of declared uncertainty, can produce some good fruits. The most notable of these is the humility that results when agnosticism is done well. On the other hand, uncertainty has its limitations. It can stifle inquiry. If we deny that any conclusion can be reached, then why bother to search at all?

Last week I went to go hear theologian and Emergent Christianity leader Brian McClaren deliver an address. Allow me to paraphrase what he had to say about certainty: The terrorists who flew planes into the towers had a lot of certainty. They were certain what they were doing was not only morally defensible, but righteous. They were certain that they go to heaven and God would give them a big high-five and say, “Great job,” and reward them with a multitude of virgins. McClaren then went on to say that there is also such a thing as too much doubt. There are people who wake up, in the middle of the night, and think, “Do I exist? Am I real? How do I know I am not the dream of the person sleeping in the house next door to me?”

Too little certainty doesn’t crash planes into buildings. Too little certainty doesn’t kill directly. But too much doubt can paralyze.

What I found most intriguing about McClaren’s talk was his assertion that the truly transformative and creative and meaningful religious life will be characterized by extraordinarily high levels of humility and extraordinarily high levels of commitment.

World-class political philosopher Isaiah Berlin said same thing in much more complex language in the concluding paragraph of his essay on “Two Concepts of Liberty”:

“It may be that the ideal of freedom to choose ends without claiming eternal validity for them, and the pluralism of values connected with this, is only the late fruit of our declining capitalist civilisation: an ideal which remote ages and primitive societies have not recognised, and one which posterity will regard with curiosity, even sympathy, but little comprehension. This may be so; but no sceptical conclusions seem to me to follow. Principles are not less sacred because their duration cannot be guaranteed. Indeed, the very desire for guarantees that our values are eternal and secure in some objective heaven is perhaps only a craving for the certainties of childhood or the absolute values of our primitive past. ‘To realize the relative validity of one’s convictions’, said an admirable writer of our time, ‘and yet stand for them unflinchingly is what distinguishes a civilised man from a barbarian.’ To demand more than this is perhaps a deep and incurable metaphysical need; but to allow it to determine one’s practice is a symptom of an equally deep, and more dangerous, moral and political immaturity.”

To realize the relative validity of one’s convictions, and yet stand for them unflinchingly. The religion that is worth having will be known by the demonstration of abundant humility and abundant commitment.

When the opposite of certainty is humility, we can’t have too much of that. But, when the opposite of certainty is doubt, doubt can be overdone. I want you to imagine organized religion as a large, complex structure – and that doubt is a project of deconstruction (if not demolition) of that structure. This piece of the structure is supported by, let’s say, scriptural authority, so when we call scriptural authority into doubt, that section collapses. This practice is held up by ecclesiastical law, so when we call ecclesiastical law into doubt, we’ve torn that down. And so on, you get the point. But at a certain point in the disassembling there is nothing left to call into doubt. And then it is possible to self-reflexively turn the doubt back onto itself, to doubt the very project of doubt, which, if you are intellectually honest, you will have to do at some point. And when doubt itself becomes doubted, that gives permission to build again.

Let me come around to what I am trying to get at here. My colleague in St. Paul, Reverend Rob Eller-Isaacs believes and has written that, in our country, a consciousness pendulum is beginning to swing – a shift is already taking place – that will lead, not thousands, but millions of people to the types of progressive religious communities that we could be. He writes that if we are prepared, we could transform our presence from an elite vanguard of religious thought to a widespread movement, from the yeast to the bread. He writes, however, that we will miss the revolution if we do not prepare ourselves in important ways. The progressive church is in crisis, but there are opportunities for us. I’ll be saying more about this next week.

But, let me say today, that one of the opportunities we have is that the project of doubt, of deconstruction, of leveling the edifices of theology that we have found unfit for human habitation – one of the opportunities we have is that project of doubt has left us with the room to build.

We have the opportunity to build, to build into and become something worthy of all the longing, thirsty souls who will scour the religious landscape looking for a faith that is a habitable home for the human spirit. For a faith that isn’t preoccupied with some other life, but is worthy of this life. For a faith whose hallmarks are excessively high levels of both humility and commitment, a faith willing to realize the relative validity of convictions, but stand unflinchingly for them nonetheless.

So, I want to sketch out a little bit of this building. When I talk about building from scratch, I do not mean to say that we will do away with our history and our roots, with religious language, with our sources of inspiration. I do mean that we will piece things together in different ways. Traditionally, the glue, the infrastructure, the stuff holding together the structure of religion has been authority. The new glue will be commitment.

This new future expression of progressive religion will be girded by commitments. For its foundations, it will not worry whether religion was created by God or created by human beings, because its purposes will take priority over its authors. The purposes of such a religion will be to sow unity and understanding, to act as a creative and transformative influence on culture, and to engender social transformation.

There is, in fact, too much for me to say this morning. The next three sermons is this series will explore these ideas in greater depth and variation.

But, let me conclude by saying that most that many in our pews left their prior religious community because of their doubts. Well, because of their doubts and because their previous religious tradition did not provide a context for the exploration of those doubts. But doubt is not an end. Doubt and uncertainty eventually give over into the chance to build. Things can be disassembled only so far. Continuing to perform autopsies on dead gods has diminishing returns. Let us post a sign which says, “Under Construction.”

Brian McClaren tells a story about his daughter’s dog. The dog is incapable of returning when being called and is prone to attempting to escape. When it does escape, the only hope is to chase after it with a hunk of cheese. Faced with these competing claims on its spirit – the choice between cheese or freedom – the dog eventually elects the cheese. At which time the dog can be leashed successfully. [McClaren tells this story with much greater flair.]

This is a story about evangelism, by the way. Churches do this sort of thing all the time, running after people waving and yelling, “Cheese. Cheese.” Here are these neat and wonderful and attractive things. Then churches do a similar bait and switch. “Now, fill out a pledge card and join a committee.”

McClaren goes on to say that this image speaks to a consumption-based mentality that is dominant in our current culture. This consumption-based mentality values all of the institutions of society according to their ability to “meet my needs” or purvey goods and services that I desire. In this consumption-based worldview, all things – arts, education, government, ethics, religion – are worthy to the extent that they provide me with the goods and services I desire. Such a way of thinking excludes the idea that any of these institutions might have some other calling or purpose other than to instantly gratify me. Similarly, according to a consumption-based worldview, people “church-shop”, looking for a church that “serves my needs” and keeping an eye out for a better deal. And the secret is that this worldview will always lead to disappointment. [A member of the congregation wrote to me after the service and commented that churches that offer theological certainty are designed to appeal to consumers who want quick answers.]

When I was an intern minister at a UU church down outside of Dallas we had a couple visit the church on a Sunday when I was preaching. They smiled quite a bit, and made eye-contact with me during the service and were giving me all kinds of positive vibes. So, after the service I marched up to them and welcomed them. They beamed as they told me how wonderful they thought the service was. And the theology was just perfect for them. But they had a question. Did our church have a volleyball team? When informed of the lack of a volleyball team, they became crestfallen and sullen, “Oh, we were looking for a liberal church with a volleyball team.” We never saw them again. I fear they may be still church-shopping, looking for the perfect liberal, volleyball playing church.

This consumer-driven idea is depicted in the first of the two diagrams inside your order of service. [Sorry, web-readers.] In this diagram, the self is very, very large and views church as an object, an institution whose purpose is to meet the needs of the self. In this self-centered worldview, the self and the church occasionally can be convinced to reach out into the world, but when they do, they view the world as an object. They find it easiest to reach out when doing so will bring more people into the church thus allowing the church to do more to better serve the self.

McClaren says that an alternate way of thinking about this is to understand the self as quite small and to understand that the church plays the role of serving as a conduit for interacting with the world. This is the second diagram.

Before I explain this second diagram, I want to talk a bit about Brian McClaren. McClaren is a progressive evangelical Christian. He was named by Time magazine as one of the 25 most influential evangelicals – a list that was dominated by the likes of James Dobson and Ted Haggard. But McClaren is different than most of the other 24 names on the list because he is an evangelical Christian who is not strongly disliked by religious or secular liberals. Most have never heard of him. But, many conservative evangelicals consider him a false teacher and not even a real Christian. For example, McClaren is frequently accused of being a universalist. About this he writes that accusations “like this make me want to be an exclusivist who believes that only the universalists go to heaven – after all, they have the highest opinion possible about the efficacy and scope of the saving work of Jesus!”

[McClaren actually imagines something broader than universalism. “The old universalism pronounces that the Good News was efficacious for all individual souls after death, in heaven, beyond history. Inclusivism says the gospel is efficacious for many, and exclusivists say for a comparative few. But I’m more interested in a gospel that is universally efficacious for the whole earth before death in history.” I find McClaren to be a remarkable person. When I had the chance to talk with him about two weeks ago, I introduced myself as a Unitarian Universalist minister and he grinned and said that he had met many UU ministers who had read his books, and that we were the group with the kindest responses to his writing.]

McClaren would apply theological language that we might not be comfortable with, but I think is totally translatable for us. About the second diagram [sorry, again], we should first know that the world is full of awesome stuff. McClaren would say that the world is full of stuff that God loves. On that list, he would include mountains, rivers, plants, animals… but he also puts on that list, sports, music, movies, humor, and sex. So, whether we say that “God loves redwood trees” or “redwood trees are awesome” is just semantics. He then goes on to say that we are a part of the world, but for some reason our lives are often not lived in ways that are an adequate response to how awesome the world is. He would use the word “sin.” Some of us would be uncomfortable with this language. I would say that we get in our own way and we get in each other’s way from being in right relationship with how awesome the world is. And then, McClaren goes on to say that the proper role of the church is to be both a corrective lens for understanding our place in the world and a community of meaning for bringing the world into better relationship with itself.

Now, I am going to switch topics abruptly. This morning, I want to talk about seeking. I want to talk about religious journeys and spiritual journeys. In this church, in this Unitarian Universalist faith, we often talk about our spiritual journeys. We talk about an ongoing search for truth and meaning and talk about ourselves as perpetual seekers. This morning I want to ask if there is such a thing as finding. I want to ask whether being a perpetual seeker necessarily means subscribing to that consumption-based view of the world I just described. And I also want to ask what comes after the seeking? J.R.R. Tolkien once quipped that not all who wander are lost. The corollary to this is that some who wander really are lost.

Last week I took issue with the theology of uncertainty and incessant doubt, saying that the deconstructing of faith claims eventually needs to give way to the constructive building of faith. This week I am addressing not so much the content but the community. In fact, I would insist that the community is an enormous part of the content. I want to take issue with that consumption-based approach to religious life that is so widespread in this day and age.

There are a couple of reasons why that consumer-driven approach to spiritual life is problematic. For one thing, the approach to spiritual life that is focused on getting “my needs met” struggles in the face of the reality that disappointment plays an important role as a part of spiritual growth.

Membership in a church resembles on some level the covenant of marriage. If that seems a little over-stated, it is not. If it seems intense, it is. The tradition from which we (at least) come has always lifted up a demanding and sacred idea of membership. The comparison between the covenant of marriage and the covenant of membership seems apt.

It has been said that a marriage is not really a marriage until after the first quarrel or spat. Similarly, it has been said that one does not really understand religious community until after the first time it has disappointed you. One of my mentors likes to say that ministers are in the business of creative disappointment. Maybe joining a church is like entering into the covenant of marriage; there are grounds for divorce – abuse or irreconcilable differences. But, even when it is great, it isn’t all honeymoon.

Another way of imagining this is to think that joining a religious community is like joining a family. In fact, there is a whole field of studies, pioneered by the like Murray Bowen and Ed Friedman that tells us that congregations can best be understood according to the psychology of family systems. And like a family, going in with the attitude that it exists to satisfy my needs is not that helpful.

The nicest way I’ve ever heard this put is by the recently-deceased UU minister Rev. Clark Dewey Wells. He said, “If you find the church not meeting your needs, say hallelujah. For that means that one of your neighbors is being spoken to in the depths. And it may mean there is more in store for you as your needs change in the unfolding years ahead.”

There is a second reason why the consumption-based approach to religious community is not helpful. The reason for this is that the real depth of spirit is reached not by being the one who is served, but in being on the other end. There is a depth that can be reached only through leading, teaching, mentoring, and “elder-ing.”

Some of the opportunities that are provided here at SMUUCh for those types of experiences include serving as a Coming of Age mentor, teaching children or youth or adult religious education classes, serving on the membership committee, taking part in social action, leading a connection circle, or being a part of the caring team – being a person who visits others.

After the seeking comes mentoring. After the seeking comes leading. After the seeking comes “elder-ing.” After the seeking comes ministry, in the broadest sense of the term. And thus the paradox that rests at the center of my sermon this morning. You can seek for truth. You can seek for enlightenment. You can seek for community. But there is something you can only find when you cease to wander, cease to journey, cease to meander. There are things you can only find when you stop searching.

This morning I’ve introduced you to Brian McClaren’s idea of church (and world) not as objects to be valued for how they meet the needs and satisfy the desires of a self-interested self. But, the church as a lens and authentic community through which the self can act for bringing the world into better relationship with itself. I’ve talked about how a consumption-based worldview and lifestyle – the perpetual seeking for a better deal – actually denies the chance for the spiritual growth that comes from serving rather than from being served.

I want to conclude by offering a word of encouragement. I do believe that our community (as well as our nation) is full of souls hungry for the type of community that we try and aspire to be. Our opportunity – the opportunity for all of us here today – is to grow in immeasurable ways by putting on – or keeping on – the mantle of mentorship, the mantle of elder-hood, the mantle of leadership. The gifts of which are greater than anything we could ever stumble over on the path.

Earlier this Fall I sat with the worship committee in the back row of the top balcony of the Lied Center in Lawrence, Kansas. It was a standing room only crowd, there to hear the evolutionary biologist and atheist celebrity Richard Dawkins speak about his most recent book, The God Delusion. As Dawkins neared the end of his talk, he prepared for his big finish. On the screen behind him he projected images of ancient gods – Thor, Odin, Baal, Ra, Zeus. Dawkins explained that nobody believes in these Gods anymore, implying that it was foolish for people to have believed in them. Then, substituting an image of Jesus for the images of the ancient Gods, Dawkins uttered his famous line, “Some of us just go one god further.”

The crowd cheered and I grimaced. [I apologize for insinuating in the oral delivery of this sermon that the members of our worship committee cheered Dawkins approvingly.] It is true that almost nobody believes in Poseidon or Zeus anymore. But was it foolish for the ancients to have worshipped these Gods? Some of them were foolish. But, what about Homer? What about Aeschylus or Sophocles? Were Plato and Aristotle fools?

It occurs to me that, in a mirror-universe, a cleric could stand up and display an image of Isaac Newton or Galen, the father of modern medicine, and say, “Today, nobody thinks these scientists were correct.” And then, displaying a picture of Einstein or Darwin or Richard Dawkins, the cleric might say, “I just go one scientist further.” Clearly Dawkins would not say that Galen or Newton were fools just because their science was later surpassed. Dawkins would revere these scientists for providing the building blocks for his life’s work. I see this as somewhat of a double-standard.

Richard Dawkins’ most recent book, The God Delusion, is near the top of the New York Times Best-seller list. Sam Harris’ two most recent books, The End of Faith and Letter to a Christian Nation, have been similarly popular. Both men are atheists and their books are accusations against religion. They accuse religion of doing all sorts of bad things in the world and advocate for a world made better by getting rid of religion. This morning I want to offer you my thoughts on these books. I will say from the beginning that I’m not impressed by these books. I find them to be at times arrogant and ignorant, and, at other times, misguided and mean. I can understand how the thinking in these books is seductive, but ultimately I am of the opinion that the thinking they contain isn’t helpful.

A couple of wisdom sayings will help to frame my comments this morning. The first one is, “The enemy of your enemy is not necessarily your friend.” The second one is, “Choose your enemies wisely, for you will become them.”

To Dawkins and Harris, the enemy is religion. They are most concerned with the fundamentalist expressions of religion. They talk about suicide bombers, holy wars, and religious conflict. They also talk about forms of religion that lead to discrimination and hate; religious views that hurt people by attacking science and reason. In this way, when we Unitarian Universalists read their books we feel like the choir that is being preached to. Our moral sense also leads us to condemn terrorists, crusaders, and suicide bombers. Our moral sense also leads to feel outrage against those on the religious right who believe contraception should be illegal, who have said that they would not cure AIDS if they could, or who literally torture gays calling it “ex-gay” therapy. Writing after September 11, Salman Rushdie wrote, “The fundamentalist seeks to bring down a great deal more than buildings. Such people are against, to offer just a brief list, freedom of speech, a multiparty political system, universal adult suffrage, accountable government, Jews, homosexuals, women’s rights, pluralism, secularism, short skirts, dancing, beardlessness, evolutionary theory, and sex.” [Goldberg, 210] Rushdie was wrong though. The religious right in America doesn’t have any problem with beards. What is worse, these extremist religious views have become more mainstream and more powerful in recent years, and this is very dangerous. So, let me be clear on this: When I criticize Dawkins and Harris, I am not denying that all sorts of evil, violent, hateful, bigoted and ignorant things are done in the name of religion.

It would seem that Dawkins and Harris and we Unitarian Universalists share a common enemy, and this is indeed true. But Dawkins’ and Harris’ enemy isn’t just fundamentalist religion, it is all religion! To quote Harris, “I have little doubt that liberals and moderates find the eerie certainties of the Christian Right to be as troubling as I do. It is my hope, however, that they will also begin to see that the respect they demand for their own religious beliefs gives shelter to extremists of all faiths… Even the most progressive faiths lend tacit support to the religious divisions in our world.” [Harris, LtaCN, ix] This comment is so wrong, I have a difficult time knowing where to begin to criticize it.

But, I want to do something more than just argue against these author’s treatment of moderate and progressive religion. Allow me to play Devil’s Advocate to Harris and Dawkins for just a little while. For example, they accuse religious televangelists of deceiving people and ripping them off. And yet, science has had its own version of televangelists. Consider the Korean scientists who faked cloning experiments or the British scientists who fabricated Piltdown Man. [Robinson, p. 86] Or consider the researcher who claimed to have succeeded in achieving cold fusion. Many are of the opinion that he was not intentionally attempting to deceive anybody as much as he wanted so very badly to believe that he deceived himself. (One need not be religious to have lapses in reason.) Or, what about drug companies who suppress research in order to bring their drugs to the market more quickly? Both religion and science have had their snake oil salesmen.

And, both have colluded with evil. Harris and Dawkins delight in pointing out that the Bible was used to justify slavery and racial discrimination. Indeed, passages from the Bible, especially the story of Noah and Ham, have been used to justify slavery. But so has science. Consider Louis Agassiz, one of America’s greatest 19th century biologists and president of Harvard University. Agassiz’s science led him to the theory of polygenesis, which said that the races had arisen separately, thus multiple geneses. From this theory, Agassiz concluded that slavery was justified and that racial mixing would be harmful. Intellectual honesty would require Harris and Dawkins to admit that some religion led to the abolition of slavery just as some science opposed it.

I might also point out that science gave us eugenics, the “science” that was used to justify the Holocaust. I might also point out, borrowing an idea from Marilynne Robinson, that if my religion inspired me to kill for the glory of God, I’d be hard-pressed to have much success. If I really wanted to have success – detonating a dirty-bomb, for instance – I’d have to turn to the fruits of scientific discovery. As Marilynne Robinson points out, those bomb-making scientists are mostly atheists, meaning “we may then exclude religion from among the factors that recruit them to this somber work. We are left with nationalism, steady employment, good pay, the chance to do research that is lavishly funded and, by definition, cutting edge – familiar motives of a kind [as] fully capable of disarming moral doubt [as religion is.]” [Robinson, 84]

But, aren’t polygenesis, eugenics, and phrenology bad science? Yes, but they are still science… just as bad religion is still religion. Marilynne Robinson quotes Thomas Wentworth Higginson’s instruction that in comparing religions, you should take care not to compare the sublime acts of one against the scandalous acts of another. Similarly, if you want to compare religion and science, you must compare the good of one against the good of another, and bad against bad. Otherwise, what you are doing is cherry-picking.

Choose your enemies wisely, because you are likely to become them. In Doug Muder’s review of Harris’ book in the UU World, Muder points out how Harris threatens to become like those he despises. Muder quotes Harris as arguing that, “Some propositions are so dangerous that it may be ethical to kill people for believing them.” Harris accepts that torture is sometimes justified and that collateral damage – the maiming and killing of innocent people – is unavoidable. We have seen the enemy and he is us.

If Harris is the Ann Coulter of atheism, Dawkins is the George Will. (Interstingly, Dawkins bibliography contains a telling typo. He cites Coulter’s book, Godless: The Church of Liberalism, but lists it as the “Godless: The Church of Liberation.”) Dawkins is not nearly as hysterical or shrill as Harris, and his ideas are disguised by fancy verbiage and reference to high culture. It is telling how South Park, that great exploder of pretense, chose to lampoon Dawkins recently. Imagining a dystopian future where everyone is atheist, and destructive wars are fought over whose science is most scientific and whose logic most logical, Dawkins’ teachings are remembered as, quote, “The use of reason and logic is not enough, you must be a [expletive] to anyone who doesn’t think the same as you.”

Marilynne Robinson quotes Dawkins as writing condescendingly of the Amish. You can chalk this up to poor timing. Consider this passage from Dawkins discussing the Amish, “The rest of us are happy with our cars and computers, our vaccines and antibiotics. But you quaint little people with your bonnets and breeches, your horse buggies, your archaic dialect and your earth-closet privies, you enrich our lives.” Arguing that we should not tolerate the Amish, Dawkins continues, dripping with sarcastic condescension, “Of course you must be allowed to trap your children with you in your seventeenth-century time warp, otherwise something irretrievable would be lost to us: a part of the wonderful diversity of human culture.” [Robinson, 88]

Responding, Robinson points out that the Amish are “pacifists whose way of life burdens this beleaguered planet as little as any found in Western civilization.”

Indeed, Harris and Dawkins take positions that are as hostile to tolerance as any put forward by the religious fundamentalists they condemn. In truth, anyone who advocates for tolerance – religious or otherwise – will have accept that they will have to accommodate some who choose to live life very differently. Those who elect for tolerance will have to decide on limits and also decide what methods of engagement with difference are acceptable. But, I would sooner struggle with the moral demands of tolerance than elect for a world cleansed of the types of thought or belief I deem unacceptable. I can’t get excited about religious cleansing. And, by the way, when Dawkins says that we shouldn’t tolerate the Amish or Harris says we shouldn’t tolerate Muslims, what are they talking about? Maybe make their religion illegal? Maybe take away their right to vote” Maybe make them wear armbands? Maybe deport them, or round them up in concentration camps? Maybe forced sterilization? Maybe kill them all? What, precisely, does it mean to say, we should not tolerate them?

Marilynne Robinson makes this point with great rhetorical flourish. She writes, “Dawkins himself has posited not only memes but, since these mind viruses are highly analogous to genes, a meme pool as well. This would imply that there are more than sentimental reasons for valuing the diversity that he derides. Would not attempting to narrow it only repeat the worst errors of eugenics at the cultural and intellectual level?... The impulse toward cultural and biological eugenics have proved to be one and the same. It is diversity that makes any natural system robust, and [it is] diversity that stabilizes culture against the eccentricity and arrogance that have so often called themselves reason and science.” [Robinson, 88]

But it is not just the meanness and arrogance, the dangerous thinking, that makes me critical of Dawkins and Harris. They also come across as wholly ignorant of religion. In The God Delusion, Dawkins spends the better part of one hundred pages blowing up arguments for the existence of God. His logic is seamless. Except, thanks to Paul Tillich, it has been fifty years since any serious theologian has worried about whether God exists. Tillich, to simplify his argument and probably do a little injury to it, simply said that God cannot possibly be a being because that would make existence a higher category than God. Rather, Tillich said, God is the ground of all being… God does not so much exist as existence gods.”

If Dawkins had bothered to walk from the biology department to the theology department at Oxford, someone might have explained this to him. Then he wouldn’t be saying the things about religion that he says. Contrary to Dawkins’ caricature, serious theology is not concerned with the quantities of angels dancing on the heads of pins, or the taxonomy of fairies. Yes, there is such a thing as serious theology. And thus I’m torn. I can easily get behind and cheer his criticisms of fundamentalism and his tearing down of bad theology. (However, an intellectual of the caliber of Dawkins doing this is somewhat akin to using an AK-47 to shoot fish in a barrel.) But he models no kind of positive engagement with any religion whatsoever. If he can’t bother to take religion seriously, how can he advocate that religious people should take science seriously?

If you are looking for a good book that does what Harris and Dawkins hope to do – that is, to expose the dangers of fundamentalism – I would suggest you pick up a copy of Kingdom Coming by Michelle Goldberg. Goldberg exposes the harmful and dangerous effects of Christian Nationalism, otherwise known as Dominionism. And she does it without calling for the abolition of progressive, liberal, or moderate religion. She concludes her book with these words, “It makes no sense to fight religious authoritarianism abroad while letting it take over at home. The grinding, brutal war between modern and medieval values has spread chaos, fear, and misery across our poor planet. Far worse than the conflicts we’re experiencing today, however, would be a world torn between competing fundamentalisms. Our side… must be the side of freedom and Enlightenment, of liberation from stale constricting dogmas. It must be the side that elevates reason above the commands of holy books and human solidarity above religious supremacism.” [210] Goldberg enlists religious progressives and non-religious people alike in this battle. For that I commend her.

I want to conclude with just a couple thoughts. One is a quote from Jim Wallis, the founder of Sojourners, an organization that uses religion to work for justice. Wallis offers a quote I find wonderful: “The answer to bad religion is not ‘no religion,’ but ‘better religion.’” The other thought I want to share comes from a man here in Kansas City who serves with me on the steering committee of the MAINstream Voices of Faith. At a recent meeting, he expressed the importance of progressive religious people working for justice. Justice, peace, equality, he opined, won’t be achieved without the commitment and dedication of religious people.

If progressive religious people aren’t engaged, then we don’t have much hope. I believe this. One need only look to South Dakota. South Dakota has two Unitarian Universalist churches, with a total of 160 UUs, children included. And yet, those two modest congregations were leaders in the battle to defeat a proposed abortion ban that would have made no exception for incest, rape, or the woman’s health. Progressive religion gave us Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Desmond Tutu, and Susan B. Anthony. [I was asked how this sermon fits in my “Future of the Liberal Church” series. This last point, I think, speaks to that question.]

Dawkins and Harris are quite right to criticize fundamentalism for all the ways it fails the causes of human thought, human freedom, and diversity. And yet, I do not find that the extreme application of their ideas would lead to a world where thought, freedom, or diversity is furthered.

Choose your enemies carefully, for you will become them. The enemy of your enemy is not necessarily your friend. The world’s diverse pool of ideas is richer for the existence of religion; and the world is far, far richer for the existence and the work of progressive religion. Remember the words of Proverbs 8:12, “I, wisdom, dwell together with prudence. I possess knowledge and discretion.” Dawkins and Harris are clearly deeply intelligent. But are they wise?

Despite my criticisms of these authors, I don’t recommend that you avoid reading them. I think these books are best read as a challenge to liberal religion, a challenge to remain the type of religion that defies their criticisms of religion. Let’s prove them wrong.

Bibliography
Richard Dawkins, The God Delusion
Sam Harris, The End of Faith
Sam Harris, Letter to a Christian Nation
Michelle Goldberg, Kingdom Coming: The Rise of Christian Nationalism
Marilynne Robinson, "Hysterical Scientism: The Ecstacy of Richard Dawkins" (Harpers 11/2006)
Doug Muder, "Secularism and Tolerance After 9/11" UU World, Fall 2006

With apologies to Garrison Keillor and Dennis Hamilton. Rev. Hamilton, my internship supervisor in Carrollton, Texas, knows of a town in West Texas named "Bodacia" that bears a slight, slight resemblance to Holmes’ Prairie…

It has been about a year since we heard from our friends in Holmes’ Prairie, out there on the Kansas plains. For those of you who don’t know, Holmes’ Prairie is a town in Western Kansas. It is located to the west of Wichita and a little to the east of Liberal geographically, but far to the right of liberal politically. The town is named for Oliver Wendell Holmes, on account of being founded by Massachusetts Unitarians. At the same time that Lawrence, Kansas was founded by Unitarian abolitionists from the Bay State, a group of Unitarian temperance activists settled Holmes’ Prairie. But they soon found the prospects of making a life there a bit too sobering, so they left and continued on to Northern California.

It is possible to tell the story of Holmes’ Prairie in terms of the losses it has endured. There was of course the dust bowl. And there has been the more gradual decline of small town life over the last half-century, which did not spare Holmes’ Prairie. It is easy to cling to our bitter memories, to replay our losses, to rehearse the indignities we’ve been made to suffer – like being made the butt of “Wizard of Oz” jokes, or having to endure the stereotypes of those who don’t really understand rural life. But their story is also a story of survival. They are a surviving people, those Holmes’ Prairians.

Thanksgiving Prayer services were held at two local congregations in Holmes’ Prairie this year. Over at the Saint Thomas of Perpetual Doubt Episcopalian Church, their priest, Father Marcus Crossan, led those assembled in prayer. (Crossan, I might point out, is the young cleric who has yet to realize that most of what he learned in his extensive theological education is of little practical value in Holmes’ Prairie.) Few were surprised when Crossan applied the same approach to the Thanksgiving story that he applies weekly to the Biblical stories, which is to say, going on at great length about the actual historical origins and how those differ from the traditional tellings. Father Crossan then offered a litany of the oppressions inflicted by the pilgrims, and digressed into a comprehensive etymology of the word “thankfulness.” Lacking an NPR signal in Holmes’ Prairie, Father Crossan’s sermons are the next best thing.

Down the road, Solomon Samuels III, the backsliding pastor of the First Free Will Four Square Full Bible Baptist Church of Holmes’ Prairie was offering a Thanksgiving Prayer service as well. Over the years, Samuels’ theology had faded into a kind and gentle heresy that grasps the power of symbol and metaphor, though he leaves much to be desired in terms of historical accuracy or nuance. “Dear Lord,” Samuels invoked, “We do so pray on this day of Thanksgiving that you instruct our pilgrim hearts in the ways of Christian living. In our moments of need, remove our willful pride and humble us. Make us receptive to not only the grace that you do bestow, but also to the generosity of our neighbors. During the hard winters of our living, make us resilient. And, for the abundance we enjoy but do not recognize, help us to be grateful as grateful living is required for graceful living.”

For a town where nothing much ever happens, it has been a busy year. A record number turned out on election-day to vote to return some sanity to the school board by voting the intelligent design candidate out of office. This turnout had less to do with any town-wide consensus on the teaching of evolution and more to do with the fact that after Missing Link bones were discovered in a pot-hole on Main Street, the town had gotten used to having anthropologists and evolutionary biologists hanging around. Aside from Main Street getting all dug up in the excavation – not that there is enough traffic in Holmes’ Prairie to make a difference – the locals had become quite fond of these visitors and enjoyed the chance to extend a bit of local hospitality to them. And if Holmes’ Prairie doesn’t practice hospitality, no place does.

When we spend too much time on Main Street, we miss some of the other things, the subtler episodes of life, not less spectacular or miraculous, just less in the public view. Such was life out on the Spearman farm, on the outskirts of Holmes’ Prairie where this Thanksgiving had been a memorable one, one that Larry and Melba Spearman had looked forward to with a tiny measure of cautious hope and an abundance of anxiety and dread. It was to be a family reunion for the Spearman’s – all four children would be returning. It would be the first time in many decades that all four would be under the same roof – although there was much doubt they could co-exist under the same roof. But all four children were returning for Thanksgiving.

Of their four children, the oldest was LeAnne who had left Holmes’ Prairie and gone to Tulsa, Oklahoma, become a holy-roller, and married Jerry, the captain of the Oral Roberts basketball team. They had five children, all girls – chastity, charity, patience, temperance, and misty. Misty cried a lot. These girls had all managed to grow into young women who resembled in no way the virtues for which they were named. But Misty still cries a lot.

The second Spearman child was Jim. Jim left Holmes’ Prairie and went east, across the ocean, to England where he studied evolutionary biology with Richard Dawkins. Jim’s partner is a professor of sociology. LeAnne thinks he teaches socialism.

The third Spearman child, Ed, did not grow up as much as he grew away. He had been on the wrong side of the law too many times to count. He had chosen delinquency with the older Willoughby boys over the lessons of honest living and hard work that are learned on the farm.

And finally, there was Lizzie, the fourth Spearman child. Susie had been studious. A lover of history she had researched the origins of Holmes’ Prairie, and set off to Northern California to try to locate the Unitarian descendents of the founders of the town. She had joined the Unitarian church. It was a slippery slope. (Who knew you could slip further?) The next thing you know she was living on a vegan commune, growing organic vegetables and other illegal organic things, and had a son named Moon Beam.

And all four children and six grandchildren were returning to Holmes’ Prairie, for Thanksgiving to be under the same roof again. What would happen? Moon Beam was used to clothing optional community gatherings. Would Jerry request that everyone pray and then proceed to proselytize? Would LeAnne’s girls try to get into the liquor cabinet, again? How do you tell family that they may want to watch their wallets?

Larry and Melba often wondered how it could be that all four children took such different paths. Sometimes they wondered if these were really their children at all. And as a sum, they were a combustible mixture, to be sure. Around each other, they seemed to bring out each other’s worst. LeAnne would grow zealous and intolerant and falsely pious. Jim would become snobbish and condescending. Ed would grow wild and rambunctious. Lizzie would affect conceit and neediness. And it would surely all degenerate.

But Larry and Melba devised a plan.

LeAnne, along with Jerry and the virtue girls, was the first of the four children to arrive. To their surprise, the driveway was full of cars. Walking through the door, they found the farmhouse bustling with life and activity. It was as if the entire town of Holmes’ Prairie was there. The ladies from the sewing circle, the regulars from the coffee shop. Bursting forward Melba greeted her daughter, son-in-law, and granddaughters. “It is a day of great joy to have the family joined together. For such a day as this we are most thankful. We could not contain our excitement. We had to tell everybody you were coming and invite them to come welcome you, to share in this day.”

This scene repeated itself three more times. For Jim and his partner. For Ed. For Lizzie and Moon Beam.

It was the most disorienting of days for the four Spearman children. The commotion was dizzying. There were constant comings and goings, arrivals and departures. It wasn’t as if the throngs of locals that now infested the Spearman farmhouse made Larry or Melba inaccessible. To the contrary, things seemed to springing up organically around them. The kitchen transitions were especially seamless.

But the four Spearman children were most certainly distracted. Seeking each other out they conspired to sneak away behind the old barn, a frequent rendezvous point of distant childhood. Huddling once again, they looked at one another. Each recognized on the face of the other confusion, a feeling like something was missing. There was a calming security found in being together again.

“What should we do?” LeAnne asked.
“What can we do? They all appear to have been invited.” Jim responded.
“The energy in the house is very magenta.” Lizzie offered.
After a long pause, Ed added, “We’ve got each other.”

That each of the four’s impressions confirmed the others’ was reassuring. Shock and confusion slowly became introspection. Introspection in turn became self-consciousness, and self-consciousness turned into awareness.*

“Um, so do we go back?” Ed asked.
“I think we need to play along.” LeAnne suggested.
“Yes,” added Jim, “Natural selection through adaptation.”
“I think what he means is ‘go with the flow.’” Lizzie added quickly.

And so they did…

The Sunday after Thanksgiving, Pastor Solomon Samuels chose as his text the story of the prodigal son. Allow me to read a portion of his homily:

“As we enjoyed the feast of this past Thursday, my heart was moved to ponder the story of a feast found in the Good Book. Jesus tells the story of a feast which is the celebration of reconciliation from estrangement, a conversion of the heart. It is a moving story.

“From time to time, I do not doubt, some of us have felt like that prodigal son… but more often than not, we are given to think not of ourselves as lost, but to see others that way. Our days are spent making lists of who deserves to repent, who is in need of conversion, who is lost, who is squandering their inheritance. (A few of you have even felt from time to time, I am sure, like I had become prodigal in my theology and maybe I have.) But in our thinking that other person often becomes those people. Those people are in need of conversion. They need to repent.

“This is called sheep and goats thinking. The Bible says that the Lord will separate the sheep from the goats, with the sheep at his right hand and the goats at his left. To the sheep will be eternally rewarded and the goats eternally punished. But most people stop reading right there. If you keep reading you find that Jesus says that then goats are the ones who divide people up and label them, whereas the sheep treat everyone the same. Which is a just a tricky way, round-about way of saying that it is wrong to judge folks.

“No matter who we are, we are inclined to accuse somebody else of missing out on the feast that is laid before us, just as others surely perceive us as missing out and being hopelessly lost. So may we take some comfort in the humbling realization that we are all surely a part of each other. May we know that not one among us is fully righteous; nor are we fully lost. Neither entirely sheeplike, nor entirely goatlike, we are, in our essence, dappled creatures. And the Lord so loves dappled creatures.”

Well, that’s the news from Holmes’ Prairie, out there on the Kansas plains, west of Wichita and to the right of liberal… where, for a town where nothing much ever happens, some miracle is always taking place if we would just stop for a moment to be still and take notice.


* Perhaps you are wondering how this story fits in with my “Future of the Liberal Church” series. Rather than answer that question, I’ll leave it to you to ponder that connection…

On December 2nd and 3rd I traveled to the First Unitarian Church of Des Moines and their minister, Rev. Mark Stringer, was in the pulpit here at SMUUCh.

If you are interested, a transcript of his remarks (when he delivered the sermon to his congregation) are available here.

I am going to begin kind of light and quirky, but then change the tone. A few years ago William Shatner, Captain Kirk on Star Trek, recorded a novelty record. It contained a spoken word duet with hardcore music legend Henry Rollins and the title of the song was, “I can’t get behind that.” Taking turns talking over a background of noisy drums, the song features Shatner and Rollins ranting about things that make them mad. In the song, Shatner rants about things like, “My favorite TV shows have twelve minutes of commercials. I can’t get behind that!”

“I can’t get behind that.” I am sure that if I asked any of you to make a list of things you can’t get behind, you could. We could all write our own versions of this song. We could go through life making a copious list of things that annoy us, that irritate us, that get us steamed, that cause us to clench our fists, or our jaw, or to mutter under our breath, or out loud.

Two recent news stories caught my eye. They both involve people getting angry about their neighbors’ improvised Holiday decorations. In Pagosa Springs, Colorado a home-owners association made national news when it threatened to fine a resident for displaying a Christmas wreath fashioned into a peace sign. The complainants accused the wreath of being a pagan symbol – well, technically-speaking, all wreaths are pagan symbols. They also alleged that the wreath was a political statement, and disrespectful of our servicemen and –women fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan.

But this wasn’t the only story of Holiday decoration controversy this year. In another part of the country – I forget which although I seem to think it might have been Arizona in which case I always chuckle when I think of Holiday lights in Arizona – amidst the holiday decorations in his sub-division a man fashioned a light to project – a la Batman – an anti- George Bush image on the side of his house. Apparently, some of his neighbors responded by threatening to kill him and others threatened to burn his house down.

Two comments: First of all, I have noticed that things like this tend to get amplified in December. Sunlight is less. The weather has gotten chilly and inconvenient. Vitamin D deficiency. And then, of course, there are the psycho-social effects of this season. Family pressures, perhaps. Obligations imposed on us: decorate this, attend that, cook for them, buy things for them – and do it all with a big cheerful Holiday smile. I hope it is not too cliché to say that The Holiday Season is, for many people, the time of the year when we feel like we’re not actually living our lives but are being forced to live up to others’ expectations, and that the world around us and the people around us are just imposing themselves on us constantly. I do want to qualify this though, because I do realize that some of you don’t feel this way at all. But, if anger is related to feeling like we are being encroached upon by hostile force, if anger is related to not feeling like we are in control, anger during the Holidays is absolutely predictable.

When I heard those news-stories about the peace wreath, I’ll tell you what my response was. “Give me a break,” I thought. People will get mad at the smallest things! Where is the anger, the outrage, at the things that really matter? Where is the anger about poverty? About global-climate change? About oppression? You’re getting angry about Holiday decorations. Holiday decorations? Holiday decorations? Give me a break! I can’t get behind that.

Last Spring I quoted a minister named Tony Campolo whose famous trick is to use an expletive in a sermon and then ask the congregation how they can get offended at his language but not be offended at, say, the fact that children are malnourished or the environment is being poisoned. The point I was trying to make when I mentioned Campolo’s example is that so often our anger is misdirected, misplaced. If only we were angry at the things that actually, really, and truly deserved our anger.

But, now it occurs to me, that this might not be the best strategy. Why do I think this? Well, let me just start by saying that I am sure that you all know that I am the perfect judge of what people should get angry about and what people shouldn’t get angry about, because my anger is based not on my own subjective experience but on objective fact. Wait a second. You mean to say I am not a perfect judge? You mean to say we all blow things out of proportion and spend time fixated and furious about things that might not matter that much? It is not natural for any of us to question the legitimacy of our own anger. We tend to believe that our anger is justified. Anger proves itself, legitimates itself.

In the reading from Pema Chodron we learned that it is human for us to direct our anger towards the things we identify as getting in the way of our happiness. It is only human to focus on those things in our experience that cause us to feel pain and to attempt to change, to reshape, to oppose, or to destroy those things. Or, as Pema Chodron says, we can cover our feet with leather, we can change ourselves, which does not mean we won’t feel pain although our suffering will be lessened.

Some critics of Buddhism say that this is too self-focused, that this “control-how-you-react” stuff just gives the world permission to walk all over you. I sometimes fall into thinking the same thing whenever I explore Buddhism. But then I stop and take a moment and count to ten and realize that things tend to go better for me and others when I can interact with others with compassion rather than anger or hostility.

About a year ago, my colleague across town Jim Eller preached a sermon on anger. In it he told this wonderful Sufi story:

The story involves a Sufi Holy-man named Nasruddin who knows a philosopher in the village who delights in arguing with him. The philosopher makes an appointment to go quarrel over philosophy with Nasruddin, but the absent-minded mystic forgets the appointment he had agreed to and goes off to play cards in the park. The philosopher arrives at the appointed hour only to find Nasruddin gone. He paces, swearing and cursing. As the minutes and hours pass the philosopher becomes increasingly agitated. Finally, he writes, “Stupid Oaf” on Nasruddin’s door and storms home. When Nasruddin returns, he sees his defaced door and realizes he had forgotten the appointment. Nasruddin sets off to the philosopher’s home. When he meets the philosopher he says, “My dear friend. I had completely forgotten our appointment until I returned home and found you had written your name on the door.”

The topic this morning did elicit interest from several members of the church. D. send me a small packet containing notes on a presentation he delivered on anger. If I can condense what D. says into a sentence or two, it is that while raging demonstrations of anger are bad, we often are conditioned to stuff or suppress or ignore our own anger. This tends to produce negative consequences as well. D. is interested in how it might be possible to express or channel anger positively. (Although I far from an expert in psychology, I might mention that the question of whether it is better to channel and redirect anger or resist it is a question that both psychology and religion have asked.)

A Bill Tammeus column from 1990 that D. included in his notes he sent to me talks about religious figures who approve of anger. Tammeus references Jesus’ altercation with the money changers in the temple, calling this display of anger “authentic and useful.” Before you think about going out and emulating Jesus, I want to remind you that it didn’t work out so well for him – and you’re not Jesus after all. Tammeus also quotes Aristotle’s teaching that if you get angry, it should be, quote, “with the right person, to the right degree, at the right time, for the right purpose, and in the right way.” It’s that easy is it?

I also received a number of helpful resources from P. who shared with me a wonderful video featuring Pema Chodron as well as a book on anger control by a pair of cognitive psychologists. One of the learnings from this book is that it describes how anger is often expressed in terms of blaming, catastrophizing, global labeling, misattributions, overgeneralization, and demanding and commanding.

With “Blaming” you give up the power to change the situation. Assigning blame takes away your own responsibility and agency.

With “catastrophizing”, you magnify the significance of events in order to justify your experience of anger. “It’s the end of the world.” “A complete disaster.”

Global labeling – calling somebody a jerk or worse – objectifies the other person and conflates them with their actions. “Well, he is just a jerk.”

Misattribution is when you pretend to read somebody else’s mind. “She was trying to make me look bad.” “He is out to get me.” We misattribute when we personalize or ascribe motivations to somebody’s actions.

Overgeneralizations predict the future. “That person always says inappropriate things.” “He never remembers.”

What all of these things have in common is that they tend to distort the actual facts of things. In so much as anger leads to distortions, it is incumbent upon us to take great caution with anger – to understand that if we value thinking clearly, anger can distort and cloud our vision and keep us from seeing with clarity.

So far, I’ve been mostly talking about anger from a personal perspective. Anger can cause us to experience ongoing suffering. It can lead us to act in unhealthy ways. It can cause us to become like the ugliness we see around us. It can cause us a distorted perception of the world around us. But anger also has a community component to it, a relational component. It effects not only our own personal soul, but the soul of our relationships and community.

Jesus once famously said, “Wherever two or three are gathered, there I am.” Or, to put it another way, and take total liberty with this passage, wherever two or three are gathered, there’s a chance of some tables being turned over. Like I said, I’m taking liberty with this passage, but I don’t think it is a wrong interpretation. When two or three gather, there can be anger, conflict, and tension. When two or three gather, there is humanity… and there can also be amazingly good stuff as well. So, how do we respond to anger in community?

Probably we should avoid blaming, catastrophizing, misattributing, overgeneralizing, and labeling. There is a need for speaking directly, but kindly. To speak the truth in love. And the “in love” part is not to be ignored. Jim Eller’s sermon also contained this wonderful quote: “It is a true act of friendship to be able to speak truthfully and critically to your friend about what they have done that have caused pain… but the moment you take even the slightest pleasure in that criticism, it is time to hold your tongue.”

For the children’s story this morning, I took out a hand mirror and invited all of the children to make the angriest faces they could. I then asked them what they thought about looking at their faces with their jaws clenched and eyes narrowed. The children agreed that they didn’t look their best while angry. Perhaps that is a lesson worth remembering in our hearts.

Vern Barnet flattered me in the opening lines of his Kansas City Star column today. (You can find the whole column on his web-site.)

Can you get inside of someone else’s head?

This question came to mind last week when I heard my brilliant young colleague in the ministry, Thom Belote, discuss Postmodernist doubts about the possibility of understanding one another.

Here is a ancient Taoist story that presents the issue.

Chuang Tzu and Hui Tzu strolled to the bridge over the Hao River. Chuang Tzu remarked, "See how the minnows are darting about! That is the pleasure of fishes.”

“You not being a fish yourself, “ responded Hui Tzu, “how can you possibly know in what consists the pleasure of fishes?”

“And you not being I,” retorted Chuang Tzu, “how can you know that I do not know?”

“If I, not being you, cannot know what you know,” urged Hui Tzu, “it follows that you, not being a fish, cannot know in what consists the pleasure of fishes.”

Chuang Tzu replied, “You asked me how I knew in what consists the pleasure of fishes. I knew it from my own feelings on this bridge.”

Wendy Doniger, University of Chicago scholar, suggests that the bridge is a metaphor for those feelings that connect us to others as well as those that separate us from others. [...continue reading]

I meet monthly for lunch with a group of colleagues. We take turns giving presentations on topics related to ministry and scholarship. I had been asked to deliver a presentation on "post-modernism." The above column stemmed from my explanation (lifted from a book by Michael Berube) of competing theories of communication: Jurgen Habermas believes in the potential of consensus in communication whereas Jean-Francois Lyotard holds that differences are "incommensurable."

OK, so what is the big deal? Well, in our current culture with its partisanship, its culture wars, and its extreme dualism (not to mention our world where fundamentalism and democracy clash) what we believe and how we think about the possibility of dialogue and understanding matters quite a bit.

Thanks to the usually feisty UU Enforcer for linking to this video of an evening of dialogue between leaders in the UUA and UCC.

The speakers chronicle over two-hundred years of history between our two movements. In the early 1800's, theological discontent expressed itself in a controversy over whether someone theologically liberal or orthodox would be named the Hollis Professor of Divinity at Harvard. A few decades later, the Massachusetts courts were ruling on which side got to keep the Communion silver (the Unitarians won!). However, these two movements which were so mired in strife and conflict have become more parallel, even closer, in recent years.

Watch the video for a humorous and insightful look at our past, present, and future.

The Reading this morning is Micah 6:6-8:

“With what shall I come before the Lord, and bow myself before God on high? Shall I come before him with burnt offerings, with calves a year old? Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, with ten thousands of rivers of oil? Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?”

“He has told you, O mortal, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?"

Let’s try that again with a modern translation that takes a few liberties:

“The people were arguing about how to please God, which for them was an important question. One person said that we could please God by decorating just the right way. ‘That’s not the way,’ said another person, ‘God wants us to say his name in public and for God’s name to appear all over the place.’ A third person suggested that God would be impressed by displays of wealth in the honor of God. And a fourth person said that God would be most pleased if we sent our sons and daughters to die in wars fought in the name of God.

“But, then the prophet spoke and said that God doesn’t want us to do any of that. God just wants us not to hurt one another, and to love each other and care for the vulnerable. God wants for us to live in peace. God also wants us not to worry about right way to worship, because if we treat each other with kindness, God doesn’t care how we worship.”

So, the other week I was fixated on and pre-occupied with thinking about that Homeowners Association in Pagosa Springs, Colorado, the one that threatened to fine a resident for displaying a Christmas wreath shaped as a peace sign. News stories like this always come up (don’t they?) day after day, and week and after week. When I hear about news stories like this I attempt to live by a rule that I have for myself, which is that if you allow stories like these to jerk you around by your emotional chain, you’ve agreed to surrender some part of your sanity and your liberty.

And just when you think you’ve found the craziest “sign of the apocalypse” story, along comes one that is even crazier. For example, you read that the hottest selling Christian video game (did you know that they make Christian video games?) is a video game version of Left Behind in which you and your Christian militia roam through the streets of a post-apocalyptic New York City killing United Nations forces who are the bad guys. I’m not making this up. And after you complete a kill, your video game character prays in order to clean its soul. How insane is that?

So, every part of my sanity, every part of my best self, every inclination not to get taken in was telling me that I should not stoop down and add my name to the list of people who let things like this raise their blood-pressure. I was telling myself, “Whatever you do, Thom, do not get suckered into feeling like you have to talk about the so-called ‘War on Christmas.’ You don’t even watch cable-news, Thom. And your parishioners mostly do not care that a couple of ‘truthy’ talking heads have deemed that it is a big deal whether crèches or menorahs get displayed on town hall lawns, and whether people wish each other a ‘Merry Christmas’ or ‘Happy Holidays.’

So, even though I should know better than to go down this road, I will say that being fixated on decorations is called, in religion, “formalist” thinking. It is a kind of formalism to worry about decorations or whether incantations are properly spoken. Formalism is the elevating of the forms of religious expression over the content of religious action. With formalism, what’s written on the sides of buildings, what’s spoken from the mouths of officials or ordinary people, and what’s displayed in public are given more weight than how we treat each other. The Bible, time and time again, strongly speaks against formalism. The prophet Micah says that God doesn’t want us to sacrifice rams in a ritually pure fashion, or make a big show. God wants us to be just and merciful. The prophet Amos says that God is not impressed with celebratory feasts; God does not delight in solemn assemblies, but God wants us to “let justice roll down like waters and peace like an ever-flowing stream.”

In Unitarian Universalism, these same sentiments have been expressed through the years. The 19th Century minister Theodore Parker distinguished between the permanence of truth and the transient nature of all forms. Over the years, Unitarian Universalism has made anti-formalism into a high art, albeit in the form of ritual minimalism. Forms are powerful though, have no doubt about that. If you have ever craved ritual, you know that much. But we should never confuse the seductiveness of forms with the idea that God actually cares one way or another about them.

Accordingly, I want to change the preposition. Instead of the War ON Christmas, I want to talk about the War AND Christmas. If you just stop to think about it, combining a peace sign and a Christmas wreath is not exactly mixing oil with water. Peace has always been thematically intertwined with Christmas:

Christmas marks the birth of Jesus, who is called by many the Prince of Peace. “Peace on earth” is a frequent salutation on Christmas cards. And just think about some of the lyrics in the hymns we sing:

“And peace shall over all the world its ancient splendors fling.”
“O come, and turn all hearts to peace, that greed and war at last shall cease.”
“Peace on the earth, goodwill to men, from heaven the news we bring.”
“Sleep in heavenly peace.”

And if that is not enough, I should mention that “It came upon the Midnight Clear” was written by a Unitarian minister in opposition to the war with Mexico, which Unitarians widely criticized as a war of imperialism and greed. (I grew up in the church where that hymn was written and first sung, by the way.)

And then there is the story from World War I of British and German soldiers coming out of the trenches on Christmas Day and singing “Silent Night” together. I presume that this is why we have a German version of “Silent Night” in our hymnal. I must admit that the cynic in me has never been able to enjoy this World War I story. I am interested in the expression of religion that leads us to choose to refrain from killing each other for more than one night. I am also aware that the wars we fight nowadays will not feature the sides coming together to sing “Silent Night.” The Taliban and al Qaeda are not going to sing “Silent Night.”

To better understand peace and Christmas, we might look back to the first Christmas. Jesus was born in Roman controlled territory in Judea, at a time, it’s been said, that was neither spectacularly violent, nor spectacularly distinguished by warfare. The Israelites were a conquered, dominated people living under the imperial rule of the pax romana, “the peace of Rome.” The insurgency was led by dagger-men, known as sicaroi, who carried out assassinations against both Roman soldiers and Jews who were deemed to be too cooperative with Rome. Some of these insurgents were inspired by the apocalyptic religious vision of messianic Jews from Qumran, who gave us the Dead Sea Scrolls, which were a type of resistance literature.

But, the point is that if we want to equate Christmas with peace, we can’t think of peace in specific terms, as opposition just to the Romans, specifically. Peace has always had a broader and more universal meaning. It has meant justice, freedom, liberation, and kindness.

An episode from our denominational history will help to illustrate how we think tend to grapple with peace. As the United States prepared to enter World War I, this subject came up on the floor of the American Unitarian Association general assembly. The moderator of the AUA at the time was William Howard Taft, a position he served after his presidency and before being named Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. It was on the floor of the general assembly, the story goes, that Rev. John Haynes Holmes, a pacifist, and Taft, who favored intervention, engaged in an extended and bitter argument about the morality of the United States entering into the First World War.

I like to tell this story as an example of how our movement and our churches are big enough to contain both pacifists and those who believe that there are times when war is necessary or morally defensible. May it always be so that we have this diversity of opinion. And, may we always be willing to engage with one another in spirited discussion over such an important issue, although we may aspire to a less acrimonious debate than the one in which Holmes and Taft engaged.

When the Iraq War began I was the student minister at First Parish in Needham, serving under the mentorship of John Buehrens, a past-president of our movement. Four months before the war commenced, I filled in for John during the week or so he traveled to Iraq along with a delegation from the National Council of Churches that included former-Senator Bob Edgar. In the Spring of that year, shortly before accepting the invitation to become your minister, I led a prayer service on the evening the Iraq War commenced. (Whether we call that the beginning of the war, or say that the decade of sanctions, enforced no-fly zones, and intermittent bombings and missile attacks were also acts of warfare is a question I’ll let you answer.)

But, in my nearly three and a half years here at SMUUCh I don’t think I’ve ever addressed the war directly. I’ve mentioned it in passing, prayed for our soldiers and for all those who have been harmed by this war or are at risk of being harmed. I’ve used this war as an illustration. I’ve also been criticized by those who wish I would have spoken about this war more frequently and passionately. I’ve also been criticized by those who say I speak about too much, or speak of it wrongly. My philosophy is that you preach forty times a year and you say what you feel called to say. You listen, but you’ve got to come from a place of authenticity and conviction, or else what’s the point?

And Christmas comes around again, and you think about what you want to say, and mostly you don’t want to feed the community something sentimentalized or syrupy. Because you know, you know, that you do a disservice to Christmas when you sentimentalize it. And peace, it occurs to you, is often just as sentimentalized. “Get real. Peace just isn’t realistic. It isn’t practical.”

Which isn’t true, by the way. Peace, and not just peace but pacifism, was completely, utterly, and totally practical and powerful and effective for Gandhi. Non-violence was absolutely, entirely, and completely practical and powerful for Martin Luther King.

And this war:
This war with approximately three thousand American service-men and -women dead…
This war with its tens of thousands of American service-men and –women injured, without counting the “psychological casualties”…
This war with uncountable Iraqi citizens dead. How many? 100,000?…
This war with its five hundred billion dollar price tag…
This war of which to say that it has devolved into a civil war would be considered an optimistic assessment…
…I do not see what makes us think that war is practical.

The recent report from the bi-partisan Iraq Study Group details the situation in Iraq. They describe a volatile and deteriorating situation, rising levels of violence, and an increasingly suffering Iraqi population. They also describe the American armed forces – the most powerful army in the world – as worn down, improperly supported, and stretched near the breaking point. If you read the report, it is surprisingly candid and heartbreakingly dire.

Bill Sinkford quotes the Quaker social worker Mary Parker Follett as saying, “We have thought of peace as passive and war as an active way of living. The opposite is true. War is not the most strenuous life. It is a kind of rest cure compared to the difficulty of reconciling our difficulties. From war to peace is not from the strenuous to the easy existence. It is from the futile to the effective, from the stagnant to the active, from the destructive to the creative way of life.”

How is it that we so easily sentimentalize peace? How is it that we so easily domesticate it? How is it that we so easily sentimentalize Christmas? How is it that we are content to reduce it to forms without substance?

I want to end today by sharing a radical and powerful Christmas image, one that is not sentimentalized or domesticated. Here I am paraphrasing John Buehrens as he paraphrases James Luther Adams and George Hunston Williams:

“When Orthodox Christianity speaks of the three offices of Christ – as prophet, as priest, and as king – the real meaning is more radical than even we want to admit. It means that just as Word becomes flesh, just the divine comes to dwell in human form, that each of us is called to take up these offices, what Adams called the priesthood and prophethood of all believers, the latter for the ministry of healing and the former for the prophetic concern for justice. And spiritually, the spiritual significance of incarnation is that it is the spark of divinity in each of us that is given to rule and command our lives. Caesar is not in charge, and neither are any of the other powers and principalities.”

With what shall I come before the Lord, and bow myself before the Lord on high? What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God. Let justice roll down like waters and peace like an ever-flowing stream. Happy Holidays. Merry Christmas. Peace on earth, to all goodwill.

I thought it would be fun to recap the books I read in 2006 (or, as many of them as I can remember.) Here goes:

I began the year by discovering the author David Foster Wallace. As you can see, I definitely got hooked.

Consider the Lobster by DFW (January)
Infinite Jest by DFW (February)
A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again by DFW (March)
Girl With Curious Hair by DFW (April)
Brief Interviews With Hideous Men by DFW (May)
Oblivion by DFW (May)
Broom of the System by DFW (July)
Everything and More by DFW (August) [Although I can't claim to have really understood it.]

Yes, that's 3,570 pages of David Foster Wallace!

I also read several other novels:

The Plot Against America by Philip Roth
Kafka on the Shore by Huraki Murakami
The King of King's County by Whitney Terrell
You Shall Know Our Velocity! by Dave Eggers

I also finally finished reading The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver, over two years after I started it. I had read about half way through, up to the point where Lumumba gets assassinated, but then loaned it impulsively to the barista at the coffeehouse I used to frequent. The barista, an evangelical Christian, had seen the title and asked about the book. I had told her that it was a novel about a missionary family in Africa. I couldn't help myself; I handed her the book with a smile and hoped she would enjoy it. Six months later it was returned to me. Daring to ask what she thought, she told me she didn't like it at all. It was obvious to her that the wife and daughter's failure to support Nathan Price had sabotaged his ministry. It was the women's fault. She had read this book with the most anti-feminist lens possible!

In the realm of non-fiction, I read:

Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder
What's Liberal About the Liberal Arts by Michael Berube
Kingdom Coming by Michelle Goldberg
The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins
Letter to a Christian Nation by Sam Harris
The End of Faith by Sam Harris [for this sermon]
Living a Call edited by Michael Durall
Christian Voices in Unitarian Universalism edited by Kat Rolenz
Blessing the World by Rebecca Parker [for this sermon]
America, Fascism, and God by Davidson Loehr [for this sermon]
as well as parts of four books on Torture for a sermon on that
subject.

For my first book of 2007, I have just started Dave Eggers' A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius.

Opening Words
Up until two-hundred years ago, this land was wild. This land, right here. Bear, beaver, wolves, and elk roamed this land. The only humans were the Kaw and Kansas Indians who intermittently passed through. In 1825, the Shawnee were moved here from Ohio, onto a 1.6 million acre reservation, which was later reduced to 200,000 acres. Thirty years later they were again displaced to the Indian territory of Oklahoma.

Next to come were the farmers. This land, right here, supported several generations of farmers. In the early twentieth century, the land just to east of where we sit was developed as suburban upscale dwellings. The rise of the automobile rendered obsolete the trolley line that passed just a stone’s throw from right here.

In the mid-twentieth century people moved here in droves to pursue a vision of the good life, although racial tension, conflict, fear, and inequality were also a part of this history. Fifty years ago, the houses that surround this property were brand new. Roads to the south and west were still dirt. The sprawl of today was yet to come.

Today’s service has to do with the history of this land. It has to do with the history of Johnson County and Kansas City. Everyone who has lived here has come seeking “the good life.” But, this has meant different things through the years. We are no different. We, too, seek to live well – and history can help us to learn what it truly means to live well.


Reading
The reading this morning is from the book Kingdom Coming by Michelle Goldberg. It is not a passage I necessarily agree with. In fact, it is a passage that comes across as condescending. Goldberg is, self-admittedly, a secular New Yorker, someone who feels out of place if she strays too far from metropolitan life. Here is how she describes a visit to suburbia and to suburban mega-churches:

“These churches are usually located on the sprawling edges of cities, in new exurban developments that almost totally lack for public space – squares, parks, promenades, or even, in some places, sidewalks. With their endless procession of warehouselike chain stores and garish profusion of primary-colored logos, the exurbs are the purest of ecosystems for consumer capitalism. Yet, the brutal, impersonal utilitarianism of the strip mall and office park architecture – it perversely ascetic refusal to make a single concession to aesthetics – recalls the Stalinist monstrosities imposed on Communist countries. The banality is aggressive and disorientating. Driving through many of these places in states from Pennsylvania to Colorado, I’ve experience more than a few moments of vertiginous panic where I literally could not remember where I was.

“Because most exurbs are so new, none of the residents grew up in them; everyone is from somewhere else and there are few places for them to meet. In such locales, megachurches fill the spiritual and social void, providing atomized residents instant community…

“While megachurches look like everything else in the newly developed parts of America – they’re usually enormous, unadorned boxy buildings, designed to resemble shopping malls or multiplexes and surrounded by acres of asphalt parking lots – they provide an outlet for energies that aren’t rational, productive, or acquisitive, for furies and ecstasies that don’t otherwise fit into suburban life.”

Sermon
So, how many of you have read The King of King's County by Whitney Terrell? Each year around this time, the book club selects a book from their previous year’s reading for me to speak about in a sermon.

I want to give you a quick overview of the plot of the book. It begins set in the 1950s in Kansas City and centers on the life of a boy named Jack Acheson. Jack’s father is Alton, a bulbous con-man who idolizes the old-fashioned robber-barons. Alton envies the power and prestige of local developer Prudential Bowen and schemes a way to grow rich by speculating land along the Eisenhower interstate that is to run Southwest of Kansas City. As Alton secures shady-investors and convinces Johnson County farmers to sell-off their soon-to-appreciate land, we follow the lives of childhood chums Jack, Geanie Bowen, and Lonnie and Nikki Garaciello as they come of age in Kansas City attending Pembroke – I mean Pemberton Acadmeny.

It is a work of historical fiction. Prudential Bowen, most obviously, is J.C. Nichols. Instead of Nichols developing the Plaza based on the architecture of Seville, in Terrell’s book Bowen develops the Campanile based on the architecture of Florence. The book touches on a number of issues in the history of Kansas City: the corruption of Pendergast, the role of organized crime, and especially the role of housing discrimination and racially-based fear in influencing the rise of the suburbs.

The characters in the book itself are fairly miserable. Even Jack, the protagonist, is jealous, insecure, possessive, held captive to guilt, embarrassed and disloyal. That it is set in Kansas City is a great deal of the book’s magic. For example, I read that Prudential Bowen’s initial development was centered on a piece of property located at Fifty-first and Grand… and my jaw drops because I live exactly at Fifty-first and Grand!

Of all the themes that Terrell’s book touches upon, the greatest are the roles that duplicity, fraud, deceit, racism, fear and downright dirty greed played in the growth of the suburbs of Johnson County, Kansas. And, departing from the book, that is the topic I want to take up.

This past Summer I went to take the free tour of the Johnson County museum, located at sixty-third and Lackman. If you’ve never been, it is definitely worth a trip. The permanent exhibit is entitled “Seeking the Good Life” and traces the history of this land that I sketched out in the opening words above – from the days of the Shawnee Indians and the missionaries, to the farmers, to the advent of suburban living, to the modern day exurban lifestyle. What is striking about the exhibit is that as you pass from era to era, the exhibit repeats this wonderful and haunting refrain that goes something like this, “People came here seeking the good life. But was this the good life? For whom? And who was excluded?”

But was this the good life?

It occurs to me to mention that those who choose to dwell in the suburbs have no monopoly on, quote, “seeking the good life.” If you think of all people who have ever lived on the earth throughout the entirety of recorded history, when have people ever not sought after the good life? Of course, the lives of so many have been so difficult, so miserable, so desperate that by the good life they might have imagined good living simply as having regular meals or freedom from violence. But my point is that all people everywhere have sought to align their lives with “the good” – to employ a kind of Platonic abstraction – and isn’t it remarkable the different strategies and different ideals that people have adopted in pursuit of “the good life”?

And none of us – or few of us – are so lucky to get to set down with a clean slate and just intuit, just deduct, what the good life is. We all live amidst culture that makes competing claims on us – that tries to tell us, that tries to persuade us, that tries to sell us on what the good life really is. I speak not only of peer pressure and advertising, but also powerful cultural forces at work all around us.

Which makes this sermon relevant for two reasons: First, of all the various functions of religion, probably one of the most important is to play an instructive and illuminating role in helping those of us here to discern what the good life really is. Which cultural messages are legitimately good and which ones are giving us the bait and switch?

And second, it occurs to me that today is December 31st which is a time when a lot of Americans are taking time in the quiet week before the New Year to be reflective about their plans, their dreams, their aspirations for the coming year. We’re doing things like making resolutions… resolutions that reflect on the ways in which our lives have fallen short of “the good life” and are we are pledging with resolute resolve to aspire to a better life, happier life, healthier life, or otherwise more fulfilling life in the year ahead.

The good life indeed. As much as there have always been dreams of the good life, there have always been critiques of the ways in which that conception of the good life falls short.

The nationally famous Unitarian folk-singer Malvina Reynolds parodied suburban living in her most famous song, “Little Boxes.” She sang,

Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky-tacky /
Little boxes, little boxes, and they all look just the same.
There’s a [beige one and a beige one and a beige one and a beige one] /
And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky and they all look just the same.

And the people in the houses all went to the University /
Where they were put in boxes and they came out just the same. /
There’s doctors and lawyers and business executives /
And they’re all made out of ticky-tacky and they all are just the same.

And they all play on the golf course and drink their martinis dry /
And they all have pretty children and the children go to school /
And the children go to summer camp and then to the university /
Where they are put in boxes and they come out just the same.”

Michelle Goldberg used a bigger vocabulary to say pretty much the same thing, speaking about an “endless procession of boxy, warehouselike, chain stores with a profusion of garish primary colored logos.” Henry David Thoreau epitomized critical thinking about life in society. His book Walden is as lucid an expression as have ever been written of the sentiment, “Please don’t box me in.” “I do not wish to live what is not life…”

Similarly, others have offered critiques of the suburban good life. Anti-racist analysis points out the effects of white flight. In Kansas City racial covenants were used to keep dark skinned people out of Leawood. This is not conspiracy thinking by the way. The Declaration of Restrictions which went into effect in 1945 and remained in effect until the late 1960s prohibited ownership or occupancy, quote, “by any person of Negro blood or any person who is more than one-fourth of the Semitic race… including… Armenians, Jews, Hebrews, Turks, Persians, Syrians, and Arabians” although an exception was made for domestic servants. Today, quote “good schools” and quote “safe neighborhoods” are sometimes terms that are flung about and often do not reflect objective analysis but, instead, are euphemisms for segregation.

And finally, one of the most powerful critiques of suburbia has come from environmentalists who point out how unsustainable “the good life” can be. In January we will be beginning a documentary film series. The first film in the series is actually entitled, “The End of Suburbia.” Its premise is that we have constructed our communities on a peak-oil paradigm that assumes a ready supply of affordable fossil fuels. Once peak-oil goes away we will be in a canoe up a creek without a paddle… or, perhaps more aptly, stuck in an SUV in a cul-de-sac without a fill-up. This film predicts a cataclysmic inversion where exurban sub-divisions become the ghettoes of the 21st century and where the urban core becomes primo real estate.

I will say this: the themes which appear in The King of King's County can get a person talking. A Washington Post review of the book says that “Terrell brilliantly dramatizes the confluence of federal funding, state zoning, racial tensions, family ideals, and local shenanigans that created the places in which most of us live and work.” The review goes on to imply that just as the narrator, Jack Acheson, grapples with the anger and shame that are the legacy of his proximity to all of this, so must each of us contend with the way “each generation creates or miscreates a home for the next one.”

So, allow me to name the elephant in the room. Some people will probably leave today feeling picked-on, indicted, or implicated. Others of you, I’m sure, are sitting there giving thought to this and thinking that I am picking on, indicting, or implicating not you, but those people – those people who live south of a certain road, or west of a certain road, or in that school district, or in that zip-code or that sub-division, or who drive an automobile that gets worse than that certain number of miles per gallon. But, if you think I have decided to stand here and sanctimoniously judge, I hope you will listen because actually my message is quite different.

Our human instinct is to stereotype. Many of the stereotypes that our parents and grandparents may have held unquestioningly are now considered by us enlightened folks as unfortunate, ignorant, and common. And even today, there are other stereotypes that are more permissible, and equally unhelpful. Whether Michelle Goldberg calls us artless, soulless, and materialistic, or someone on the Missouri side says whatever it is that people over there say about people in Kansas, I will say that stereotypes tend universally to be both counter-productive and counter-intelligent.

I heard on NPR several weeks ago a demographic report that said that there are now, in the United States, more people living below the federal poverty line in suburbs than there are in urban environments. What does that say about seeking the good life?

Furthermore, demographic trends say that increasingly it will be the Johnson Counties of the world, along with the Wyandotte Counties, Platte Counties, and Clay Counties of the world that will contain greater and greater percentages of the United States population. Accordingly, that will mean a greater political power concentrated in the suburbs.

And I want to conclude by saying a little bit about what this will mean for us. I’ve written and thought quite a bit about Unitarian Universalism being slow (and slow is a charitable evaluation) to respond to the demographic population shifts that are happening in the United States. The way I see it, we Unitarian Universalists have quite a bit of valuable things to say about the good life, and it is our choice about whether we will show up and play a role in changing culture or not.

It has been a long time since our churches were filled with conformists beholden to culture. We’ve tried being counter-cultural. Now, we have the chance to be shapers, transformers, and shifters of culture. If we show up. Stereotypes are not helpful. What is helpful is to think, really introspectively and reflectively and historically and honestly… about what it means to live the good life. I know, from my day to day intersecting with your lives how you’ve reflected on the lives you are living, and made amazing decisions about what it means to live well.

How are we seeking the good life? Is that good life, in fact, good? For whom. Who is excluded? Or, who is now more included by virtue of your good living? It is your life. I thank you for making this church a part of it. Have a blessed and just 2007!


Afterword
It occurs to me after having delivered this sermon that there is much more I might say about this subject and what it means to live well in this environment. Also, I’ve gotten some wonderful feedback. Click here for more reflections.

As promised, this post will include some of the comments and feedback I received from my sermon on December 31, 2006. Check back later for additional comments.

One person wrote the following, as part of substantially longer email:

"...I would say that is the most troubling aspect of unchecked exurban (far out suburban) development. Rather than move to perfectly suitable, usable housing in existing neighborhoods, families continue to choose to move further and further away from the urban core in a spiraling pattern of flight. They build huge, unsustainable homes and set all these choices up as their "right" or say that they "earned" this version of the good life and the philosophy is, if they can afford the cars and the gas and the mortgage payments, they deserve it. Historians of development, however, have shown how huge tax subsidies laid the pipelines for water, sewage, electrical and gas, curbs and roads that enabled developers to build such subdivisions. Federal gas subsidies support people's ability to drive SUV's around vast, spread-out landscapes. And cars sit bumper to bumper on I-35, which has to be continually expanded, maintained and built out further South to support people's decision to move further out, and that cost is borne by all the taxpayers. I think all of that is fine, as long as the people living out there don't denigrate others who live on "federal handouts" and as long as they don't act all superior about how independent and self-made they are as individuals. They, too, live off the federal teat."

Do you have a comment? Write to me!

This year I approached Question & Answer Sunday a bit differently than in year’s past. Instead of requesting questions a week ahead of time, I asked people to write their questions down on a note-card as they entered the sanctuary. Following the first hymn, I sequestered myself in the foyer and dealt out the cards with Kenny Rogers’ “The Gambler” running through my mind. “You have to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away, know when to run.”

But I did not run. I returned and answered as many as I could, as best I could…

The Lead Off Question
Q. How do we logically argue the separation of church and state with evangelical Christians?
A. Something related to this has been on my mind this week, as I read a news story about the Congressman from Minnesota who intends to be sworn in using Thomas Jefferson’s copy of the Koran, which was part of his library that became the original collection of the library of Congress. It’s been said that this book represents the founder’s intent to be a nation founded on religious freedom and religious pluralism. I would answer by asking the person you are discussing the separation of church and state with just when theocracy has ever worked well. Historians and sociologists tend to think that religion has thrived so well in America because it is not run by the government. In many nations in Europe there is a state religion, but only ten percent of the population is churched. In America, the free market and the state refusing to meddle in religion has been a great thing for the success of churches. When it comes down to it, we don’t want government running churches. That is one good reason to support the separation of church and state.

Theology
Q. What book would you recommend mostly highly for learning how to feel compassion for some of the idiots who see intent on promoting sexist, racist, homophobic policies – or should we feel compassion at all?
A. Actually, someone in the congregation recently recommended I pick up a copy of “The Force of Kindness” by Sharon Salzberg, who is an American Buddhist. As I have begun to read it, I have found a lot of what she has to say quite compelling. She dispels the notion that kindness is an expression of weakness. That is the book I’d recommend.

Q. Why do Unitarians need to study the Bible?
A. Let me rephrase this question a little bit. By “need” I’m not saying that you should be forced to. We’re not a religion that forces people to do anything. But I believe that Unitarians should elect to study the Bible. And, not just for reasons of “cultural competence” or to be able to understand art and literature. If we are truly a religion that seeks to understand our neighbors, if we are a religion that is mature enough to encounter other faiths, then we’ll study the Bible for understanding rather than treat it dismissively or with avoidance. By choosing to remain ignorant of the Bible, you cede its interpretation, not to mention your own power, to those who use the Bible for ill. By the way, I am teaching a course on the Bible later this Spring.

Q. Why is the UUA putting less and less emphasis on humanism?
A. I can certainly understand how it might feel this way, but actually, the Unitarian Universalist Association is not in the business of emphasizing any particular theology over another. Similarly, Bill Sinkford in his role as UUA President is not the head theologian of our movement. As a movement, our theology is shaped by what goes on in local congregations, what people teach in adult religious education classes and what they talk about in small groups. It is also shaped by who enters the ministry. I have noticed that theism and/or Christianity seems to be on the rise in the ranks of UU ministry.

Q. What are the characteristics of post-modernism?
A. Perhaps the person who wrote this question saw this KC Star article by Vern Barnet from a couple of weeks ago. I will say this: the term is often thrown around imprecisely and perhaps in a way that is designed to obscure. Post-modernism involves the calling into question some of the assumptions of modernism. Modernism assumed that we would be saved by technology and industry (progress), that we would discover truth, and that by appealing to reason we could create agreement. Post-modernism calls these assumptions into question.

Q. Is Jesus the Son of God?
A. I was actually quoted in an article by Bill Tammeus offering an answer to this question. By clicking here you can read what I wrote to Bill and what he actually included in the article.

Q. When I was a young thing in the Baptist Church, the minister often talked about “being called” to the ministry. Is there anything in UUism that compares to this?
A. Yes. I would refer the person who asked this question to the new book called Living a Call by Michael Durall in which several UU ministers write about the articulation and implication of their call to the ministry. If you asked a sampling of UU ministers, the answers might range from one extreme - "God spoke to me and told me to go into the ministry" - to the other - "My career counselor spoke to me and told me to go into the ministry." I might also say that not all calls need to come from God. "I heard my brothers and sisters calling." "I heard the oppressed calling." "I heard those longing for liberal religious community calling." Is this not the way that God also calls?

Our Church
Q. Can we change the name of the church? I don’t like “SMUUCh.”
A. Would a rose by any other name smell as sweet? I assume that this person just doesn't like that our acronym is pronounced "smooch." Indeed, this comment has come up every year during question and answer Sunday. A change in name would require us to adjust our by-laws, a process that requires support from the Board of Trustees. I would also like to say that naming churches after geographic locations is a little bit passe. For decades, UU churches have tended to name themselves after the geographic location. My favorite example of this is Northwest UU Church of Southfield, Michigan. However, more recently UU churches have begun naming themselves in ways that identify a core image or concept. Examples of these include Horizon and Pathways in Texas, Wellsprings in Pennsylvania, Micah's Porch in Chicago, and Tapestry in California. (After the service someone did nix the Tapestry idea. "If we name ourselves after a Carole King album, I'm leaving.")

Q. Our church is growing but growth is a double-edged sword. As we grow, how do we ensure that the institution (buildings, parking lots) does not become more important than the people it’s supposed to serve?
A. Hey, I can guarantee we won't be building a cathedral. Nobody is suggesting we build a replica of the Sistine Chapel. Our charge to our Facilities Task is to recommend a facilities plan that serves our needs. Those needs include more space in the nursery, a decent kitchen, more space in the foyer, more seats, appropriate offices, and a room big enough for all-church events. These identified facility needs do put the people the buildings are supposed to serve first.

Q. Are there any plans for a women’s or men’s retreat?
A. Good question. Are there? As a church we are a volunteer-driven organization. Many of our programs are created and run by members. As a permission-giving church, we seek to empower our members to creative enterprises that further our Mission & Vision. If you find yourself interested in having a men's retreat or women's retreat, find some other people who share your passion and make it happen.

Q. Being new to SMUUCh, I was wondering if there are any rites of passage for children?
A. For newborns, adoptions, and children who join the church we do Child Dedication ceremonies. These take place during regular scheduled worship and involve the whole congregation making a promise to support the child and his/her family. For children in 7th and 8th grade we offer the Coming of Age program. This is the Unitarian Universalist equivalent of a bar/bat Mitzvah or Confirmation. By the way, SMUUCh was the first congregation to have a Coming of Age program.

Q. Why is there so little variety in the form of Sunday services?
A. Why does the stork stand on one leg? If it didn't it would fall on its behind. This zen koan was originally told to me by John Buehrens. This koan speaks to the importance of tradition. Recently, Brent Smith shared with me this story. At his congregation, they recently had no paper order of service due to a printing error. Nobody missed a beat. They sang the songs and recited the words perfectly. About this experience, he wrote:

"I think the mission of the liberal church is the liberation of the Spirit. I also think that's the proper affect of of liturgy, whether or not it is intentionally aimed at that. It is to give the heart and mind the order necessary for there to be a foundation to the self from which it can freely soar towards new thoughts and new revelations, and deeper experiences of affection and realize wider invitations to love; the Creative Event. Without the order of service this past Sunday people discovered that their five year practice of the church's liturgy yielded an ordered flowing in, around, and out of them.

"The heart and mind were stilled, that the spirit might be liberated through deeper relationship. It is a state beyond personal likes, dislikes, and preferences, a readiness to listen together to the call of the Spirit so that a rededication to the good and just can occur; something heard and received variously. It is not a naturally occuring, "organic" kind of thing. Spiritual freedom isn't that way. It is a liturgical equivalent of what our ancestors called 'federated liberty,' the order created by human beings that makes freedom possible. It requires focussed planning and continuous practice. But the multiple and various responses in the greeting line told me that something liberating occured in that 1 hour that, with enough practice, could significantly transform the other 167 hours of any given week in the lives of the church and its people."

What Brent Smith is saying is that there is deepening that can only come through practice and repetition.

Q. Have we considered “advertising” in the newspapers, etc.?
Q. The Saturday edition of the KC Star has two pages of ads for churches including the location and times of services. What would we have to pay for at least a minimal informational ad?
A. I would refer you to the members of our Communications Committee. I heard an estimate once that we could expect to pay around $2,000 annually for a small listing on the religion pages of the KC Star. I do know that our advertising has been a budget casualty the past two years, a necessary cut to create a balanced budget. I also know that some people have expressed doubts about the effectiveness of newspaper advertising. I'll also say that the two best types of advertising are free: word of mouth and making news for our outstanding work! If we all told our friends, neighbors, and dog groomers about us, we'd grow even faster than we are growing. Similarly, social action projects and community forums are a great way to get known.

Q. Thom, what is your #1 objective for SMUUCh for 2007?
A. Unitarian Universalist churches are a bit different from many churches in that the minister is not the singular vision-setter for the entire church. Here at SMUUCh, a democratically-elected board works together with the minister, staff, and committees to create shared goals. I do think that we are doing very well at the "Invite" and "Inspire" parts of our mission. I think we have room to improve on the "Involve" part. One of my goals is much greater Involvement of each and every member in both service to and service outside of the congregation. Another goal of mine is to follow-up on last Spring's Evolution series by offering a series on Stem Cells.

Personal Questions
Q. Who is your favorite theologian?
A. From our tradition, I am very drawn to the theological works of James Luther Adams and Rebecca Parker. I am also a big fan of Brian McClaren, the leader of the "Emergent" movement.

Q. Who are some of your favorite writers?
A. Once I find a favorite writer, I tend to read everything by them. During 2006 I read all of the published works (3,570 pages!) of David Foster Wallace. The year before I read six books (How to be Good, High Fidelity, About a Boy, The Long Way Down, Fever Pitch, and Speaking with the Angel) by Nick Hornby. Currently, I'm really big on reading Dave Eggers.

Q. What do you do to recharge your spirit?
A. I'm a big fan of live music and rock concerts. But, in a way my ministry to the chruch stays grounded by ministry to the community. I've really enjoyed serving on the board of the MAINstream Coalition and volunteering with groups like the ACLU and Planned Parenthood.

Q. What is your favorite color?
A. Orange.

Q. Why did you choose to live in KC, MO instead of JO CO, KS?
A. This is my fourth year at SMUUCh. During my first two years I did live in Johnson County, before I moved to the Plaza/Brookside area. For a single person there seemed to be more things to do at 40th and Main then at 95th and Metcalf.

Q. Do you like Pokemon?
A. I don't even know what this is.

Q. What are you proudest or happiest about since you came to the Kansas City area?
A. I'm proud of being awarded Final Fellowship by the UUA. I'm proud of the Evolution Series we offered last Spring. I'm most proud of the growth and health and vitality of this congregation.

Q. What are your life goals and career plans? How long we keep you?
A. Hmmm... I've never thought of myself as "kept." That imagery makes me a little uncomfortable. One stays as a minister of a church as long as one feels called to that ministry, and as long the ministry that the church requires is in synch with the ministry you are called to. Listen, I'm 29. I figure I'm good for another 36 years of active ministry, at minimum. One goal that I do have is being active in the creation of more Unitarian Universalist churches. But who knows?

Silly Questions
[There are always some like these!]
Q. How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?
Q. How many Unitarians does it take to screw in a light bulb?
Q. If I were a moose and you were a cow, would love me anyhow?
A. A. A. No Comment

Q. Was “Andrew Dice K” worth all that money?
A. Clever nick-name. This question is a reference to Japanese pitcher, Daisuke (pronounced “Dice-K”) Matsuzaka, who the Boston Red Sox recently signed to a gigantic contract. They paid $51 million to his Japanese team for just the rights to negotiate with him, and on top of that it took another $52 million over six years to sign him. Was he worth it? Are any of them truly worth it?

Q. My 9 year old wants to know what 1062 X 1062 equals.
A. 1,127,844

Q. What should we name our baby?
A. I actually have an answer to this. I was talking with somebody the other day about all the interesting and creative names that parents give their children here at SMUUCh. (In just the past few weeks we’ve had an Easton, an Ava, and a Finlay.) But I was kind of lamenting the paucity of UU names. No Henry David’s. No Ralph Waldo’s. And then I remembered a British Unitarian from the 1700’s named Theophilus Lindsey. Nobody names their kid “Theophilus” any more. That is what I would recommend. You could even shorten it to “Theo.” Oh, what’s that you say. What if she is a girl? Does anybody know what the feminine form of Theophilus is?

More Questions
Q. Our country and now the world is money-driven and consumer-driven. Everything is based on things. Right now shopping zombies are walking through WalMarts all over the world trying to get more things. Is this good or bad? Ps. I’ve been looking all over for a Play Station 3. Will I be able to find it this week?
A. None of us are likely to ever become monks with begging bowls or desert ascetics who altogether renounce the world. That is to say, "things" will always be a necessary part of our life. I tend to believe that our culture encourages us to be in relationship with material things in a way that is neither healthy nor sustainable. One of the problems with consumerism is that we tend to act as consumers in all parts of our life. I would reject the idea that finding a church is like buying a car. In the religious life, "how much can I get for how little?" and "what can you do for me?" are not good starting places. I am also concerned about the "Bowling Alone" phenomenon. The findings in Robert Putman's book about the decline of civic organizations are of concern to me. Increasingly we know how to shop, but know less about how to organize in community. Community and church is something you build, not something you buy.

Q. My New Years resolution this year was “to be more in the world.” How can I “be more in the world”?
A. A couple of things come to mind. I am tempted to recommend that you pick up a copy of Thoreau's Walden (and maybe the Barry Andrews' book "Thoreau as Spiritual Guide.") I find Thoreau to be one of the most important thinkers about what it means to live in the world. I would also recommend a spiritual practice that helps you to notice more of the world. You may find it helpful to keep a gratitude journal, for example.

Q. Is it acceptable to come to SMUUCh more for the community than for the spiritual aspect?
A. I think that this question imposes a false dichotomy. Why can't the community be the spiritual aspect? But another question someone asked me helps me also to be able to answer this one. That person offered the quote, "Bidden or not bidden, God is present." What you come for does not need to equal what you get out of it. I love to tell the story of a minister who was visited by an elderly parishioner who said, "I've been coming to church for 80 years and, to tell you the truth, I can't remember a single sermon. Why should I bother to come?" The minister replied, "I've been eating meals for 50 years and, to tell you the truth, I don't remember a single menu. But I still continue to eat." Perhaps more is happening to you than you realize.

Evangelism
Q. How can I briefly articulate my faith when I feel under attack?
Q. Why do all my friends consider Unitarian Universalism to be a cult?
Q. What is a fast way to describe UUism to people not familiar with us?
A. I will come back later and answer this.

Q. How do you explain the differences between Unitarian Universalism and Unity?
Q. How is this related or unrelated to Unity or Science of Mind?
Q. Many times people in the community confuse Unitarian Universalism and Unity. Do you have an elevator speech to clarify the difference?
A. I will come back later and answer this.

Concluding Remarks
I want to end by simply saying that it has been a joy to stand before you and be challenged to give my best answers to these questions. How splendid a thing to be a part of a religious tradition that encourages us to ask questions. And, how splendid and superb to be a part of a faith that tells you not to take these answers as gospel truth, but encourages you to freely and responsibly search for your own answers.

In your going, I ask you:
How is it with your soul?
What are you spending and being spent for?
For what are you grateful?
What is calling you?
And, "What will you do with your one wild and untamed life?"

[In a few days I plan to post the questions I did not get around to answering last Sunday.]

Opening Words
The New England Primer, one of the first children’s books published in the United States began like this: “[A is for Adam.] In Adam’s fall, we sinned all.” If you read on, the Primer taught that “[F is for fool.] The idle fool is whipped at school.”

Such thinking still survives today, telling us that our nature is inherently sinful, that our physical bodies are dirty, that without constant vigilance (and an occasional whipping) we will regress into lustful depravity.

The liberal religious theology of Unitarian Universalism has always stood against this way of thinking. It has started with the premise that our nature and nature itself are, by nature, good – or at the very least neutral. And from there it has instructed us that our rightful response to the good gifts of our life is gratitude rather resentment, and that our bodies and our minds are gifts to be used well, not feared and not maligned.

On this day, when we turn our thoughts to love, to relationships, to sensuality, to our innate capacity for goodness, let us also turn our thoughts to the divine, to God and Goddess, to Eros and Aphrodite, to all that animates and enchants our earth and our nature.

As we gather without scorn or shame, let us worship together.

Reading

“Though there are Christian theologians who have viewed sexuality positively, much Christian writing still implies that sexuality is dangerous unless it is controlled within well-defined boundaries. According to nearly all denominational pronouncements, only in heterosexual marriage can sexual intimacy be deemed moral and good. The church-sanctioned rejection of same sex intimacy expresses fear that sexuality is dangerous. Boundless passion for boundless intimacy and joy is equated with defection from God’s loving rule. Same-sex love is a radically out-of-bounds form of sexual expression. It is apostasy – the unforgivable sin.

“Hidden within this suspicion of sexuality lies the view that the ideal relation to God resembles a monogamous, heterosexual marriage in which the male is superior and the female inferior. In this binary construction of gender, regarded as ordained by God at creation, the soul plays the part of the wife and is stereotypically female: passive, empty, dependent, and above all, obedient. God plays the part of the husband and is stereotypically male: authoritative, active, providential, and, above all, commanding. The soul depends on God for meaning, direction, and survival. Any intimacy outside this holy bond transgresses right relationship with a jealous God. The soul who passionately loves anyone or anything else has committed adultery. Thus, to take pleasure in the world, to feel sensually involved, or to enjoy the life of the body is to have ‘loved another.’ Those who break out of the power structure of patriarchal marriage and its binary construction of gender have committed the worst form of sin: love of one’s own kind instead of submission to one’s superior.

“If desiring intimacy with one’s own kind is sin, then love for the world, for the earth from which we are made, is a disordered love. Everyone who passionately loves this earth is ‘queer.’” [From the essay “You shall be like a watered garden” in Rebecca Parker, Blessing the World, p. 43-44]

Sermon
Christian spirituality is not for straight men… or lesbians. At least not according to Dr. Jeffrey Kripal. Now a professor at Rice University, I had the honor of taking a class with Kripal when he taught at Harvard. He is a uniquely brilliant, insightful, and compassionate scholar. Kripal began his class by explaining that as a straight man he found Christian spirituality frustrating.

The reason for this was that the most ardent practitioners of Christian spirituality describe their experiences in physically sexual terms. They talk of being touched by God, of being letting Jesus inside them, of being penetrated by the spirit. They speak of a mystical union with the divine, of ecstasy, of being held in loving arms. And, as a straight man, Kripal didn’t necessarily feel this way about a male God. As a Catholic, Kripal wanted to know God, just not in the Biblical sense. (Well, in the Biblical sense, but not that Biblical sense.) Kripal observed that those around him having intense, rapturous religious Catholic experiences tended to be either straight women or gay men. Kripal writes, “My struggle with Catholicism has never been simply a matter of belief. It has always been a matter of (sexual) being, a profound crisis or conflict between two orders of being: my heterosexual existence and the tradition’s homoerotic structure.” [Kripal, p. 155]

So, Kripal did the math. He traveled to India. Hinduism had female deities and he figured he would be comfortable discovering the ecstasy of mystical union with a female deity. Kripal chose to study Ramakrishna, the founder of modern Hinduism, who was a devotee of the goddess Kali. (Kali is sort of the Angelina Jolie of goddesses.) Surprisingly, he found Ramakrishna’s mysticism to be homoerotic in nature.

You didn’t know that religion was like this, did you? Indeed, all spirituality has elements that touch upon the sexual and the erotic, just as all religion has to account for the sexual power it elicits. It has been widely suggested that the Christian church’s oppression of women, persecution of gays, and Sisyphean preoccupation with controlling sexual behavior is directly linked to the desire, anxiety, frustration, jealousy, shame, and panic experienced by straight men wanting union with God. Mark Jordan writes, “Christian churches seem cunningly designed to condemn same-sex desire and to elicit it, to persecute it and instruct it…. Perhaps it is more clearly seen as the paradox of the Catholic Jesus, the paradox created by an officially homophobic religion in which an all-male clergy sacrifices male flesh before images of God as an almost naked man.” [Kripal, p. 147]

A friend of mine drew my attention to an interfaith gathering held in Jerusalem a year or two ago. At this gathering, interfaith cooperation was manifested between orthodox Christians, orthodox Jews, and Muslim religious leaders as they joined together to oppose same-sex marriage. Viewing a picture of the participants my friend offered the snarky comment: “Men in dresses and silly hats join together to oppose gay marriage.”

You know, I was thinking this week that I don’t think I’ve ever preached about love. There’s no excuse for that. I’ve never preached about sex either, which is perhaps easier to excuse. I have preached about God. God will come up in my sermon this morning, this sermon about love and sexuality, and love of God, and sexuality and religion, and something I call “The Godly Erotic.”

But, let’s start with the basics. The ancient Greeks had many words for love. The ancient Greeks spoke of love in terms of philia, agape, and eros.

By Philia they meant the expression of friendly love. Today we speak of anglophiles, lovers of English; Francophiles, lovers of French; and, bibliophiles, lovers of books. Philosophy is the love of wisdom. Philology is the love of words. Philocrites, the pseudonym of a Unitarian blogger, means “a lover of criticism.” (How very Unitarian of him!) When you say that you love to watch football, that you love to travel, that you love the symphony: that’s “philia.”

Agape is moral love. It is love that is self-sacrificing, other-centered, principled, and humanitarian. C. S. Lewis, in his book, Four Loves called agape the highest expression of love. The biography of Rev. James Reeb, the Unitarian civil right activist who died in Selma is titled, “No greater love.” No greater agape. When love is mentioned in John 3:16, (“For God so loved the world…”) it is agape, too. In fact, it is pretty much all agape in the New Testament. When Jesus says love one another as I have loved you, it is agape, not eros.

Which brings us to eros, erotic love, which has traditionally been given short-shrift. In contrast to agape, which is self-less and self-sacrificing, eros is expressive and creative.

The theology that I am about to share with you is not terribly original or contemporary. For decades and decades, feminist theologians have offered critiques of patriarchy in religion, challenging the church’s teachings about power and gender, sin and salvation, body and sexuality. This project has been varied and multi-faceted.

Some saw the church as terminally patriarchal and sought to create a system of symbolic meaning that was gendered female. The goddess replaced God; the moon emerged alongside the sun; the earth was no longer material and sinful, but enchanted, magical, and divine.

Other feminist theologians did not renounce the church, but sought to reclaim the place of women in the church. Great attention was paid to Marian theology, to female mystics and saints, and to women of the Bible. Sometimes this meant exploring parts of church history deemed unorthodox, such as the Gnostic’s conception of Sophia and the Divine feminine. Think of The Da Vinci Code.

But I want to focus on the work of the feminist theologian, Rebecca Parker, whose work challenged the suppression of erotic love and the elevation of agapic love. In her 1992 essay “Making Love as a Means of Grace”, Parker begins by explaining that the church, from Saint Augustine on, made a distinction between spirit and matter. This was very dualistic thinking, to separate heaven from earth. God became good and the earth became sinful. The spirit became holy and the body became evil. This way of thinking was very unfortunate, on one level. It allowed us to treat the earth materialistically and also encouraged negative attitudes towards sex. (In another way this dualistic thinking wasn’t all bad. I once heard Suzanne Meyer opine that by removing the divine from nature, scientific understanding became possible. By removing the divine from the body, modern medicine became possible.) But the project of some feminist theologians has been to reclaim the divine nature of both body and earth.

What happens when we say that the world is not evil but good, that the body is not sinful but holy? Rebecca Parker quotes Audre Lorde, “Once we begin to feel deeply all the aspects of our lives, we begin to demand from ourselves and from our life-pursuits that they feel in accordance with that joy which we know ourselves capable of…. When we begin to live… in touch with the power of the erotic within ourselves, and allowing that power to inform and illuminate our actions upon the world around us, then we begin to be responsible to ourselves in the deepest sense… we begin to give up, of necessity, being satisfied with suffering and self-negation, and with the numbness which so often seems like their only alternative in our society. Our acts against oppression become integral with self, motivated and empowered from within.” [Parker, Making Love, p. 135]

Lourde continues, “In touch with the erotic, I become less willing to accept powerlessness, or those other supplied states of being which are not native to me, such as resignation, despair, self-effacement, depression, [and] self-denial.” [Parker, Making Love, p. 139]

Parker writes, “Sexual knowledge… knowledge bequeathed to us through our bodies, is gracious and saving knowledge. It releases us from a false sense of separation and alienation from the world. It baptizes us into the whole [of] creation and tells us we are good... And in some moments, making love gives us a sense of complete peace through the experience of immediate joy.” [Parker, Making Love, p. 140]

Ok, so how do we do this? Well, there is the obvious way. I will leave it up to you to figure out what is the right way for you to express sexuality and sensuality with your beloved and/or with yourself. But I do want to tell you how some of the theologians I have mentioned today describe “The Godly Erotic.” Remember, we are not talking about a self-denying, agapic love, but of an embodied erotic love. The Godly Erotic is whatever helps us to “become world in ourselves” to quote Susan Griffin. Sex is a way, but not the only way, to do this.

The scholars I have mentioned point to a number of activities beyond making love as avenues for the cultivation and expression of erotic power. They tend to name activities that are creative and imaginative – painting, writing, composing – as avenues to and channels for erotic energy. They also point to social justice work as an expression of the same. Since erotic love is not content with numbness, and is not content with suffering, it leads those who experience it in the fullest to work passionately to lessen suffering. Make love, not war, indeed. Martin Luther King said that love without power is anemic and sentimental, and that power without love is reckless and abusive.

Rebecca Parker witnessed and beautifully described the scene in San Francisco when, for a few short weeks in February 2004, the city recognized same-sex marriage.

“Overnight, beginning with Valentine’s Day weekend, San Francisco’s city hall become a sanctuary. With astonished grace, the hidden power of love revealed itself. From everywhere, pilgrims streamed to the newly born shrine. Couples who had been together for thirty or forty years legally sealed their commitment. New lovers made promises for a lifetime… Wedding processions of every conceivable kind promenaded up the steps of the city hall – top hats and lace, leather and organic cotton, sequined gown and T-shirts. They were accompanied by jazz, rock, African drums, classical string quartets, Chinese flutes, and church choirs. The hullabaloo went on for weeks. Day after day, festivities multiplied, filling the streets with balloons, flowers, and dancing. Eros unveiled its presence in a myriad of bodies, cultures, colors, and ages. It was an epiphany of happiness, an outbreak of affirmation for the goodness of human sexuality, an unexpected, wildly welcome yes to the deep power of committed love.” [Parker, Watered Garden, p. 41.]

Of course, that passage reads differently this week, as recent developments have shown that San Francisco Mayor Gavin Newstrom was having problems with his own sexual ethics and his own relationships. His failings, I fear, will only arm those who advocate for a legalistic sexual morality which uses shame and assumes our inherent depravity. The truth, however, is that legalistic, sin-based, acts-centered approaches to sexual ethics are unhelpful. I commend to you the work of someone like Marie Fortune, whose book Love Does No Harm provides a framework for sexual ethics that isn’t rigid or grounded in a negative view of humanity.

In concluding, let me mention these delightful words by Rebecca Parker: “Making love is not the be all and end all of life. It rarely approaches perfection and isn’t the most important thing we do. But it is far from the root of all sin. On the contrary, it can be life’s most delightful means of grace. As such, it should be held in honor among all people, and no church should legislate against its potential for undergirding all that is right, good, and joyful in our lives.” [Parker, Making Love, p. 140]

Reading by Jose Luis Segundo

“According to Jesus, the poor are not poor for the sake of the Kingdom but in spite of the Kingdom, or rather, because it has not yet come. Jesus is hungry every time the least of his brothers and sisters is hungry, and… Jesus is a prisoner every time he or she may be imprisoned. It is the sympathy or the compassion... that all true love produces, an unlimited love that transmits from the loved one to the lover all that is intolerable and inhuman in the situation he or she suffers.

“Tragically, if no laws are broken - or if their breaking is not visible - Christians do not worry about their complicity in the great evils which society, through its structures, causes to fall upon the most defenseless. The ancient prophets of Israel would say that this is not "to know God." James, in the New Testament, would state that this is not ‘true religion.’

“It is true that ‘social sin’ has surprised us by its enormous magnitude as it takes place on a continent that for four centuries - and even today - can be called almost totally Christian. The Christian does not kill (at least not directly) but is an accomplice in millions of deaths that more just social structures could have prevented.

“[The change of these unjust social structures will happen through the Church.] The Church - which has been accustomed to having small active minorities and large, inert, and silent majorities - is facing a new phenomenon: a considerable popular mobilization within its own walls [will create justice.]”

Sermon
“Tropical Sunday” or “wouldn’t-it-be-fun-to-pretend-like-we-were-in-a-different-climate-Sunday” was an idea that I shamelessly stole from another Unitarian Church where each February they celebrate the culture of a different nation, preferably one that is warm this time of year. This is the second year we’ve done it here. The idea I bring to it is that by imagining changes in latitude we might experience changes in attitude, and thus open ourselves to new ideas.

This morning I want to introduce you to “Liberation Theology”, a radical Catholic theology that emerged in the second half of the Twentieth Century and which was influential throughout South and Central America. We might think of Liberation Theology as the Latino / Catholic version of the social gospel Christianity, which thrived in the United States a half-century earlier. That movement stressed that Christianity was not about individual or personal salvation, not about waiting for the Kingdom to come. Rather, the primary emphasis of the gospel was service and the reform of society. It declared that what was required of Christians was care for the poor, the oppressed, and the vulnerable.

Many of us are probably familiar with this history. We know about some of the figures: Dorothy Day, Walter Rauschenbusch, Harry Fosdick, Bill Coffin, Martin Luther King. But the names that I am going to talk about this morning are likely less familiar: Ernesto Cardenal, Gustavo Gutierrez, Oscar Romero, Jon Sobrino, and Leonardo Boff.

The central tenet of liberation theology is that God has a “preferential option for the poor.” What does that mean? What it means, radically, is that God has a special relationship with the poor, that God is on the side of the poor and the oppressed. It means that while we are all God’s children technically, the poor are God’s favorite children.

Listen to a few of the quotes that have come out of this theology:

Oscar Romero wrote, “We must not seek the child Jesus in the pretty figure of our Christmas ribs. We must seek Jesus among the malnourished children who have gone to bed tonight with nothing to eat. No one can celebrate a genuine Christmas without being truly poor. The self-sufficient, the proud, those who, because they have everything look down on others, those who have no need even of God – for them there will be no Christmas. Only the poor, the hungry, those who need someone to come on their behalf will have that someone.”

Gustavo Gutierrez wrote, “Love of neighbor is an essential component of Christian life. But as long as I apply that term only to people who cross my path, and come asking me for help, my world will remain pretty much the same. Individual almsgiving is a type of love that never leaves its front porch… On the other hand, my world will change greatly if I go out to meet other people on their path and consider them as my neighbor… the gospel tells us that the poor are the supreme embodiment of our neighbor.”

According to liberation theology, Jesus is not to be understood primarily as a savior, but instead as a Liberator. Jesus came to liberate the poor of the world from the bondage of oppression and poverty. To follow Jesus is to work to abolish the systems that cause poverty, systems that actually enslave all of us. Marxism would say that we are all slaves to class struggle; liberation theology would say that none of us are truly free when there is poverty.

A third major tenet of Liberation Theology is the reform of the church. In South and Central America, liberation theologians were not unaware of the role the Catholic Church played in conquest and the creation and perpetuation of unjust social structures. Liberation theology offered not only a critique of society, but a critique of the church. In particular, it called for church where a powerful minority does not dominate a silent majority. It said, “Power to the people.” It called for a reform where the people of the church were empowered and were served.

Those are three of the hallmarks of liberation theology: a preferential option for the poor; salvation through social justice; and a reform of religious structures to make them more populist.

I might mention one or two of the heroes of liberation theology. You may have never heard of Oscar Romero. But you’ve probably heard of some of the people whose lives are most similar to his. At the Westminster Abbey in London, there are statues to the most influential martyrs of the Twentieth Century. The statue of Oscar Romero is flanked on one side by Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who organized resistance to Hitler in Germany and died in a concentration camp. On the other side of Romero’s statue, is a statue of Martin Luther King. Romero was a conservative Catholic appointed arch-bishop of San Salvador, El Salvador, in 1977. In fact, his appointment was considered to be an enormous setback to those in San Salvador who were working for social justice.

But, Romero’s life was transformed when he witnessed the assassination of a priest who was working to politically organize and mobilize a group of rural campesinos, rural farmworkers. Reflecting on this, Romero remarked that if this priest was killed for this work, he must follow in this path. Two years later, Romero was nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize. El Salvador, at the time, was a scene of fierce fighting between various factions and militias, some of them funded by the United States government. Romero especially worked to try to prevent and lessen the human rights violations – the torture, terrorism, disappearances, and civilian killings – that accompanied the battle for political control of El Salvador. In his influential sermons he called on soldiers to disobey orders they were given to violate human rights. As Romero celebrated Mass in 1980 he was gunned down. It is widely believed that his murder was committed by soldiers who received military training in the United States. Pope John Paul II opened proceedings in 1997 to beatify Oscar Romero as a Saint – for the people of El Salvador, he is already San Romero.

In many ways, though, this celebration of Romero was hypocrisy. The official church resisted liberation theology and expelled many of its practitioners, including Jean-Bertrand Arisitide, the populist president of Haiti whose priesthood was revoked by the church before his presidency was revoked by the United States government. The church’s turning against liberation theology was shameful.

So, what I’ve done so far is kind of give you a quick orientation to liberation theology and to a few of its heroes and leading thinkers. What I want to do now is explore what impact and influence it might have on Unitarian Universalism. When I was in seminary, Liberation Theology was the hot field of study among my Catholic classmates. My UU classmates who expressed an inclination to explore liberation theology were thought a bit odd by my Catholic classmates. This seemed to me to have to do with the reluctance of UUs to accept the existence of God, prima facie – and I wonder if my catholic classmates were just as surprised that UUs would go to a Divinity School at all. These objections, I cannot help but think, were superficial and even a bit parochial.

If you look at the three main emphases of Liberation theology, I’d like to offer how they might speak to Unitarian Universalists. I will take these from easiest to hardest. Liberation theology’s critique of the church would look different for UUs. Within our church, we do not have the same problem that liberation theologians identified, that of a power-wielding minority oppressing a silent, suffering majority. Our situation mirrors the difference between the political process in the El Salvador or Haiti and the United States. The problem is not that a military coup or dictator has seized control; it is that at times there can be apathy in the democratic process. Democracies place the responsibility in the hands of the people. Democratic institutions are only as strong as the level of participation they inspire.

Similarly, the idea of salvation by liberation is something that we Unitarian Universalists know. It is also something of which we can stand to be reminded. Our faith has historically had a this-worldly orientation. To paraphrase Rev. Brent Smith, we are not called to wait for transportation to some distant heaven. We are called to create heaven here on earth. If you want peace, work for justice. Si quieres la paz, trabaja por la justicia.

It is that final part of liberation theology, the idea of a preferential option for the poor, that gives us the most trouble. And when I say that it gives us trouble, I am not saying that intellectually we fail to grasp it. It is a very easy concept. God cares about poor people. God is on the side of the poor. Everybody here can understand that. So, when I say that it gives us trouble, I am not talking about a challenge to our intellect. It is a trouble to our soul.

In the book Mountains Beyond Mountains, Dr. Paul Farmer’s medical practice adheres to a kind of secular version of the idea of a preferential option for the poor. In one of the most dramatic passages in the book, he arranges to life-flight a woman from rural Haiti to Boston. She receives world-class care – runs up a million dollar hospital bill – but her disease is too much. She dies anyways. The book describes how a lot of people got angry about this, saying, “Wasn’t that waste? How many people could have been fed for that million? How many AIDS drugs could you have bought? How many people in Boston could you have treated?” Farmer would answer these questions by saying that asking these questions is evidence of privilege. To ask and answer questions like these is to say that some people are expendable. The ones with AIDS are expendable. The women with complicated diseases are expendable. Maybe the poor deserve food to eat but not open heart surgery. Maybe the poor deserve penicillin, but not full labs. Maybe the poor deserve literacy, but not college. But, if God has a preferential option for the poor, these questions don’t get thought of. There are a million excuses, justifications, rationalizations our brains can generate. So, we need the soul to be involved also.

Which brings us around to us. What would it mean for us, as Unitarian Universalists, to embrace the idea of a preferential option for the poor? I want us to sit with that question for just a minute.

I don’t pretend to have all the answers here. After all, there are members of this church who have done far more than I have. There is K. who has visited birth clinics in rural Haiti. There is M. who has volunteered in the Dominican Republic working on a clean water project so the people there don’t have to drink their own fecal matter.

But I do want to tell a small story from my own life. This story happened last September, on Saturday of Labor Day weekend. We had a guest in the pulpit the next day which meant that I had an honest-to-God day off. Then my cell phone rang at 8:30 in the morning. It was someone who had found my cell phone number. He was a gay man with AIDS and TB who had taken ill while traveling across the country. He was broke. He was in the hospital. And his worldly possessions were in a duffel-bag in a motel across town. He needed somebody to retrieve his belongings. In that moment I could have said any number of things. “Sorry, it is my day-off.” “Sorry, not a minister today.” “You’re weird and I don’t feel safe.” And then I thought, well, what would Jesus do here? Then I thought, what would my faith teach me about this moment. I wound up driving to the hospital to verify that this man was, in fact, legitimate. Then I retrieved the bag from the motel and delivered it to him. I had a million reasons not to go, a million rationalizations, a million excuses. I think a preferential option for the poor means questioning those excuses and rationalizations.

This morning I hope you’ve learned a little. I hope, if you are a person who carries strong feelings about Catholicism, that you can take heart knowing that there is a movement within the Church that is totally radical. I hope that you might be encouraged to take some amazing, life-changing journey. And I hope you will sit with this idea of the preferential option for the poor and take the time to measure up the size of your heart and soul against that yardstick.

We’ve all heard of Ted Haggard, right? Fundamentalist Christian pastor builds fourteen thousand member mega-church in Colorado Springs; becomes darling of the religious right; is given frequent access to the Whitehouse and becomes one of George Bush’s most called upon spiritual advisors; falls from grace when he is caught buying crystal meth and sex from a male prostitute in Denver; and, most recently, undergoes three weeks of “spiritual” counseling and announces he is no longer gay.

But, there is an angle to this story that hasn’t been covered. It is an angle that is not sleazy or sordid. It is the angle that has to with church governance; you won’t get this on CNN. So, I wondered, who at the New Life Church makes the decision about whether Ted Haggard would get to continue as the minister of that congregation, and who gets to decide whether he will be allowed to return? Well, according to their web-site, it is a board of overseers. That Board of Overseers happens to consist of four friends of Ted’s, all mega-church ministers at other mega-churches around Colorado and around the country. So, I decided to call their church to find out how the overseers are selected. The receptionist there told me that she was not allowed to give out information about the Overseers, and I would have to ask them, and did I see the link on the web-page for corresponding with them? [The link she referred me to, by the way, was the link for reporting additional misconduct by Pastor Ted. By all appearances, the overseers are a closed group, likely selected by Ted himself. If you can shed any more light on this, please do so. I tried, but the operation remained cloaked in secrecy.]

What this means, of course, is that the 14,000 members of the New Life Church in Colorado Springs, Colorado have exactly zero input, zero recourse, and zero say on any decision that gets made there, including the decision of who their minister is or whether he continues there or not. By all appearances, the sole power of those 14,000 members is the power of their feet and the power of their seat. If they don’t like something, they can leave.

What this means, of course, is that each of those 14,000 people, probably many of whom gave selflessly and sacrificially to help construct that church have exactly zero power over any decision of any importance that gets made there. By all appearances, they collectively have no ownership of their own church.

Which is almost exactly opposite from the way that we do church here. Our by-laws stipulate that our board of directors is elected annually by a quorum of the membership. Similarly, the hiring or dismissing of a minister is accomplished by the voting of a quorum of the membership. So seriously is the will of the congregation taken that there are accounts from the Nineteenth century of Unitarian ministers resigning only to have the congregation then vote not to accept the resignation, a decision the minister abided by. In a Unitarian Universalist congregation, decision making on the part of the congregation, individually, in groups, or collectively, is broad. You will vote on the buying or selling of property. You voted to become a welcoming congregation. You are asked to fill out questionnaires. You are invited to sit on committees with real decision-making authority. Those meetings are always open and listed weekly in the order of service. You are the actual owners of this church. And the Free Church isn’t free.

The difference between decision making at Ted Haggard’s church and this one could not be more different. There, Ted said it. You accepted it. And that settled it. Here, the problem can be one of too little authority. Michael Durall, a church consultant, criticizes a church culture in which, when someone has an idea that may cost $1,000, “More often than not, one or more committees have to prove [the] new idea and the finance committee and board has to approve any new expenditure. Such a process can take months. This system creates ‘authority-less’ people at many levels who find themselves withholding permission for new initiatives, often proposed by the most enthusiastic and talented members of the church.” [Almost Church, p. 29-30.] Durall suggests the creation of a good-ideas fund that any member can access in order to make an investment in growing the ministry of the church. [p. 46] But, and this is the key point, the decision to hire somebody like Michael Durall and the subsequent decision whether or not to implement his recommendations is yours to make in the first place.

This morning, I’ve titled my remarks, “How we do Church; or, from the Personal to the Institutional, from the Institutional to the Transformational; or, the Free Church isn’t free.” It would be a mistake for me to venture to preach on how we do church without also asking whether it is a good thing that we have done church the way we have.

If you look at the whole of Unitarian Universalism, the picture is quite sobering. The median UU congregation has around one hundred and fifteen members. Fewer than half have one hundred people in attendance on Sunday mornings. And, of more than 1,000 congregations, only fifty or sixty are significantly larger than they were a decade ago. Ninety-five percent of our churches are stagnant. [Almost Church, p. 4] By this measure, we are among the top 5% of all UU churches. These statistics would be depressing enough without the prediction made by those who study religion in America that, in the coming decades, about one third of all churches in the United States will close their doors.

The few of you who braved it out last Tuesday to see the final movie in our documentary film series, watched a movie called, “Wal-Mart: The High Cost of Low Price.” There has been a “Wal-Marting” of religion in America as well. Just as a greater and greater percentage of shoppers patronize chain stores, so do a greater and greater percentage of church goers attend mega-churches. It has also been predicted that within a decade, a majority of large churches will be multi-site franchises, where smaller satellite branches receive broadcasts the service in real-time and attendees watch the service on the video screen.

What this indicates is that the Free Church tradition of religion of the people, for the people, and by the people is becoming a thing of the past. In its place, religion has become a product that you purchase.

Which brings me to my main point of the morning: there needs to be in our churches a change in the focus of our churches from the personal to the institutional and from the institutional to the transformational. What does that mean?

The personal is the sense in which the church does something for you and for your family. There is education for my child. There is music that touches me. There is fellowship that I enjoy. There is friendship. Weddings. Memorial services. And so on. The personal is based on a self-interested way of thinking. That is not necessarily a bad thing. You volunteer to make coffee one Sunday because you want there to be coffee all the other Sundays. You do your share because you want it to continue to be there for you. You teach religious education when you have children in the program because you want your children to have teachers.

There is a different way to see the church though, one that is broader than the personal, and that is the institutional way. The institutional way is a response to a very simple and elemental awareness that the church probably existed before you and it might be a good thing if it outlived you. When you came to church for the first time there was a chair there for you to sit in! The people who were there before you put that chair there, hoping you would come and sit in it. The personal is concerned with making sure there is a seat for yourself for so long as I shall wish to sit in one. The institutional says, there was a chair for me, so I will make sure there is a chair for others. The institutional is less self-centered, more centered on the greater good. It is out of the sense of the institutional that you build a bigger building, that you create an endowment, that you serve as an officer, that you include the church in your will.

Unitarian Universalism has just now finally begun to get it in terms of moving beyond the personal to the institutional. It is less common these days to hear the sentiments that were very common only a few decades ago in Unitarian Universalism. One of those sentiments was that we don’t want our churches to grow because we like them just how they are. Another sentiment said, we don’t want to advertise because if we make our churches hard to find, and hard to attend, and hard to join then only true and worthy Unitarian Universalists will come to our churches. Sentiments like these were once commonly heard; now, less so. As my colleague Rob Eller-Isaacs puts it, “We used to imagine ourselves as the leaven. Now, we want also to be the bread.” We have grown slowly into this institutional model, saying, “We want not only for our churches to be places we like, but we want them to thrive and endure and we want for others to be able to find what we have found here.”

However, just as we have caught up to this institutional way of thinking, much of religion in America has moved on, from the institutional to the transformational. If the personal says, “I want the church that I like to be there for me” and the institutional says, “I want the church that I like to be there for others just as it was there for me”, the transformational says, “I want the church to be a force that causes my life to change and causes me to change the world with my life.”

The poet Annie Dillard writes, “When people come to church they should not be handed an order of service with a smile, but should be given hard hats and life preservers; because church should be a dangerous place, a zone of risk, a place of new birth and new life, where we confront ourselves with not only who we truly are, but also who we are being called to become.” [as quoted in Michael Durall, The Almost Church.]

I have a couple of examples of this kind of thinking, from the personal to the institutional and from the institutional to the transformational. With volunteering, when there is a personal focus, you are asked, “What do you like to do?” When the focus is institutional, it sounds more like, “We really somebody to…” But when the focus is transformational, the question is, “What are you called to do? What is your ministry? Can we help you to discern your calling?”

With stewardship, you can see the distinction. When the focus is on the personal, giving to the church becomes kind of a crude arithmetic. What is my fair share of the services that I use? I plan to come to 34 worship services. My child will attend 19 religious education classes. I’ll attend three forums, and an adult RE class. I will check the church web-site 47seven times. How much is that worth to me? And what is my fair share of the real cost of those things?

The next level is institutional giving. That represents giving to things like the endowment and the capital campaign. But it also means having the sense that financially supporting religious education is important even if you don’t have children in RE. An institutionalist sees a worth in that beyond what they may receive personally.

When I first became the minister of this church, one of the first things I did was ask for a pledge card to fill out. I was given one, although reluctantly, with the assurance that I really wasn’t expected to pledge. The first pledge I ever made I understood in the institutional sense – giving not to support the services I was using, but to support the existence of an institution that I cared existed. Soon, I began to think about things differently. I began to consider charitable giving from a transformational point of view. What would it mean to live generously? I am still asking that question. This past year, I gave over ten percent of my adjusted gross income to charitable not-for-profit organizations. What surprised me most about this was how easy it was to do it! Michael Durall writes that if this talk of a tithe makes you nervous, consider giving 11%. The number eleven has no Biblical significance.

From personal to institutional, from institutional to transformational. From I like to I like and want others to be a part; from I like and I want others to be a part to I want for my life to be changed and have that change change the world around me.

As Unitarian Universalists, we are part of what is known as the Free Church tradition. It is defined that way because of a lack of orthodox doctrine, thus empowering a freedom of the mind and a freedom of practice. But there are several possible meanings and connotations of freedom. Free can mean “no obligation”. I don’t think the Free Church means the church of no obligations or expectations. Free can mean “without allegiance.” I don’t the Free Church means the church of no commitments. Or Free can mean Liberated. The Free Church, I think, is the church of the life transformed and the life liberated.

Or, as our fourth principle puts it when it speaks of the search for truth and meaning: freedom and responsibility are necessarily yoked. Think of the New Life Church: without the responsibility of ownership, there is no freedom to speak of. May you all become and continue to become the transformational co-owners of this congregation. May you all become and continue to become the transformational co-owners of this community, indeed of this world.

The original plan was to do a sermon this morning introducing you to the theology of Paul Tillich. The worship committee had requested I preach on this theme after a sermon last November in which I dropped Tillich’s name in a way that took for granted that you were all well-versed in Tillichian thought. And then, thanks to the many of you who pointed it out, I read last Sunday’s Kansas City Star cover story. And honestly, I felt more inspired to speak on the latter than the former. And, let’s face it: Paul Tillich isn’t exactly going anywhere.

In case you somehow missed it, last Sunday’s Kansas City Star ran a three-page story detailing the extensive financial mismanagement of the Reverend “Dr.” Jerry Johston, the Senior Pastor of the ultra-conservative First Family Church, a 4,200 member mega-church situated on fifty-one acres in southern Overland Park. The story detailed the goings on at First Family Church which include opaque finances (church leaders do not have access to details about the church’s finances), dubious fundraising (millions of dollars raised to open a Christian school were spent on a new sanctuary instead), and various other financial woes including shady land deals, hundreds of thousands of dollars owed to unpaid contractors, and the pastor’s failure on several occasions to pay his own property taxes. It is unclear whether he broke the law but his ethics are highly questionable. The story also mentioned Jerry Johnston’s lavish lifestyle and his own insistence on being called “Dr.” Jerry Johnston, despite having earned no higher degree than a high school general equivalency diploma. He has, however, been awarded an honorary doctorate from Jerry Falwell’s Liberty University.

So, where do I begin? Well, for starters, this morning I did bring along a copy of our current budget, our balance sheet, and our last audit. These are available to every member of this church upon request.

Let me also say this: whenever I read stories like this, my first reaction (and not the most noble of reactions) is to feel a sense of Schadenfreude. Schadenfreude is a German word whose essential meaning is feeling joy for the misfortune and humiliation that befalls your enemies. Suppose you are a K-State fan who feels snubbed because your basketball team was not selected for the NCAA tournament. Schadenfreude would be hoping that KU gets beaten.

So, it is very tempting to feel Schadenfreude, to feel a sense of pleasure and righteousness when someone like Jerry Johnston is exposed in public for his wrongdoing. It is almost natural to feel this way. But, this isn’t a noble way to feel. For one thing, whenever a scandal like this happens – whether it is Jerry Johnston or Ted Haggard or Jim and Tammy Bakker or the covering up of sexual abuse most infamously in the Catholic Church but in a number of denominations as well – it signals an enormous harm done to many, many people. It signals an abuse of people’s trust and dedication. It signals a betrayal of people’s spirits.

[And, yes, if pushed to say so, I do admit to believing that many of the members of Jerry Johnston’s church can be faulted for their excess of credulity. But I also believe that those who would take advantage of people’s confidence and goodwill are more demonic than those whose fault is that they are easily taken advantage of.]

The joyful smugness that might be our reaction to this story is not only spiritually empty, but, for another thing, we are a long way from having laurels on which to rest. The reports of Jerry Johnston’s demise are greatly exaggerated. There is no way of telling what the long term ramifications of this front page story will be, but I doubt we’ll see the closing of First Family Church anytime soon. And whoever started the rumor that we were going to buy their property, I wish you wouldn’t have done that.

After reading all of the reports in the Kansas City Star, I can’t help but feel like they missed one big aspect of this story. Why was there no discussion at all of Jerry Johnston’s ignorant, ill, and offensive theology? Johnston’s group has been a leading church in Kansas working to deny civil rights to gay and lesbians, to oppose stem cell research, to take away women’s reproductive choice, and hinder teen’s access to true information about human sexuality. His church has been a leader in the attempt to get theocratic politicians into office, including school board members who would undermine the teaching of evolution. His message has frequently been one of division and fear, intolerance and combativeness. In one of his most recent books, entitled “Apostasy Now”, Johnston, quote, “demonstrates the errors of seventeen cults, world religions, and other belief systems.” The goal of this book is to improve the ability of true believers to, quote, “identify false teachings, and develop… [a] readiness to witness in an increasingly confused and lost world.” The book takes to task not only Scientology, Mormonism, and New Age spiritualities, but also United Methodism and Humanism and assorted world religions.

How different would an approach be, like one you might encounter here or in other mainstream faith communities, where the goal is to cultivate an understanding and appreciation of other faiths so as to improve our ability to develop understanding in an increasingly diverse world? Johnston’s goal is to get his parishioners to fight with their neighbors over religious beliefs. Our goal is more constructive.

So, let me recap thus far: The front page article of last Sunday’s Kansas City Star was a fairly damning indictment against Jerry Johnston, suggesting fiscal mismanagement, fiscal impropriety, and secrecy on top of personal egotism, deception, and greed. But, the article is entirely silent on the quality of his theology, the ethics of his message, and the impact of his church on our county and our state. The article was more focused on his own personal character, than on the wider results and consequences of his life’s actions.

And, I want to ask you a really, totally unfair question. Which of these is more important: Personal character or wider influence? And, on one level, the answer to that question is very easy. The obvious answer is that it is really a false choice. Each is important, and to force you to choose one or the other is to ask you to make a false choice. But this is the question I want to explore with you.

And, I have a great reason for asking this question about the relative importance of personal character and wider influence. Before I went and changed the sermon topic this morning, I had been planning to preach about the great theologian Paul Tillich. (He was responsible for opening up thinking about religion and religious language. He said things like, “My religion is the answer to the question that I am.” And, that God should be understood as “the ground of being itself.” And, that religion was synonymous with “ultimate concern.”) But, to tell you the truth, I was dreading preaching on Tillich. One reason I was dreading it is that Paul Tillich is an intellectual juggernaut, authoring things like a nine-hundred and forty-three page Systematic Theology, a book that weighs in at three and one quarter pounds. I tried reading Tillich’s Systematic Theology when I was nineteen and I am both simultaneously proud and embarrassed about how much of it I did read. But the sheer formidability of Tillich’s intellect is not the main reason I dreaded preaching on him. The main reason had to do with my own qualms about how much to tell you or not tell you about the shortcomings of Tillich’s character.

How much to say? Well, let’s just say that Tillich wasn’t very nice to his wife and that he had some racy stuff going on that is so shocking it would startle anybody here. If you want to read about Tillich’s character, his wife Hannah did publish two posthumous accounts of their relationship.

Which begs the question: how do you weigh character against the larger body of work, influence, impact? It is interesting to note the responses of those who have tried to defend Jerry Johnston. Of Johnston’s defenders, few have dealt with character head on. The most common defense goes like this, “Johnston is influencing politics, is reaching people with his media, is saving souls, and this newspaper article is an attempt by the liberal media to bring down a powerful conservative Christian.” You notice that this type of response is absolutely silent on the character issue. The other defense can be heard in the voice of the woman who called in to AM talk radio this week to defend Jerry Johnston. “He is a good man,” she said, “He knows my daughter’s name and says hello to her on Sunday morning.” That response also is silent on the issue of character, appealing instead to something we might call “presence.”

This appeal to presence should sound familiar. The same thing was said of President Clinton, that when you shook his hand you felt like the most important person in the room and that you had his full attention. And incidentally, the exact same thing is said of President Bush. There is the image of Bush embracing the girl whose father died on 9/11. You can find descriptions of Bush’s presence in chain e-mails, where someone writes, “I looked him in the eye and he told me...” “He put his arms around me and we prayed…”

Presence is not the same as character. Presence is having the ability to command the moment. Character, I want to think, has more to do with how your life touches those in the more immediate spheres around you. Character has to do with personal traits: honesty, integrity, humility, fidelity, kindness, forthrightness. But, I want to suggest that there is something that I think is broader than character – something that has to do with acumen, talent, and skill, but isn’t any of those things exactly. You might call it your body of work in the world.

There is presence. There is character. And there is your body of work in the world.

In some areas of life, character seems to be of diminishing importance. For example, suppose that Albert Einstein had a weakness for drink and women and playing the ponies. He’d still be a genius and his theory of relativity would be no less highly regarded. Baseball player Ty Cobb was a vicious bigot and one of the nastiest human beings who ever lived. He is still in the baseball Hall of Fame. And despite what pundits say about Barry Bonds, it is a mistake to think the steroid scandal has anything to do with character. It has to do with whether Bond’s body of work on the baseball field is legitimate, not whether Bonds has character.

I am leading you down an unlikely road here. A preacher is actually wondering out loud if maybe, sometimes, hypothetically-speaking character takes a back seat. I’m just wondering.

And for those of you who would find an idea like this shocking, I ask you, “So, what exactly do you do with Martin Luther King, Jr. then?” King, it is widely known, plagiarized large portions of his doctoral dissertation. (King’s dissertation was on the theology of Paul Tillich; it is all connected.) So, by what equation do you weigh character against the larger body of work? What equation can you use?

Having clay feet may not be a universal quality of the human experience, but it is exceedingly common. The degree to which it is common does not excuse it. But, as I see it, the main story about Jerry Johnston is less that he cruises with bodyguards around South Johnson County in a fleet of church-owned luxury SUVs. The story is less that he didn’t pay his property taxes on time or owes contractors hundreds of thousands of dollars. The story is less that he falsified his title, or raised millions for a school that never opened, or that he operates seemingly without any accountability or oversight. Rather, the story IS that he works consistently and tirelessly to make our community a less welcoming place for all sorts of people including anyone who isn’t a fundamentalist Christian, anyone who is gay or lesbian, or anyone who wants their children to learn evolution. The story is he has built his empire, his empire of fear and ignorance, on a message of hostility to every single person who is here this morning, and every single person who worshipped yesterday at a synagogue, or Friday at a mosque, or at a Buddhist center or a United Methodist church or UCC church or Quaker Meeting or those persons who participate in no religious community at all. How many of these persons of different colors, of different shapes, from different nations, who practice dissimilar spiritualities, who belong to diverse communities and denominations, are persons of impeccable and unassailable character? How many of them look out for their neighbors, participate in the community, practice generosity and compassion and tolerance? But, the content of your character means very little to Johnston. Johnston judges you by the conformity of your creed, not by the content of your character.

On this matter, I believe that Jerry Johnston’s character is very much beside the point. His presence is very much beside the point. I’d just as soon judge him on his body of work.

I can’t believe that it was only four Sundays ago that I began my sermon by talking about Ted Haggard’s mega-church and the sheer lack of empowerment that his parishioners had in dealing with the scandal he created. And here I am, a month later, and much of what I had to say about Haggard’s church can be said about Johnston’s church. The remedies to those same failings are still the same as I said last month: participate in the life and the governance of this congregation, attend meetings, serve on committees.

It has been said that nature abhors a vacuum. It is also true that secrecy and dishonesty abhor the light of day. In a democratic society our institutions are kept honest by the vigilance of an engaged citizenry. This is equally the case in the voluntary association of the church.

Paul Tillich, who I did not speak about much today, said that religion is synonymous with our “Ultimate Concern.” If our Ultimate Concern is power, power will become our religion. If our Ultimate Concern is wealth, our religion will be of mammon. “By your fruits ye shall know them,” said Jesus. But, if our Ultimate Concern is love, acceptance, and community then our religion will be so.

Yesterday afternoon I trekked down to Union Station to see the exhibit on the Dead Sea Scrolls. Parts of it made me panic; I felt like I was back in Grad School. What is the difference between the Masoretic text and the Septuagint? Between a text being pseudepigraphal and apocryphal? And how can you keep the Essenes and Sadducees straight?

I've always been more intrigued by the discovery of the Nag Hammadi library in Egypt (from which we got Gnostic texts like the Gospel of Thomas) than the Dead Sea Scrolls in the caves of Qumran (which gave us, among many other things, two-thousand year old Jewish sectarian literature.) My interest in the Gnostic texts is fueld mostly by the fact that I learned Coptic when I was 19. Had I learned Aramaic or Hebrew instead, the opposite would be true.

What was most interesting was seeing people from various faith communities - nuns in habit, Jews with yarmulkes, evangelicals in church T-shirts, etc. - intensely taking the tour of the exhibit. It will be interesting to see for whom this exhibit influences their faith and self-understanding.

Just in case you are at all interested in what I've been reading so far in 2007.

I began the year by finishing the Dave Eggers novel You Shall Know Our Velocity! I enjoyed it enough to go on and read his Gen-X memoir A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, his collection of short stories How We Are Hungry, and his devastating novel/biography What is the What. What is the What is the story of Valentino Achak Deng, a Sudanese Lost Boy. I cried more reading What is the What than I have in any book I've ever read.

In the realm of non-fiction I devoured Christopher Hedges' War is a Force that Gives Us Meaning. This will probably come up in my Memorial Day sermon. I'm looking forward to reading American Fascists by Hedges even though reviews for it have been mixed.

On recommendation from a church member I read a Buddhist book on compassion, Sharon Salzberg's The Force of Kindness.

In poetry I picked up the collection Risking Everything: 110 Poems of Love & Revelation by Roger Housden. I also read T.S. Eliot's Four Quartets and The Wasteland. I will admit that somehow I had managed to get this far in life never having read them. I can tell you that my life was less for not having read Four Quartets. I can't the same thing for The Wasteland.

Speaking of books one ought to have read, I just finished Salinger's Franny & Zooey. What a cute book!

Finally, earlier this month I did polish off all of Nick Hornby's collections of critical essays: The Polysyllabic Spree, Housekeeping vs. The Dirt, and Songbook.

What next? That book by Christopher Hedges and also his Losing Moses on the Freeway. Also, some Ted Kooser poetry. Plus, I ran into a professor at the coffee-shop I frequent who was reading Louis Menand's The Metaphysical Club. I abandoned that book seventy pages into it in the Summer of 2001. We'll see if I'm up for the challenge.

Prayer

Forgive me this attempt at an April Fool’s Day prayer:

Dear God who laughs – even despite so much pain – help us to better live our lives with a foolishness that is pleasing to you. May we become fools for love – may we love irrationally, illogically, joyfully. May we become more grateful – may we approach each day with a wide-eyed type of foolish awe. May we be more trusting – may we be fools able to see the best in other’s humanity.

Remind us of the power of a smile. Remind us that it is better to laugh with other people than to laugh at them, and that tears from laughter are the sweetest tears. Help us not to live at the expense of other people, and teach us not be entertained by the humiliation of others.

Dear Lord, “please make the bad people good. And, while you’re at it, would it hurt you make the good people nicer.” [a line borrowed/adapted from Philip Appleman.]

And, may we not laugh so as to forget the hurt, desperation, injustice, and anguish of this world – but may we laugh in such a way that we are encouraged to do all that must be done in community, for others, with others. Amen.


Sermon
Stop me if you’ve heard this one before:

A minister, a priest, and rabbi go on a fishing trip…
A blonde, a brunette, and a redhead were walking down the street…
How many Unitarian Universalists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?...
Or a joke, which truly does make you want to say “stop,” in which a trio of individuals representing ethnic stereotypes walk into a bar…

There is probably nothing less funny than explaining humor, dissecting jokes. But, what is a sermon without a bit of boring tedium? So, here goes. It has been said that all jokes, ALL jokes, depend on someone getting injured. That’s not funny, and the person who originally said this probably wasn’t very funny either. And this is a startling thing to say, that all jokes depend on someone getting injured. [This insight was gleaned from a discussion on the UU ministers’ list-serve.]

I mean, it is obvious that some jokes are deliberately injurious. If I begin a joke by invoking, for example, Irishmen or Mexicans or Italians or Jews or Blacks or the Polish walking into a bar you can expect that I am going to say something stereotypical and injurious at the expense of an entire class of people. With other jokes, the injury is more subtle. Rodney Dangerfield based his comic career on self-injury: “I get no respect.” And the better of today’s cutting-edge comedians generate their laughs by deliberately injuring their audience, causing those listening to laugh out of a sense of discomfort and shame.

But here is my point: the extent to which we laugh at something goes a long way towards indicating how comfortable we are with injury being done to whoever is the butt of the joke. Did you hear the one about Dick Cheney and Hillary Clinton having tea? Depending on which punch-line I choose, you will either slap your knee or you’ll give me a nasty look. The other day I happened to find myself sitting next to a group of Armenians who were having an uproarious conversation recalling gags from the movie Borat. (Borat begins by viciously mocking the citizens of Kazakhstan and, at the same time, Western stereotypes of former Communist bloc countries.) I had to ask them, “Would it have been funny if the comedian who conceived Borat had chosen Armenia instead of Kazakhstan?” I received an angry look. They told me in no uncertain terms it would not have been funny at all.

Do you see the point I’m making here? We’re more comfortable with jokes being made at the expense of some than of others. A bigot will laugh at a bigoted joke; a person who stands opposed to oppression will laugh at a joke that demonstrates the ignorance of bigoted people.

Or, to put it another way, humor can be a force that reinforces stereotypes, that furthers oppression, that insults the weak for the entertainment of the powerful – or, humor can do the opposite. It can explode stereotypes, resist oppression, and empower the weak while exposing the shortcomings of the powerful. We tend to laugh hardest when the amount of injury done by a joke is small, or when it inflicts injury on a target we are glad to see afflicted.

A few years ago I attended a worship service at a Christian congregation. This congregation was located in an urban residential area, the type of place where all sorts of neighbors might pass by on a Sunday morning. During the sermon, a colorfully attired young man on a skateboard happened to roll past on the sidewalk outside the church. Gesturing wildly with his arms, the young man was riding his skateboard and screaming, “Whooo whooo!!!” Every eye in the church looked out the windows. Realizing he had been completely upstaged, the preacher, when the attention of the congregation returned to him exclaimed only after the skateboarder was out of range, “What a fool for Christ!”

What a fool for Christ! This is terminology that I am guessing you may be unfamiliar with. But, since today is April Fools Day and also Palm Sunday, I’ll venture to explain it. A “Fool for Christ”, as the preacher used the term, is someone who is secure enough and devoted enough in their Christian faith that they don’t mind looking foolish and socially unacceptable for the sake of their faith. The term can be a bit difficult to wrap our heads around nowadays, but harkens back to a day in the early church when living as a Christian meant violating all sorts of social codes and taboos. This might have meant inviting lepers, Samaritans, tax-collectors, prostitutes and adulterers into your home. What fool would do that? A fool for Christ. Or it might mean disobeying some of society’s commands about class and gender and rank. What kind of fool would worship with slaves? A fool for Christ.

So, while I am not going to ask you to become “Fools for Christ” I am going to ask you what it might be like to become a UU fool? You could even spell it: F-U-U-L. Are there any social codes and taboos that we might be asked to violate by living faithfully as Unitarian Universalists? I’m going to ask you to bracket that question for just a minute or two, because that question begs another one… why would it be worthwhile to be a fool?

If traffic this week on the Unitarian Universalist ministers’ list-serve was any indication, there are dozens and dozens of sermons being preached this morning on some variant of the theme: “Jesus, the wise fool.”

The theme is adept. The Palm Sunday procession into Jerusalem was sarcastic street theater. When Jesus said that the kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed, or that the kingdom is here, or that the first will be last – those are the type of sayings you’d expect from someone playing the fool.

“Here is the seed of a cedar tree that will grow into a mighty cedar of Lebanon. Here is a mustard seed that will grow into an ugly mustard weed. The Kingdom of Heaven is like the mustard seed.” “Look around you – the Kingdom of Heaven is here.” “And that guy on the skateboard screaming ‘whooo whooo!!!’ – he’ll be first in God’s kingdom.” Excuse me.

I recently led a session with our very gifted Coming of Age class. During our conversation, the topic of this sermon came up. When I mentioned fools, one of the youth in that class blurted out: “Oh, yeah, just like in King Lear. In that play the fool is the only one who gets it. That is one smart fool.” There is nothing like an eighth grader dropping Shakespeare references.

Writing about the character of the fool in King Lear, my friend Chris Walton explains, “The jester in the play doesn’t crack Bob Hope one-liners or play the lute; he introduces a very dark kind of comic relief. He satirizes the King’s misjudgments. He's the only person who tells Lear the truth, even though Lear can't bear to acknowledge the full significance of his mistakes until the end. He makes Lear mad, too. When his impersonations cut too close, Lear threatens to whip him. Their exchanges aren't funny ha-ha; they're funny oh-no.”

They are not feel-good funny. They are seriously funny.

Walton cites an interchange between the Fool and the King in which, when Lear threatens to whip the fool, the fool responds that he wishes he could lie. Lear counters by promising to whip the Fool if he lies, prompting the Fool to throw up his hands, “You’ll have me whipped for lying, and you’ll have me whipped for telling the truth, and sometimes I am whipped for holding my tongue.”

It will hurt to tell the truth and it will hurt to tell a lie and it will hurt to remain silent. Have you ever felt this way?

Where am I going with this? Well, there is a passage in the Gospels that has always caused me to wonder, “What is going on here?” It is the scene where Jesus and Pontius Pilate meet privately. [I will confess that I tend to have a vivid image of this scene for an unusual reason. You see, in the movie version of The Last Temptation of Christ, directed by Martin Scorcese, Pilate is played by none other than David Bowie.]

So, in the accounts of this passage in Matthew, Mark, and Luke, Pilate asks Jesus, “Are you the King of the Jews?” and Jesus just says, “You say that I am.” And after this, Jesus is completely silent and refuses to answer any more questions. But, in the Gospel of John, the dialogue is given with greater flourish. Pilate asks, “Are you a King?” Jesus answers, “My kingship is not of this world.” Pilate presses on, “So, you are a King?” And Jesus responds, “You say that I am a King. I’m just here to speak the truth.” And Pilate responds, “What is truth?”

There are a few things worth knowing about this passage. For one thing, this passage is situated in one of the most dubious, agenda-driven sections of the entire Bible. It is an anti-Semitic frame job. But there is something about the passage that only makes sense if you see that Jesus is playing the Fool. Like Lear’s fool: whipped for speaking the truth, whipped for lying, and whipped for holding the tongue.

And like Lear’s Fool, the Fool is the one with access to power, the one able to get the better of the King.

“Are you a King?” Pilate asks. “You say that I am.”
“Are you a King?” Pilate asks. “So says you.”
“Are you a King?” Pilate asks. “Look who’s talking.”
And, of course, you pay a price for that kind of insubordination.

Humor can harm and oppress. It can further humiliate the weak, for the pleasure of the exalted. It can reinforce stereotypes, exploit the vulnerable. Or, humor can counter oppression. It can explode the pretense of those who reign on high and return some of the dignity of those who are kept low. It can resist oppression. Look, the emperor isn’t wearing any clothes.

Earlier I introduced you to the phrase, “Fool for Christ.” I asked what would it take to be a UU Fool?

I think you need to have a little bit of the wise fool inside of you to embrace theological diversity and dare to let theological understandings different from your own speak to you.

I think you need to have a little bit of the wise fool inside of you to becoming a welcoming, inviting place.

I think you need to have a little bit of the wise fool inside of you see the funny side of the human spirit – a comedy sometimes liberating and sometimes dark.

I think you need to have a little bit of the wise fool inside of you to keep searching, keep singing, keep journeying – even when you have doubts.

I think you need to have a little bit of the wise fool inside of you to be able to thumb your nose at self-importance, fear and idolatry – to know how to suggest, with a wink, which sacred cows make delicious hamburgers.

Praise be our foolish souls.

When Christians speak about what I am going to speak about this morning, they speak about the resurrection of the Christ on the third day.

(The following story is adapted from Robert Fulghum’s book, Maybe (Maybe Not).) The year is 1992. The city of Sarajevo in the former Yugoslavia has become a war zone. The region has erupted into a civil war, as warlords and political factions manipulate ethnic and religious hatred. Thousands will die or be maimed. The rest will live in fear, resorting to a kind of animalistic desperation that accompanies the instinct of self-preservation.

To live in Sarajevo at this time is to live amidst bombed out buildings and it is not to know if your building will be the next to be bombed. There is rubble in the streets, and walls are pock-marked with the evidence of sniper-fire.

In May of 1992, a line has gathered outside of one of Sarajevo’s few bakeries that remain open. The people in the line are waiting for a chance to receive some bread. A mortar shell strikes near the line, killing twenty-two people instantly.

The next day, or maybe a few days later, a man in a formal evening suit comes to the scene of the carnage. He rights a damaged chair and sits amidst the wreckage, takes out his cello, and begins to play Albinoni’s Adagio in G minor. For twenty-two consecutive days he returns to this place, one day for each of the twenty-two senseless, tragic deaths. The man is Vedran Smailovic, an accomplished cellist who has played with the Opera and the symphony. A New York Times reporter asked him, during his three week vigil, if he was crazy to make himself an easy target for the snipers and to expose himself to the artillery shells that continued to rain down on the city. He responded, “You ask me if I am crazy for playing the cello, why don’t you ask them if they are crazy for shelling Sarajevo?”

When Christians speak about what I am speaking about this morning, they speak about the resurrection of the Christ on the third day.

A year ago I was blessed to hear Dr. Paul Farmer speak here in Kansas City on disparities in global health. He began his lecture by telling the story a young man who came to his health clinic in Haiti who was wasting away with HIV/AIDs. When this young man arrived at Farmer’s health clinic, he was emaciated, skeletal. On the absolute edge of death, the anti-retroviral drug treatment he received from the clinic began to return him to life. He gained weight. He improved. Now he works as a health counselor working to prevent the spread of HIV and caring for those who are afflicted with disease.

When Christians speak about what I am speaking about this morning, they speak about the resurrection of the Christ on the third day.

One more story. If you’ve gotten to know me, you probably would not describe me as a “chicken soup for the soul” type of person. I don’t tend to get all choked up and teary-eyed and emotive at those daily inspiration types of stories. Give me a story about prophetic courage. Give me a story about a selfless person dedicating their life to the greater good. Give me a story about creative witness to a tragic truth. But don’t give me chicken soup.

Except for I had this vague recollection while thinking about what to say today. I vaguely remembered a human interest news story about a man who ran a marathon less than a year after undergoing a heart transplant. And, as I remembered this story, the family of the person who donated the heart came to cheer him on in the race, and the man who ran the race did so in order to raise awareness for organ donation.

I’m not a squeamish person. I’ve worked in the Emergency Room of a Level One trauma center and seen all manner of amazing things that make scenes from the television show ER look tame and ordinary. I’m pretty good with most of the scenes on ER or Grey’s Anatomy, except when it is the heart. When it is the heart, I grow faint and have to leave the room, and experience the shivering willies and the howling fantods.

It is normal for people who undergo heart procedures to face acute and severe depression during their recovery. While the medical reason for this is a mystery to me, it makes a sort of sense: there is something about the heart that touches the depths of the psyche. So, the idea of somebody running a 26.2 two mile race with somebody else’s heart inside of them is exciting.

I went looking for this news story on the internet and found that the person from the story I was remembering could have been Scott Brown of California who completed a marathon in 2004 a year after receiving a new heart. Or, it could have been Gary Blinn of Nebraska who ran a marathon in 1992, two years after receiving a new heart. Or, maybe it was Hartwig Gauder of East Germany, a transplant recipient who completed the New York marathon. Or maybe, it was Roger Bouchard, or John Fisher or Donald Arthur (to name just a few) all of whom ran marathons after having heart transplants. There is even a world-record holder for fastest marathon run by a transplant recipient; that record being held by Greg Osterman of Ohio. Who would have imagined? Speaking as one for whom the idea of running a 26.2 mile race is decidedly unappealing, I still cannot help but be awe-struck by all these people running marathons with other people’s hearts inside of them.

Death is a fact of this world, as common as the dust to which eventually we all will return. And though it may be common – universal – death is by no means equal. It can come naturally, as the inevitability of nature. It can come artificially through engineered human malevolence and strife. It can come randomly. It can come as the result of generations of social injustice. But even though death – in all its many guises and its multitudes of forms – is a fact of this world, so is it also equally a fact that sometimes, sometimes, life rises up to claim a temporary victory over death.

When Christians speak of life’s victory over death, they speak of the resurrection of the Christ on the third day. This morning what I am talking about is the same; the who, the where, and the when have changed. We need not locate life’s victory over death in one man, in one far off land, on one day 2,000 years ago.

When Christians speak about what I am speaking about this morning, they speak about the resurrection of the Christ on the third day. But we can just as easily speak about a new heart. But we can just as easily speak about a life saved. But we can just as easily speak about the will to create beauty amidst ugliness, the will to create meaning amidst meaninglessness, the will to uplift humanity amidst inhumanity. What we speak of is the same, even though the who and the where and the when are changed.

I want to tell you about one of the things I love about being a Unitarian Universalist: It is that we are encouraged to appreciate the “what” – the worth, the insight, the truth, the inspiration – without being limited to a single particular who, a single particular where, or a single particular when. Further, we are encouraged to appreciate worth, insight, truth, and inspiration wherever it is found without being exclusive of any who, where, or when.

Take out your hymnals and you’ll see what I’m talking about here. At the beginning of this service we sang hymn #61. “Lo, the Earth awakes again from the Winter’s bond and pain; bring we leaf and flower and spray to adorn this happy day.” This is a great hymn, containing a wonderful message about life’s victory over death. In this case the messenger is nature. But the message does not belong to the messenger!

Turn to #269. “Lo, the Eastertide is here, festival of hope and cheer; join you people all, and sing, love and praise and thanksgiving.” This is a great hymn, containing a wonderful message about life’s victory over death. In this case the messenger is humankind. But the message does not belong to the messenger!

Flip back a page, to hymn #268. “Jesus Christ is Risen Today…” What is going on here? Was the hymnal committee secretly a group of closet Methodists? Does your hymnal contain space-time continuum vortex on page 268 so that when you turn to that page, the book you are holding transmogrifies instantly into a Presbyterian hymnal? Or, maybe there is a simpler explanation. Maybe this is a great hymn, containing a wonderful message about life’s victory over death. “Soar we now where Christ has led, living out the words he said; Made like him, like him we rise, ours the cross, the grave, the skies.” In this case, the messenger happens to be Jesus. But the message does not belong to the messenger!

One of the things I love about being a Unitarian Universalist is that we are encouraged to see the what of the message – its truth, inspiration, and insight – without limiting ourselves to the who, where, and when of a single messenger. No messenger owns the truth exclusively, and our faith does not exclude any messenger who speaks the truth!

No messenger owns the truth exclusively, and our faith does not exclude any messenger who speaks the truth! 61, 268, 269. All three proclaim the message of Life’s Victory over Death.

The force of life is an inclusive force! The forces of death always seek to separate – to separate human relation from human relation; to separate the first world from the third world; to separate ethnic group from ethnic group and religion from religion. But the forces of life always seek to include.

When Christians sing about what I’ve spoken about this morning, they too sing of life’s victory over death. “Is risen today… like him we rise.”

When Humanists sing about what I’ve spoken about this morning, they sing of inclusion’s victory over exclusion. “Join, you people all, and sing!”

When worshippers of nature sing about what I’ve spoken about this morning, they sing of life’s victory over death. “Lo, the earth awakes again, and for dirges, anthems raise.”

Take with you this day a new heart. Take with you this day justice’s power to heal. Take with you beauty that dwells amidst destruction. Go forth and live victoriously.

[This homily was delivered during a service celebrating all of the Past-Presidents who have served the Shawnee Mission UU Church. Following the homily, we unveiled a handsome plaque in their honor.]

The angels conspire to bless us, but the angels need a little help.

The following is a true story:

I moved to Dallas, Texas at the beginning of Memorial Day Weekend, 2001. The day after Memorial Day, I was to begin a summer-long chaplain residency at a Dallas hospital. Upon completing the chaplaincy, I was to begin a 9-month internship at a congregation in suburban Dallas. That first Sunday in town, the Sunday before Memorial Day, I attended church at First Unitarian, the large urban congregation in Dallas. I introduced myself to their Senior Minister, Rev. Laurel Hallman after the service. About five days later I received a call from Rev. Hallman and she asked me if I could preach at her church two weeks later.

“No,” my brain answered, “I’ve only preached twice in my life. And you’re asking me to preach at one of the largest UU churches in the country on two weeks notice.”

“No,” my brain answered, “Congregations like First Unitarian don’t schedule worship only two weeks in advance.”

“No,” my brain answered, “You have no clue who I am. I just walked in off the street.”

“No,” my brain answered, “I’m not worthy to preach at a church as esteemed as First Unitarian.”

“Yes,” my mouth answered, “I would love to preach at your church in two weeks.”

That June, beyond serving as a chaplain at the hospital and preparing to preach at First Unitarian, I was also expected to attend a weekend Board Retreat for the suburban congregation I was to intern at. In preparation for the retreat I was supplied with the minutes of the previous board meetings. The first item mentioned in the minutes was a discussion about the congregation’s $30,000 budget deficit. Uh-oh! A motion had been made that they could cancel out a third of that deficit by canceling my internship. The motion barely failed. Those who had voted to cancel my internship were named. This was very uncomfortable.

In the first week of my internship I received a call. The man on the phone, Hardy Sanders, a member of First Unitarian where I had preached weeks earlier, had called to offer to subsidize the cost of my internship. A check for $10,000 was on its way. The congregation ended the year with a surplus, by the way.

To this day, I do not know what went on behind the scenes. I don’t really care to know. I do know I am glad that I said “yes” when Rev. Hallman asked me to preach. I do know that I am glad that the motion made at the board meeting failed. And I am certain that angels conspire to bless us, but the angels need a little help from us.

There are a couple of things I could say about this story. It goes a long towards explaining why fiscal conservatives tend to push my buttons. But more than that, it is a story that I find instructive about the importance of leadership. As Unitarian Universalists, our seventh principle reminds us that we are caught up in an interdependent web of all existence. As a part of that web, all of our actions – day to day and in every way – do not take place in isolation. Our actions and our struggles cause vibrations; our splashes cause ripples. What we do or leave undone is felt widely. There are ramifications. There are consequences.

Paul Tillich, one of the greatest theologians of the Twentieth Century, believed that the word “faith” had been corrupted beyond repair, and that we shouldn’t bother to use it anymore. Instead of the word faith, Tillich suggested we use the word “courage.” We would say, “You need to have courage,” instead of, “You need to have faith.” Instead of saying, “I’ve lost my faith,” people would say, “I’ve lost my courage.” And, in a church, instead of saying, “It takes faith to lead,” we would say, “Courage is necessary to lead.” It is necessary. It does take courage.

Courage is a word that we tend to understand too narrowly. If I asked people here to name a courageous Unitarian, we’d tend to think of James Reeb, the civil rights martyr. We’d tend to think of James Barrett, the clinic escort gunned down in Florida. We’d tend to think of Susan B. Anthony, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Olympia Brown. Or Theodore Parker, the great Unitarian minister who wrote his sermons with a gun on the desk in front of him, in the event that anyone should come to demand the fugitive slaves he was hiding, and helping to safe passage.
Prophetic courage is often the most visible form of courage. Prophetic courage is courage equal to faith. But there are other expressions of courage, other expressions of courage equal to faith.

And please don’t think I’m being melodramatic with this point. There was, I believe, a very real courage expressed by those board members several years ago who voted not to diminish the programs of the church even when the money wasn’t coming in. There is also I believe, for every officer of our church, for every steward of our church, for every trustee of our church, the opportunity to display courage faithfully and faith courageously.

During the service this morning you have heard from three past-Presidents. One had the courage to lead a brand new church at the moments of its inception. The next had the courage to lead this church at the time of its faltering, when otherwise it may have died. The third had the courage to lead as it was entering a wide-eyed time; the courage to envision that it might live into its greater promise.

The angels conspire to bless us, but that sometimes the angels need a little of bit of help from those with courage.

Today, as we honor all of the past-Presidents of this church, we lift up also all those who led, who acted with courage, who visioned, who dreamed, who showed up, pitched in, rolled up their sleeves – all those so often nameless – but especially the Past Presidents of this church, selected from among their peers. They were the ones willing to put their name on the line. Today we put their names on the wall and hold them in gracious esteem.

Please forward this on to anyone you know:

“Stem Cells: Science, Ethics, Politics, and Faith” is the topic of a forum Thursday, April 26th featuring distinguished panelists Dr. David Albertini, Hall Professor of Molecular Medicine at KU Medical Center, Myra Christopher, President of the Center for Practical Bioethics, and Lori Hutfles of the Kansas Coalition for Lifesaving Cures.

Presented as a community service by the Shawnee Mission Unitarian Universalist Church, panelists will discuss the science, ethics, and politics of stem sell research. “As a church, one of our most important roles is to be a place where the community can come to learn about important issues, become discerning in their thinking, and grow empowered to act on these issues,” said, Rev Thom Belote. Belote will also moderate the forum.

The Shawnee Mission Unitarian Universalist Church, is located at 7725 W. 87th Street (between Metcalf and Antioch) in Overland Park, KS. For more information, call (913) 381-3336.

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Shawnee Mission Unitarian Universalist Church is a religious community of people engaged in worship and the celebration of life, personal and intellectual growth, caring and supportive fellowship, humanitarian service, and social action. Founded in 1967, we are celebrating forty years of liberal religion in Johnson County. We are a member of the Unitarian Universalist Association of Congregations, an association of more than 1,000 congregations in North America.

There is so much that can be said, will be said, and needs to be said about the nightmarish tragedy that struck Virginia Tech this past Monday. Those horrific events, while situated in a particular community on a particular campus in a place that most of us have never been and will never go to, have rippled and resonated and affected people all over our country and our world. On one level, the Virginia Tech shootings are sure to prompt nation-wide conversations and debates; there will be intense debates about gun ownership as well as many conversations about mental illness, treatment, and medical privacy. On another level, the shootings prompt larger existential questions about meaning, humanity, and community. I found myself remembering words spoken by the great Unitarian minister Forest Church after September 11th, who said that the idea that our lives can be made absolutely secure is a seductive and dangerous myth. The world is not secure, and while it is wise to take reasonable steps to promote safety, to live will always involve risk. And because life has inherent risk, it carries inherent meaning as well.

I’ve often wondered if years from now, if we won’t look back on the first decade of the twenty-first millennium as the decade when Americans were capable of achieving “total media absorption.” This decade began with the terrorist attacks of September 11, which introduced us to the ability to watch a news-story 24 hours per day, for weeks on end on the television. Next came the military missions in Afghanistan and Iraq, which similarly we were able to watch in around-the-clock fashion. Within a few years, this style of news media expanded. It is now possible to watch 24/7 coverage of the Don Imus scandal or the competing paternity claims for Anna Nicole Smith’s baby.

In his novel Infinite Jest, contemporary author David Foster Wallace imagines a form of media so rapturously enthralling, so completely addicting, that all who view it instantly forget their human impulses to work and to relate, to eat and to drink, even their need to breathe – and therefore suffer a media-induced coma, followed by a media-induced death. We’re not there yet, although sometimes I wonder if we might not be getting close.

The great paradox is this: that even when we are confronted with this world at its most tragic and traumatic, even when we are confronted with this world at its most evil and depressing, even when we are confronted with this world at its most devastating or at its most excruciatingly banal… even then, even then, life goes on and is no less meaningful.

We still need to breathe. The need to feed your children and walk your dog persists. You still need to pay the bills and do the laundry. You still need to get some exercise. And what you do in your normal life – helping the children with their homework, volunteering with this church or another charity, going to your job which is sometimes rewarding and sometimes frustrating… what you do does not, all of a sudden, become less worthy because of what is on the television. Everything changes and most things are still the same.

The great paradox is this: the world shakes but your life goes on. The ground under our feet shakes, but life goes on no less meaningfully than before.

This morning, I want to talk to you about living a balanced life. I also want to talk to you about living a committed life. Being balanced and being committed are not opposed.

And to introduce this subject I want to tell you about my day last Tuesday, or more precisely the choices I had as to how to spend my day last Tuesday. A couple of months ago I got a call from the Students for Reproductive Choice group at the University of Kansas asking me to speak at a panel on Theology and Reproductive Justice on Tuesday, April 17th. This is a group I have spoken for several times in the past. I always enjoy it and I was happy to accept their invitation. But, then I got a call from the Human Rights Campaign offering to fly me to Washington D.C. on Tuesday, April 17th to help lobby for legislation opposing discrimination against Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgender people. I was to lobby representatives in the day and then appear at a press conference which would run on CNN. Then I got a request to deliver a presentation at a chapter gathering of UU ministers in Minneapolis on Tuesday, April 17th? And, then, on Tuesday, April 17th, like every Tuesday, there are all the people in this church who need to be called on, or emailed back. And, did I mention that Tuesday is supposed to be my day-off? But, the point is, all of these potential activities I had to choose from were meaningful, valuable, good.

My goal in my ministry is to try to live this ministry in a way that is committed and in a way that is balanced. That means sometimes saying “yes” and sometimes saying “no.” I said “Yes” to the honor to being asked to serve on the Executive Committee of the UU Ministers Association. I said “No” to the honor of being asked to serve on the board of the UUCF. I said “Yes” to being asked to serve on the Board of the MAINstream Coalition. I said “No” to being asked to serve on the National Board of Choice USA. It isn’t easy to say no to Gloria Steinem!

Whenever I reflect on the idea of a balanced and committed life, I recall the list created by my friend and colleague Tim Jensen about the roles a minister is expected to perform:

Preacher, Teacher, Pastor, Leader, Writer, Performer, Caregiver, Coach, Student, Scholar, Historian, Storyteller, Advocate, Mentor, Mediator, Negotiator, Entrepreneur, Peacemaker, Prophet, Priest, Rabbi, Chaplain, Sage, Mystic, Poet, Pilgrim, Spiritual Seeker, Spiritual Guide, Visionary, Organizer, Manager, Long Range Planner, Professional Expert, Organizational Consultant, Institutional Memory, Personal Companion, Partner, Parent, Trusted Friend, Philosophical Gadfly, Administrator, “Boss,” Strategist, Facilitator, Fundraiser, Expeditor, Supervisor, Servant, Shepherd, "Sheep Dog," Master & Commander, Major Idiot, Skipper, Experimenter, Analyst, Observer, Pundit, Critic, Counselor, Motivator, Devil’s Advocate, Wise Fool, Court Jester, Plucky Comic Relief, Medic, Personal Trainer, Baby Sitter, Dog Walker, Cat Herder, Snake Charmer, Duck Aligner, Weasel Wrangler, Chef, Gardener, Fisherman, Firefighter, Dishwasher, Custodian, Repairman, Jack-of-all-Trades, Quarterback, Point Guard, Relief Pitcher, Cheerleader, Pinch Hitter, Lead-off Hitter, Clean-up Hitter, Catcher, Center Fielder, Utility Infielder, Free Safety, Placekicker, Punt Returner, Bench Warmer, Water Boy, Umpire, Groundskeeper... and, of course, Juggler and Miracle Worker.

Commitment and balance. Balance and commitment. These are not necessarily contradictory, although they sometimes feel that way.

In thinking about my day last Tuesday, which was far from a normal day, there are a number of things I could mention. The obvious question, considering the five worthy activities in four different states, is which I should have chosen. You might have an opinion here. I will say that I seek to strike a balance between all my worthy activities – some time for sermon writing and study, some time for visiting, calling and counseling, some time for committees, some time for staff supervision, some time for denominational business, some time for continuing education, some time for service to the community and service to the wider world, some time for myself. I try to strike a balance, all the while trying to demonstrate a commitment to all these worthy recipients of my energy.

And what about this church? And what about you?

Coming back around to my refrain, what we do here has been made no less meaningful. What we do here continues to be important, needed, good.

This coming Thursday we will host a fantastic forum on the topic of stem cell research. We will host a panel of distinguished experts, and empower our community and each other to be more informed and more active around this issue. This is important, needed, and good. Similarly, our mission of being a religious community that involves people in working for a peaceful, fair, and free world – our mission of using our resources, facilities, and our collective energy to help promote our values and serve the community is still important, needed, and good. Our work we do to care for and support each other through hard times is still important, needed, and good. The work we do in promoting spiritual development in our children – helping them to live lives of ethical significance, conscience, and meaning is still important, needed, and good.

As ever before, the potential for us to bless each other’s lives, serve the community, and change the world is not diminished. Our efforts are still important, needed, and good. Life continues and is not less meaningful. We’re no less called to live lives that are balanced and committed.

A few minutes ago, when I made my list of all the things I could be doing on my usually busy Tuesday, the motivation was not to brag. The motivation was to remind us that the only things that limit us as a church are the size of our vision, the strength of our creativity, and the depth of our commitment. Our vision, our creativity, and our commitment.

And for us to really become all that we might become, we really need for the commitment to be shared by each and every one of us. That is the definition of shared ministry. We share fiscal responsibility for this church; we all share in the commitment to fund its vision. We share the caring ministry; to those who grieve or feel low we share the responsibility and the privilege of care, compassion, support. We share the membership ministry; when visitors come for the first time we all share the responsibility of extending a warm welcome. When we think of someone we haven’t seen in a while, we all share the responsibility to let that person know that they are missed and that they are missing something wonderful.

When commitment is shared, only then do we begin to realize the things that are possible, all that we envision and imagine and dream of – all of these, they are all made real.

Let me be clear on this: the commitments we make to this church reach far beyond you. A worship service wouldn’t be beautiful without a pianist to play, voices to sing, hymnals from which to sing, candles to light, and chairs on which to sit. A religious education program needs teachers in every classroom, and supplies in every classroom. Social justice requires strong membership. It all happens because everyone commits. When our commitments are small, the entire system is diminished. When our commitments are enlarged, the entire church is invigorated.

To put it another way, we depend on each other. We depend on one another. The ability for one committed person to shine and excel depends on the strong commitments of many others. Our nominee for President of this congregation next year has spoken at board meeting and elsewhere about one of his goals as President. His goal is 100% involvement – that every single person in this church has a place where they are involved in furthering the mission and vision of this church. I love his vision here – every single person has somewhere where they are committed.

I thank you on behalf of all your fellow congregants for making a financial commitment to this church. I thank you on behalf of all of your fellow congregants for all your commitments. Let me end by saying that what this church does and all that it will do is important, needed, and good. What we do matters and that truth is never, ever diminished.

We had a wonderful turnout last night as the Church hosted a forum on the Science, Ethics, and Politics of Stem Cell research.

Our distinguished guests included Dr. David Albertini, Professor of Molecular Medicine at the University of Kansas Medical School, Myra Christopher, President/CEO of the Center for Practical Bioethics, and Lori Hutfles, Executive Director of the Kansas Coalition for Lifesaving Cures.

As promised, here is more information:

You can find The Center for Practical Bioethics' Policy Brief on Early Stem Cell Research here.

You can find out more about legislation affecting public policy on Stem Cell Research here.

Thank you for coming out and helping to make this event a success!

As one committed to diversity, equality, pluralism, religious freedom, secular democracy and a whole host of related values, I abhorred Jerry Falwell’s politics and his demonization of gays and lesbians, non-Christians and the non-religious, feminists, and liberals. (I think it is expected of us as religious people that we respond to news of the demise of those whom we oppose in a manner that is dignified rather than boorish. This can be a challenge. But, I have a hard time imagining Jesus pumping his fist and high-fiving his disciples if Pontius Pilate had died. Similarly, Gandhi would not have done a victory dance or cracked tasteless jokes if the Prime Minister of Great Britain had died.)

When I learned today of the death of Jerry Falwell, my reaction was particular rather than general. In one of the oddest moments in my young ministry, I had breakfast with Jerry Falwell. Actually, it is probably more truthful to say that I had breakfast in the same room as Jerry Falwell.

A few weeks before the 2004 election, I was contacted by a reporter with Air America radio. He was coming to Kansas City from New York to do a story on conservative Christians engaged in politics. Jerry Falwell was going to be in town to hold a Pastor’s Breakfast and the reporter (no doubt feeling a bit intimidated) wanted a friendly person who could help him blend in.

The morning of the breakfast I put on my navy blue suit and red tie (got to look the part) and set off to meet up with the reporter in the lobby of the large mega-church on Antioch overlooking I-35. Pulling into the parking lot I had my first double-take. The Fred Phelps clan was there protesting Jerry Falwell! (Seriously, who knew that Falwell was an agent of the homosexual agenda?)

The Air America reporter stuck out like a sore-thumb. He was wearing wing-tip shoes, a trim black pin-stripe suit, a lime-green buttoned shirt with a flared collar, and horn-rimmed hipster glasses. I approached him and whispered that I was his ally. I felt a bit like the Rev. James Bond.

There was a plentiful breakfast buffet set up in the cavernous, sterile foyer. There was even a champagne fountain (which trickled orange juice, not champagne.)

The program began with an introduction by Jerry Johnston. Falwell followed with his speech. The program was designed to embolden the hundreds of conservative Christian pastors in attendance to lead their congregations in greater participation in political issues. Falwell told the story of his conversion to political Christianity and traced his rise to power and influence. The messaging was very aggressive and militaristic. They had a power that could vanquish anyone who stands in their way. The program ended with Kris Kobach (who was contesting Dennis Moore for his US House of Representatives seat) giving an inarticulate and confusing speech on the legal case against gay marriage.

The whole event was telling for what it did not include. I have no memory of the Bible being quoted. Jesus’ name was hardly spoken. It was an exercise in Christian tribalism.

On the way out, the Air America reporter tried to bait several of the guests into arguments. He gravitated towards a Messianic Jew wearing a yarmulke and asked him pointed questions. The conversation became heated and I almost had to separate the two.

Following this odd morning as a secret agent, I sent the reporter an email that read in part, “What struck me most about this pastor’s breakfast was that not one thought was given to the needs and concerns of the tens of thousands of people who belong to congregations pastored by those ministers. As we listened to Falwell go on and on about abortion, same-sex marriage, and violent fantasies of blasting terrorists, I wondered about the actual needs of the people in these congregations that are not being spoken to. We didn't hear one word about poverty and employment, one word about care for the elderly or health care, one word about education or the environment. We only heard about how they could be mobilized to further a political agenda.”

[I delivered these remarks on the service celebrating the church's 40th Anniversary.]

Having heard B.N. reflect on our first forty years and B.H. call the roll of our founding members, I want to take the opportunity to lift up our most recent history and speak about this past year. I offer a snapshot of our church on its 40th birthday.

Celebrating our Fortieth Anniversary has been a theme throughout this church year, culminating in our celebration today which was organized by V.T. and L.G. Events throughout the year included a 40th Anniversary themed auction and special bookmarks created by our book group. In March we hosted a dinner for all of the past-presidents of this congregation and many traveled from out of town to be with us. That weekend we dedicated a plaque in their honor, which you can see proudly displayed in the newly redecorated foyer, a project led by J.S. J.G. and B.H. authored monthly articles about SMUUCh’s history which ran in our DrumBeat newsletter. Our 40th Anniversary committee led B&S.H. have helped us celebrate this milestone throughout the year.

Additionally, much unheralded has been S.H.’s heroic effort to tame and organize our church archives and you can see some pictures from our history on the bulletin board in the foyer.

This year is marked not only by looking at our past but by newness as well. Seventy-one new adult members signed our membership book this year. They are joined by eleven members of the Coming of Age class who joined as youth members after a year long program of service and faith development. Our current membership now stands at a touch over 300 members. Next November I will participate with eleven other Unitarian Universalist ministers in a summit on growth. We were selected on account of serving some of the fastest growing churches in the movement and the twelve of us will be brought together to share best practices for growing churches.

There were other forms of newness in abundance as well. We had a baby boom, and even though we finished well short of our goal of forty new babies, we did celebrate a dozen births! At the other end of life’s spectrum, this year we marked the death of Marian Davis. Many of you were there for her memorial service in October. We also lost Delta Gier, husband of Audre Gier.

In this past year we grew not only numerically, but in programming. Dave debuted the one-hour choir and we formed a new brass quintet, a math & science group, a new book club, and a parent’s group, just to name just a few.

And we have also grown in our willingness to be bold and clear and visible about our values. In October we voted overwhelmingly to be recognized as a Welcoming Congregation, declaring our commitment to welcome Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual, and Transgender persons to full participation in all aspects of the life of this faith community. I could not be more proud. In April, we hosted a Stem Cell Forum for the community. This Thursday, we will host a documentary film on the No Child Left Behind act made by high school students. Increasingly, we are becoming what John Buehrens calls “a religious center with a civic circumference” – a place identified for its engagement with key issues of the day.

This past year we continued to make progress towards the fulfillment of our facilities vision. In January, the Facilities Task Force presented its recommendations in a series of small and large group meetings. The Task Force continues their efforts to identify a facility that supports our vision. I understand that this process may be happening both more slowly and more quietly than some of you wish. I really encourage you to be in dialogue with your board of trustees and the task force about your interest in these matters. Or better yet, step forward to serve!

This past year at SMUUCh we did enjoy financial health. Our audit demonstrated fiscal integrity which is more than can be said for one church of note in our city. Additionally, a campaign by our Endowment to celebrate our Fortieth Anniversary raised eighty thousand dollars from twenty four donors. Our Annual Canvass, while it did fall short of the aggressive goal we set, did set a new record. So, even though there are budget items we were not successful in funding, we can celebrate that all of our program staff will be paid at the fair and just compensation levels set by the UUA. This is a justice issue and we can finally be proud to achieve justice for all our program staff.

It wasn’t always an easy year to be honest. For one thing, our two-service schedule is less than optimal and there seems to be no schedule that will fit the programming everybody wants into the times that people want. I admit to being befuddled here. But musicians need a space to warm up. Children need classes. There needs to be enough seats for all who attend. There needs to be a time for fellowship and coffee. We find that adult RE is best attended on Sunday morning and that this tends to be one of the ways that newer people make connections. We’ll have to do the best we can and realize that not everybody will like it.

Another stress is that we would like to see greater levels of participation, commitment, and volunteerism from more of our members. Our new President Jim Crist has identified this as one the priorities of his presidency. I am fond of saying that you don’t have to be already perfect to join a church. Church is a place where imperfect people come to make themselves and each other and the world a little better. Church is the home of the human, and we can expect that humanity will abound, for better and for worse. So, rather than expect perfection, we can work to do a little better each day.

The other thing I can say about SMUUCh in 2007 is this, and it is the truth: I’m proud of what we are increasingly doing in the community. Our coming of age youth each logged at least 24 hours of community service. Our children had three Service is Our Prayer Sundays taking on social action projects. This morning they are doing their fourth, making snack-packs for homeless families served by the Johnson County Interfaith Hospitality Network. This is an organization that helps homeless families in our community with a variety of services. When we help host, we commit to sending teams to two to stay overnight at the churches where the guest stay. The pair does a split shift with each person sleeping half the night. I hope you will join in this outreach. [We donated the plate on this Sunday to JCIHN.]

In recent all-church emails I asked the entire congregation to share their hopes for SMUUCh’s next forty years. I was impressed, touched, and bemused by the different responses I received. Here are just a few:

Of all the responses I received, a few themes seemed to crop up again and again. One of these themes was community. P.G. wrote that her hope for SMUUCh was that we “maintain our sense of community.” M.R. wrote of her hope that the caring concern for one other continues and thrives over the next forty years. B.G. wrote of remaining “a caring welcoming community where people searching for truth can gather and share their search and sense of spirituality.”

Besides community, another common theme was being a lot more visible in the community. D.T. spoke of us acting as a beacon of reason and compassion that reaches the larger part of the Kansas City area population. (I might add that when we did our advertising campaign in 2003, something like one-half of one percent of people in Kansas City had heard of Unitarian Universalism. So, to realize this hope, we would have to do something so bold that over fifty percent of the population knows what Unitarian Universalism is.) B.P. wrote that he hoped we would become “the largest, loudest, and most dynamic liberal voice for religious and social values in the Midwest.” J.C. wrote that he hoped Bill Moyers would be do a documentary about “The Kansas Church that changed the world.” The word beacon was mentioned at least a dozen times.

Two themes were “community” and “beacon.” Social Action was a third theme. B. D. wrote that he hoped social justice would become our mission. M.J. wrote of us becoming a beacon (there is that word again) for liberal religion and social justice. While most people expressed this hope in general terms, one person said that we should hire a social justice and community organizer. This staff person would coordinate our congregation’s social justice ministries, lobby in Topeka for UU values and spur us to live out our values.

We did receive some very specific hopes. G.K. wants us to start a mother’s day out program and offer RE classes at both services. (And, she wants this not for her own children. Her own children are now to old for such a program.) P.L., to name just one or two of her suggestions, says that her hopes start now and they begin with us turning off the TV and the computer and showing up for programming on Saturdays and weeknights, not just Sunday mornings.

P.P/ offered the most creative idea. She dreamed of a new, large church building that resembles the Sydney Opera House. She also says that we will move from our current land, but convert our current property into a pioneer dairy-farm themed Bed & Breakfast and restaurant. And, since our parking area to the West of Saeger House is still zoned as farm-land, we could have actual cows!

However, P., your email was NOT the one that made me exclaim “Wow!” the loudest. That would go to one of our high school students, M.H., who emailed me the lyrics to a country song by Tim McGraw called, “My next thirty years.” “I think I’ll take a moment to celebrate my age / the ending of an era and the turning of a page / Now is the time to focus on where I go from here / Lord have mercy on my next thirty years. / My next thirty years I’m going to have some fun / even as I try to forget the crazy things I’ve done / Now that I’ve conquered all my youthful fears / I’ll do it even better in my next thirty years.”

I have to say, there were several of you, more than just a handful of you in fact, who wrote that you hoped that forty years from now SMUUCh will be having a retirement party for me. I’m not sure how to respond to that. I did think about it and can tell you that that would be 1,500 sermons from now; 2,700 committee-meetings from now; hundreds and hundreds of weddings, memorial services, and child dedications from now; and about a half-million emails from now.

L.C., always the bold visionary wrote her vision as a meditation on our affirmation that love is the doctrine of this church, the search for truth is its sacrament, and service is its prayer. About the latter part she wrote, quote, “Starting now, in forty years I hope that each and every SMUUCHer has internalized this as a personal goal: To know the joy, even the ecstasy, of service. Service each to another, Service to our neighbors, Service to our local community, our nation and our world. Service to our denomination…. Understanding that we are ‘all in this together,’ we cannot help others without helping ourselves.”

Similarly, V.T. wrote, in part, “I hope that our members and friends will become more involved in the life of the church, not only attending Sunday services but involved in the social activities, the social action activities, the day to day work and financial support of the church, because I believe that through this level of involvement we make deeper connections to each other.”

Finally, I wanted to quote from one of our newer members, C.C. who was one of the 71 adults who joined the church in the past year. She writes, “My hope for SMUUCh for the next forty years is that it continues to touch lives as it has mine. To make people feel they have a religious home.”

For so long as there are the religiously homeless, for so long as there are lives to touch, for so long as there are those who are dissatisfied with religious orthodoxy, dissatisfied with a lack of respect for diversity, dissatisfied with the choices our culture and our politics and our thought offer, we will have not only a reason to exist, but we will have a big job to do, a calling, a challenge. We are called to face this challenge and live this calling starting now and for forty years forward and forty more.

Reading
From War is a Force that Gives Us Meaning by Christopher Hedges:

“War makes the world understandable, a black and white tableau of them and us. It suspends thought, especially self-critical thought. All bow before the supreme effort. We are one. Most of us willingly accept war as long as we can fold it into a belief system that paints the ensuing suffering as necessary for a higher good, for human beings seek not only happiness but also meaning. And tragically war is sometimes the most powerful way in human society to achieve meaning.

“But war is a god, as the ancient Greeks and Romans knew, and its worship demands human sacrifice. We urge young men [and women] to war, making the slaughter they are asked to carry out a rite of passage. And this rite has changed little over the centuries, centuries in which there has almost continuously been a war raging somewhere on the planet. The historian Will Durant calculated that there have only been twenty-nine years in all of human history during which a war was not underway somewhere. We call on the warrior to exemplify the qualities necessary to prosecute war – courage, loyalty, and self-sacrifice. The soldier, neglected and even shunned during peacetime, is suddenly held up as the exemplar of our highest ideals, the savior of the state. The soldier is often whom we want to become, although secretly many of us, including most soldiers, know that we can never match the ideal held out before us. And we all become like Nestor in The Iliad, reciting the litany of fallen heroes that went before to spur on a new generation. That the myths are lies, that those who went before us were no more able to match the ideal than we are, is carefully hidden from public view. The tension between those who know combat, and thus know the public lie, and those who propagate the myth, usually ends with the mythmakers working to silence the witnesses of war.”

Sermon
Each January I do a service that is called “Question and Answer Sunday.” It consists of giving off-the-cuff answers to questions submitted on index cards. This past January I did manage to avoid an entire category of questions – questions about war and peace. I told myself that I avoided them because they were big serious questions and I worried they would overwhelm and make insignificant all the other good questions that were asked that morning. This was a rationalization. I avoided them because they were hard questions.

To give you just a sampling: one person asked whether Unitarian Universalists should support strict pacifism. Another asked, accusingly, how any religion or faith can possibly endorse any kind of armed conflict. And still another person pondered how it is can be that the majority of wars have religious underpinnings at the same time when all religions claim to stand for peace. I figured that Memorial Day would be an appropriate time to explore these questions and many more having to do with issues of war and faith.

Any attempt to speak about war in such broad sweeping terms is made problematic by how to balance the immediate with the universal. Memorial Day memorializes our country’s wars – Civil and Revolutionary, two World Wars, and wars from the halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli. But, it is impossible to avoid that we are currently engaged in a war that, while fought bravely and honorably by thousands of servicemen and women, is also a war that many tend to equate with scandals having to do with yellow cake uranium and weapons of mass destruction, with Abu Ghraib and Walter Reed, with Halliburton and Bechtel and Blackwater, and with political battles over funding and exit strategies.

I simply cannot endeavor to speak about war and not, in the immediate context, name my sadness:

+ For the three-thousand, four hundred and fifty two US servicemen and –women who have died in Iraq in the past four years and two months (as of 5/27/07)…
+ For the three hundred and sixty eight who have died in Afghanistan
+ For their families, their mothers and fathers, wives and husbands, sons and daughters.
+ For all the injured, wounded, the physically and psychologically damaged and all the hardships this will cause for their lives, their families and their communities for years and years to come.
+ For the devastation experienced by the long-suffering peoples of Iraq and Afghanistan. All warfare, especially modern warfare, exacts a civilian toll significantly larger than the toll on enlisted persons. Our losses are small by comparison.

I also cannot fail to express my concern for what might be the most under-reported part of the Iraq War – that only roughly half of the US citizens currently in Iraq are members of the US military. The other half consists of contractors, including large battalions of private security forces. We cannot know for sure how many of them have perished; estimates say one-thousand or more. The presence of these large numbers of private contractors raises immense ethical questions. What oversight are they given and to whom do they answer? What happens when they return to the United States?

This morning I want to begin locally and then enlarge our scope in thinking about War’s meaning:

This past Thursday we hosted two high school students from Lawrence who presented their documentary film on military recruitment on high school campuses. Their film documented the sometimes aggressive recruitment tactics used in high schools as well as provisions in the No Child Left Behind Act that compromise student privacy. Their investigative film raised provocative questions, not the least of which is the practical feasibility and the ethics of maintaining an all-volunteer military. The fact that recruiters are more present on one campus in Lawrence than they are at another, or presumably that they are more active on campuses in the less affluent KCK school districts than in the more affluent Shawnee Mission and Blue Valley school districts belies the obvious fact that class and race privilege is alive and well in America.

Just as many of today’s politicians who embrace war were the ones who relied on their daddy’s money and influence to receive draft deferments so too do privileged youth today have a breadth of choices that does not compel military service. To be fair, it is a harmful stereotype that young people join the military because they do not have other options, but a study of military enlistment shows the one-third sign up to receive money for education, one-third for job training, and one-third for other reasons. [What Every Person Should Know About War, Chapter 1]

Even at the same time as I have written letters of support for conscientious-objector status for several young men in our church, part of me says that if we went back to days of the draft – and actually made it so you could not buy your way out of it or network your way out of it or Prince Harry your way out of it – then as a society we would be far less militant. Politicians might think twice before sending their children (or their lobbyist’s children) off to war.

In our wider denomination, Unitarian Universalist Association President, the Reverend Bill Sinkford, has been outspoken against the war even as his son serves in the military. And, in some local churches there have been various forms of participation in the peace movement just as there has been certain tension between those who oppose the war and those who believe that continued US military action in Iraq is warranted. Or rather, the tension is between those who desire that the church speak out loudly against the war, and those who don’t want anybody to feel unwelcomed. This tension is often perceived negatively – conflict avoidance is a normal quality in human beings after all – but we need not see it this way. Just as, at the end of day, a congregation ought to prefer a minister who speaks their mind over one willing to suppress their thoughts and be inauthentic in order to keep people happy, so to is a congregation where open dialogue exists preferable to one where people conceal themselves in order to make nobody the slightest bit uncomfortable. To put it simply, religion’s not supposed to make us comfortable all the time. Jesus came not to bring peace, but a sword.

To give you just a bit of perspective, Unitarian Universalism has had an interesting history in terms of its engagement with war. In the late eighteenth century, just as Unitarians were emerging from the liberal strain within Puritanism and articulating ideas about individual liberty, our country was beginning to fight for independence from the British. It was the Grandfather of the great Unitarian minister Theodore Parker who captained the militia of minutemen who fired the shot heard round the world at Lexington.

By the middle of the nineteenth century many Unitarians had protested against the war with Mexico, which they considered a war of imperialism and a war, they worried, would expand slavery, which many Unitarians opposed. Transcendentalist Adin Ballou published his call for “Christian Non-resistance.” And Henry David Thoreau not only went to the woods to live deliberately; he also went to jail for not paying his taxes as a protest against his government’s militarism.

In the second decade of the Twentieth Century, the pacifist John Haynes Holmes entered into a heated debate with William Howard Taft, then moderator of the American Unitarian Association, on the floor of its general meeting. Their debate was over US involvement in World War I. Later, the editor of the magazine of the American Unitarian Association (then called the Christian Register and now called the UU World) opined that to oppose the War was treason. The President of the American Unitarian Association, Samuel Atkins Eliot called on disloyal ministers to be dismissed, writing that “ministers addicted to pacifist principles cannot be permitted to plead a noble tradition of freedom of speech to justify or to mask sedition.” The board of the American Unitarian Association ruled in 1918 to deny financial aid to any church whose minister, “is not a willing, earnest, and outspoken supporter of the United States in a vigorous and resolute prosecution of the war.” My have times changed! [Source: this article.]

If I have my denominational history straight, it is correct to say that Unitarians and Universalists were supportive of World War II. They were encouraged, in no small part, by Unitarian theologian James Luther Adams who had traveled to Germany in the 1930’s to meet Paul Tillich and had seen first-hand the dangers of the rising tide of fascism and racist nationalism.

My colleague in Washington D.C., Rob Hardies writes that the “Unitarian tradition is not a pacifist tradition… [it has always] been squarely in what is called the ‘just war’ tradition – a tradition that recognizes that war is evil, but that sometimes history requires war if the reason be just and the choice for war be a last resort.” [as quoted in The Quest, the newsletter of the Church of the Larger Fellowship.] I would differ with him on this characterization. It is probably more accurate to say that we are a tradition that has encompassed a variety of different perspectives on war, a variety inclusive of strong pacifists, just war theorists, and perhaps a few who would see just war theory as too restrictive. It is probably more accurate to say that we are a tradition that, at its best, has not required all of us to think the same in order to be together. And, it is accurate to say that we are a tradition that does not stay silent about our beliefs, that has been willing to voice them, even when it strains the bonds of community. And hooray for that.

If we are going to state our opinions and voice our feelings, then let us engage in a free and responsible search for truth and meaning. Which leads me to two books I commend to you on the subject of war. They are both by Christopher Hedges, who earned a Master of Divinity degree from Harvard and worked as a war correspondent for many years. In his work, Hedges has “survived ambushes in Central America, imprisonment in the Sudan, and a beating by Saudi military police. Hedges saw children murdered for sport in Gaza and petty thugs elevated into war heroes in the Balkans.” His books include, What Every Person Should Know About War, a short, unadorned 120 book that examines various aspects of military life in a simple, direct question-and-answer format. If you know a person in their teens or early twenties, give them a copy of this book.

The other book by Hedges carries the interesting title, War is a Force that Gives Us Meaning. It is more philosophical and more startling, combining Hedges’ firsthand experience in warfare with insights from literature.

The book tries to make sense of the paradox that while war is a horrible thing, the world has managed to exist in a virtually non-stop state of war for virtually the entirety of history. Hedges’ thesis is that war is a powerful force, a force that perpetuates itself through the creating of myths, the development of nationalism, the destruction of culture, the hijacking of memory, and the confusion of love and death. Chaucer once said, “There is many a man that crieth ‘war! war!’ who knoweth full little what war amounteth.” To explain it a little less complicatedly, the reality of war is silenced by the myth of war. We would not tolerate the reality of war if only we knew it; but we are often moved to passionately celebrate the myth of war.

As Archibald MacLeish writes, “The Young dead soldiers do not speak. Nevertheless, they are heard in the still houses: who has not heard them? They say: our deaths are not ours; they are yours; they will mean what you make them. They say: Whether our lives and our deaths were for peace and a new hope or for nothing we cannot say; it is you who must say this. They say: We leave you our deaths. Give them their meaning. We were young, they say. We have died. Remember us.”

War is not the only force that gives us meaning. So are we called to make meaning out of life, and live bravely just as Unitarian Universalists have made meaning of war down through the ages. Just as Lawrence High School students work to make meaning of the world they live in. We too remember. We too create meaning.

Yes, the rumors are true! Indiana Jones will be making an appearance in church this Sunday, July 15th. I'll be starting a sermon series on "covenant" and what better way to make that topic exciting than by recalling that cinematic adventure in which the forces of good and the forces of evil race to recapture the actual Ark of the Covenant?

Together we'll make the idea of covenant relevant, meaningful, and inspirational today!

[Our Worship Service on July 8th featured reflections by three members of the congregation as well as me. Each of us shared our experiences and reflections from attending the UUA General Assembly in Portland Oregon.]

Reflection by Jim Crist

“If you ever have the chance to attend a UUA General Assembly,” people told me, “do it. You won’t be sorry. It will be a life-changing experience.”

Schedules being what they are, I’ve never had the opportunity to go to GA, until this year. This year, however, the scheduling gods smiled upon me, so I seized the moment and registered.

The theme of the 2007 General Assembly was “Choices that Matter,” and the first choices that mattered to me were which of the over 300 workshops, meetings, and events I should try to attend. I downloaded the convention program and spent the better part of a week laying out my schedule for each day from 8:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. This detailed schedule eventually ended up in the wastebasket—a common experience for first time GA attendees, I’m told.

I did attend plenty of meetings and workshops and events. I took lots of notes, and maybe one day I’ll be able to decipher them.

The meetings and the workshops and the events were outstanding, but what I’d like to share with you is how the GA experience actually did change me. Even though the convention organizers chose “Choices that Matter,” as the theme, for me, a different theme emerged: “Making the Connection.” As a result of attending GA, I feel a deep connection now with UU brothers and sisters across the country. I feel a new connection with the larger UU denomination. I also feel a stronger connection with my own church.

Here in our church, at the edge of the prairie, it sometimes feels as if our collective voice is small, that we are sometimes shouting into the wind, that we sometimes go unheard. But after spending time in the presence of more than 5,000 other Unitarians, singing with them, cheering with them, worshiping with them, I know that we have a larger voice than I ever imagined, and that our voice is heard. We are not alone. We are not even isolated. We are everywhere. The progressive voice for freedom, equality, peace, and justice is everywhere, and it will be heard.

It was an honor for me to carry the SMUUCh banner in the opening ceremony banner parade. I carried the banner and Michele Gaston walked beside me. Prior to the parade, while waiting in the banner staging area along with hundreds of other banner bearers, we had a chance to talk to people from all over the country.

Our banner has two sides. One side shows a panel celebrating our 40th anniversary. The other shows a dinosaur, and this side raised some eyebrows.

“Shawnee Mission, Kansas,” one man said. I replied, “Yep, Kansas.”

After the obligatory “What’s the Matter with Kansas” comment, his face took on a somewhat puzzled look and he said, “Kansas…hmm…I get the sunflowers, but I don’t get the dinosaur. Are there dinosaurs in Kansas?”

“Well,” I said, “we had a few on the state board of education last year, but they’re extinct, or at least in hibernation for the time being.” Then I bragged about how our church sponsored public classes on the science of evolution last year. He has a new understanding of Kansas.

Carrying the banner through the convention hall, and later singing hymns with 5,000 other UUs really gave me a spiritual lift and made me feel connected to a great whole.

The following day, during the Service of the Living Tradition, I was witness to the final fellowship ceremony for new ministers. Among the new ministers participating in the ceremony were our own Thom Belote and Paige Getty. Paige was serving as interim minister here at SMUUCh when I started coming, so to see her receive final fellowship the same night Thom did, well, there’s a certain symmetry there.

As an official delegate for our congregation, I was entitled to vote during the business sessions. I actually attended most of the business sessions, and I can tell you that the Unitarian Universalist Association takes this democracy stuff seriously. Everything seemed open for discussion. Provision was made for both sides of any issue to have a voice in the proceedings. To keep a meeting with several thousand participants organized, on track, on time, and productive is a Herculean task. After participating in the business sessions, I have a whole new respect as well as a sense of pride for our denomination.

A highlight of my GA experience was singing in the 170-member choir. I’m not a great singer, but I can blend pretty well, so when I found out after the 2nd rehearsal that many of the choir members around me were music directors from their church, I felt somewhat intimidated. No, I felt very intimidated. I stuck it out, however, went to all the rehearsals, and boy, am I glad I did. If you have ever sung in a group, you know what an uplifting, almost transcendent experience it can be to make a joyful, harmonizing sound with other people. Multiply that by 2 and you have my GA choir experience.

I can’t say that going to General Assembly exceeded my expectations. Never having gone, I had no expectations. I was pretty much ready for anything. I went, not knowing what to expect. I came back a much richer person. Richer in spirit, richer in experience, richer in knowledge, richer in friendship, and with enough new books and reading material to keep me busy for the next 2 years.

So, I guess what it boils down to is this: If you ever have the chance to attend a UUA General Assembly, do it. You won’t be sorry. It will be a life-changing experience.


Reflection by Connie Strand

Although this was my very first General Assembly, I feel like I have attended the past 10 years or so vicariously through my husband Don (who attends every year as part of his job and who will share his thoughts with you in a few minutes). Every June he would come back with one story or another that piqued my interest, and I always thought: “Next year in Long Beach!” or “Next year in Cleveland!” But one thing or another always got in the way.

I must confess that “This year in PORTLAND” was simply too good to pass up, so I found myself packing my bags alongside Don and heading west.

Although Don has different things to say about GA each year, there are two things he never fails to mention:
1) “If you ever go, you simply can’t miss the Opening Banner Ceremony” and
2) “It’s so fun to play ‘Spot the UUs in the Airport’ coming and going.”

Thanks to United Airlines, we made it to the Opening Ceremony with only 10 minutes to spare, despite an original flight schedule that had us landing 8 hours earlier. They also chose to route us through the Dallas airport, where it was certainly much easier to spot a UU than in the granola-friendly Portland terminal. Who knew that you could find big, gaudy, shiny chalice earrings to match your big hair?

Fortunately we did make it to the Banner Ceremony on time, and Don was right – it is an amazing experience. Absolutely Amazing. There really is nothing quite like singing “Spirit of Life” with 5,000 or so of your closest friends. It is downright joyous to watch the banner-carriers parade their colors throughout the auditorium -- especially Jim and Michele Gaston with our 40th anniversary sunflower banner!

For me, the Opening Ceremony was probably the peak “feel-good” moment of GA. But I was fortunate to have many other such moments, including:
* Hearing Daniel Ellsberg, on the 35th anniversary of the publishing of the Pentagon Papers, earnestly pleading for somebody in government today to take whatever risk necessary to keep us out of going to war in Iran – a risk he said he wishes he would have taken two years earlier than he did in the Vietnam era.
* Taking communion with several hundred other UUs at a UU Christian Fellowship service.
* Listening to the marvelous GA choir (including our board president on tenor)
* Just walking around and seeing the smiling faces of people who share my faith. It is good to be with your own in such number from time to time.

But GA is about more than Feel-Good moments, which come and go quickly. What will stick with me over the long haul is the series of workshops I attended based on a book by David Korten called “The Great Turning: From Empire to Earth Community.”

I cannot do justice to what I took from those workshops in the few short minutes I have this morning. Boiled down, The Great Turning gives us a framework in which to put the future of our world. Will we continue with the Empire-building we have seen for thousands of years, or can we turn to an Earth Community that will sustain us in the future? How do we move from relationships based on domination to relationships based on partnership? Can we stop our suicidal competition for the earth’s remaining resources and learn how to cooperatively share them, instead?

The Great Turning brings together many ideas that resonate with us as UUs under one umbrella, whether it is living in a way that ensures a healthy environment, or working in a way that ensures a healthy community. And it does it in a way that gives me hope that we can actually make this work.

My next step from these workshops will be to offer an Adult RE class on the book, using a discussion guide and other methods we explored in one of the workshops I attended. If you’d like to learn more about The Great Turning, please consider signing up for the class later this year.

On a final note, I want to thank everybody in this congregation for the role you played in my GA experience. Just like any other convention, GA attendees wear plastic name badges festooned with various ribbons and gee-gaws. My badge sported three ribbons, and they were all based on the work of this congregation – First there is the ribbon on top that identifies me as being a member of a Welcoming Congregation; then there is this green ribbon, which signifies that we are committed to fair compensation for our professional staff; and finally, this purple ribbon that says we are an “honor” congregation in our support of the UUA. Clearly these are as much your ribbons as they are mine -- Thank you for all you have done here that allowed me to proudly wear this badge!


Reflection by Don Skinner

It’s true. I have attended the past ten General Assemblies. I have the good fortune to work for our Association of Congregations from right here in Johnson County. I write a newsletter for lay leaders about ways to do church better. And I write for the denominational magazine, UU World, which many of you receive. After 20-some years of working for newspapers, this is the best journalism job I’ve ever had. And I’m grateful to this congregation for its support of the UUA and for making my job possible. My yellow ribbon indicates that I am a UUA staff member.

General Assembly speaks to me about the rich possibilities of congregational life. GA is first and foremost a gathering place for congregational leaders and a place where congregations can show how they have turned their dreams into reality. It’s a place that inspires through words and deeds, through workshops and worship services. It is about our best selves—what can happen if we put conflict and self-interest behind us and focus on our UU principles. It is truly inspirational to listen to how congregations have overcome obstacles to achieve great results in church growth, social justice, worship, and other areas.

And there’s the other side of it. Listening at GA to the problems that some other congregations have, sometimes I have to be simply grateful that my congregation has moved past many of those problems. And so let us not forget the value of General Assembly as a source of gratitude. It teaches me to be grateful for what we have here at Shawnee Mission and the way we are with each other.

A large part of General Assembly is about social justice, about growing beyond our local congregations to help create a better world. It’s about anti-racism, about working for climate change and other environmental initiatives. And, it’s about economic justice, helping us find ways to use our privilege to lift up people who have no voice.

GA is also a place of inclusion. It is, for example, one of the too few places in this world where gays, lesbians, bisexuals and transgender people can feel free to be who they are without having to hide parts of their identity. It is a place where they feel supported and where they know that others understand and accept them. A place just like their own church homes. GA reminds me of the value of our own congregations in being open to GLBT people. We never know when someone will come to our door seeking respite from a hurtful world and needing our unconditional welcome. We never know when we will make a difference in someone’s life.

There are several hundred workshops each year at GA. Running from one to the other can wear a person out. As a break from that -- and everyone needs a break from that -- I attend some of the 30 or so worship events at each GA. They are all different, they are all inspirational, and they all create possibilities as to what we might incorporate “back home.” I suspect that some people attend GA primarily for the worship experiences. Some of these services are led by youth and young adults, some are participatory, and some are contemplative. These services add the crowning touch for me and they are a big part of the reason why GA does not get old for me. It just gets better.


Reflection by Thom Belote

This morning I bring not only my own reflections about the General Assembly. I also bring thoughts by way of Michele Gaston – the fifth member of our church’s delegation to Portland. Michele couldn’t be here this morning because she is on vacation.

There are people in the world who find the idea of spending a week in constant interaction with some six-thousand strangers the closest thing to heaven. And then there are people who consider it a cause for panic. Michele is wouldn’t describer herself as a big “crowd” person, but she writes that she has come to find the people at General Assembly inspirational – inspirational in their diversity of spiritualities, backgrounds, colors, genders, and passions.

This year was my ninth general assembly. (Don, you got me beat by one!) But instead of a four-and-a half-day assembly, I’m expected to arrive an extra four days early for meetings, trainings, and continuing education events designed specifically for ministers. This gives me a different perspective: instead of attending the opening ceremony, I am participating in an orientation for new members of the Ministers Association Executive Committee. Instead of attending a workshop session, I am meeting with members of the UUA board as they negotiate with the minister’s association to seek our input on an issue such as a change in the funding for our seminaries. This is not to boast of conversations in swanky suites – only to say that my experience there is almost a parallel universe. It is so much off the map.

When asked, the thing I always say I most look forward to what is often my once a year chance to see that classmate of mine from seminary – the one who now lives in San Diego, or perhaps the one in New Jersey, or my mentor from Texas or friend from Colorado. This touches me deeply and helps to renew me.

But there are always other things that stir my passion. Three days before General Assembly started, I spent a day at a training for ministers who hope to become internship supervisors. Our is hopeful that we will be able to have an Intern Minister (a student preparing for ministry who spends a year in hands on learning with us) in Fall 2008. I think our church is particularly well-suited to care for and prepare and cultivate and develop and imprint a person training for the ministry. Done well, it is transformational to the intern, to the mentor (myself), and to the congregation who shares in the joy of helping to shape the future of the movement.

So, that is one thing I come away passionate about. The other thing I come away passionate about is actually a whole lot less concrete. One thing I picked up on – at workshops, in conversations, on blogs dissecting the General Assembly weeks later, in worship, everywhere – was such a hunger and a thirst for our faith to be a source of profound transformation in the lives of people in the world. It was in the air. It was exciting.

And so, like church, what I get from General Assembly is not merely confirmation, reassurance, reminders of my own (our own) rightness and righteousness. It get challenged to become, awaken, and be transformed in my own life and to be an aid, a balm, a coaxing and supporting force in the world’s transformation.

I want to close with a quote that Michele sent to me. (Honestly, I know not to whom to attribute it.) It sums up what Jim said about connecting, what Connie said about belonging, what Don said about inclusion, and what I have said just said about transformation. The quote goes like this:

“As I come to know you, I come to know myself better. And together through our intention and connection, we can bring the influence of compassion, diversity, and purpose to a world in need of healing.”

This sermon is the first in a six part series on “Covenant and Liberal Religion.” For the next six months, I will preach one sermon per month on an aspect of covenant.

[Before the sermon, we showed a scene from the film Indiana Jones & The Raiders of the Lost Ark. The scene began with Professor Jones lecturing to a thoroughly bored (and, for a University in 1936, surprisingly co-educational) class. Summoned from the classroom, Prof. Jones meets with some government officials who are concerned about a Nazi archeological dig in Egypt. Jones deduces that they are trying to find the Ark of the Covenant!]



Let me begin this sermon by saying, “Happy Birthday” to Harrison Ford who turned sixty-five on July 13th, 2007.

So, where is all this going? Well, probably the best way to begin to explain the whole idea behind this sermon and this sermon series is to tell you about an experience that happened to me last Thursday. Last Thursday, I was participating in a protest down by the Nichols Fountain on the Plaza. Missouri Governor Matt Blunt recently signed legislation that called for abstinence-only sex education in all Missouri schools and also restricted outside instructors in health classes to those with no connection at all to any health care system that offers abortion as option. Meaning, of course, that someone who is trained and has expertise in teen health counseling but who works for, say, Planned Parenthood would be barred from speaking to a health class at a public high school.

So, I went down to the Plaza to hold signs and talk with passersby and advocate for an approach to health education for young people that says that information and education is better health policy than ignorance.

But that is not really the point. You see, down at the protest these two young women were hanging around. They approached the protesters, and lied that they were writing for a student newspaper. In reality, they were amateurish reporters for a fundamentalist Christian magazine. Soon, word got out that a minister was at the protest – and that minister happened to be me – and so these two amateurish fundamentalist infiltrators made a bee-line to me to interview this minister (can it be believed?) who actually supports sex education. I introduced myself as a Unitarian Universalist minister and they asked me to explain what UU’s believe. I explained that we are a covenantal faith, not a creedal faith. We share a covenant of how we try to be together, not a creed of what we all must believe together.

Then the questions began: “Well, does your church believe in the Bible?”

I responded: That is a creedal question. We are a covenantal church. We share a covenant of how we try to be together, not a creed that says what we are expected to believe together.

“Does you church believe in God?” they ask.

“That is a creedal question,” I respond. “We are a covenantal church. We share a covenant of how we try to be together, not a creed telling us what we are expected to believe together.”

This went on for a while. It took them a while to get this. They were being challenged to think in a new way.

I think that sometimes in our churches we tend to stress the fact that we are NOT a creedal church a lot more than we stress that we ARE a covenantal church. We emphasize the creeds we are not asked to recite more than the covenants we are asked to share. We over-emphasize the fact that we are not required to believe in God necessarily or believe a certain doctrine about the Bible or the afterlife. We under-emphasize the covenantal dimensions of our shared faith and we stress the non-creedal aspects.

This morning is the first in what I plan to be a six month sermon series on the dimensions of covenantal faith, one sermon per month. As a covenantal church, we should spend some time taking seriously what those covenants are about. Next month, I want to talk about membership… about the covenant of belonging to community. In September, I will talk about the free pulpit and the free pew, but really that sermon will be about the covenant we share about growing spiritually. In October, I will talk about the covenant we share with our larger movement. What is our responsibility to other churches? In November, fitting in perfectly with the celebration of Thanksgiving, we’ll be going back to the idea of the Mayflower Compact and asking questions about whether we share an American covenant and what that ought to be. (And, I will tell you: if you’ve gone to see the Michael Moore movie “Sicko” this question is so in need of asking. What is our covenant? What do we owe to one another?) And finally, in December we’ll be tying it all together and coming to some sense of a new and renewed covenant.

I plan to have a lot of fun with each of these sermons. We’ll use some more movies and maybe some costumes and drama. Surprises are in store. So, don’t miss out on this.

As you can tell, I’m really passionate about this and I think this strikes at the core not only of our identities as Unitarian Universalists, but I really believe that covenant can shapes our lives and our living – can be a central motive force in our lives.

Covenant is one of those religious lingo words – like creed, or catechism, or charism, or co-substantial. It is a word that tends to come across as jargon-y and overly-intellectual. I might as well be writing neo-lithic on the chalkboard like Professor Jones did in his classroom, only to receive bored stares.

And here is where Indiana Jones comes in. On one level Indiana Jones lives sort of a double life. Part of the time he is a stuffy archeologist, giving lectures to bored students who do not share in his passion for ancient Sumerian gravesites. But, the other half of the time he is this rough and tumble adventurer, traveling the globe, risking death, saving ancient antiquities, and saving the world from the Nazi’s.

Conventional church often has this double-life motif. In a conventional church you show up on Sunday to hear a 2,000 sermon about a 2,000 year-old story, and you learn what this word meant in Greek or that word meant in Aramaic or Hebrew. And then you go off: to lunch, to your real life, and your real life is just about as far removed from the idea of the Hebrews carrying an ark through the desert as can be.

But, what is interesting about Indiana Jones is that his is not really a double-life. He is the archeologist in the classroom and the archeologist when he is racing to excavate ancient cities. This is different than other super-heroes. Peter Parker is a bumbling pizza-delivery boy and a frustrated photographer – he is the confused college kid trying to pick a major – but he also gets to be Spider Man and do heroic good deeds in his second life. But, the one life has nothing to do with the other. Bruce Wayne is a business tycoon haunted by his past, who despite his riches feels empty, unfulfilled, and lonely. But then, at night, he gets to transform into Batman and be an avenger of the weak and the defenseless. The one life has nothing to do with the other.

These are split lives. Heroic and purposeful in one moment, but pointless and empty in the next. And with Batman and Spiderman there is always this constant frustration and friction. One life is unsatisfying; the other life is unsustainable. Saint Paul expressed this better than anyone: “For I do not understand my own actions. I do not do what I want, but I do the very things I hate.” (Romans 7:15)

But, my point is that Indiana Jones is not like this at all. Passion and purpose and calling infuse his life at every moment. His is not a double life – part heroic and part counting the hours until he gets to be passionate again – he is living his passion constantly. He is living his calling. And maybe he is way more excited about archeology than anyone of us ever could be, but that is OK. He is not trying to force us to be passionate about archeology. He is living his calling and using his passion to do something meaningful.

[It was at this point in the sermon that I donned an Indiana Jones style hat and brandished a whip – for theatrical effect. I felt very cool doing this!]



So, I want to bring this back to covenant – that jargon-y word – because we are going to be diving deep into aspects of covenant. So, what does it mean to say that we are a covenantal faith anyways?

A covenant is a set of enduring but evolving deeply held promises made between people. And while the covenant is taken seriously, the promises are often so intense that it is impossible to always live up to them. We will never exactly live up to the covenants into which we enter. So, we will always admit a falling short – and respond by re-covenanting, recommitting to those promises.

The model for this is Biblical. It has to do with Abraham promising devotion and sacrifice to the God Yahweh, and Yahweh in turn promising family health and wealth and chosen status. A few chapters later, the covenant is renewed and Abraham’s whole family is included in the covenant. From them is expected even more devotion and sacrifice and obedience and, in turn, Yahweh promises all of them greater wealth, not to mention military protection. I admit this really isn’t all that interesting. Later, in the New Testament, the leaders of the early church speak of a new covenant. The new covenant has to do with who else is included and what the expectations for remaining in covenant are. Again, the particulars are not that interesting unless you are into Biblical scholarship. Like Professor Jones, you are not expected to share that passion, either.

But the point I want to make about all this covenant stuff is that, inevitably, neither side keeps their end of the bargain. The Hebrews begin not to hold up their end of the bargain more or less right off the bat. And God, Yahweh, doesn’t always live up to the divine end of the bargain either. All throughout the religious tradition there is a need for prophets and others who point out ways the covenant is broken and call for repentance and renewal. The same thing can be said about the new covenant imagined by the early Christians.

So, what happens when the covenant is broken? A covenant is different than a contract. One party breaks a contract and it can be voided. Both sides are released from obligations and sometimes the offending party is penalized. But covenants are different. They go on. It is almost expected that they will not be fulfilled, but still they are re-entered with hope, re-entered with the intention of living up to them.

So, instead of being a creedal church where we’re united by the beliefs that we are expected to hold in common… and instead of being a creedless church where we don’t have any beliefs we are expected to share… instead, as a covenantal faith, what is this covenant we share together? I am just going to begin to explore the substance of that covenant this morning – and we will be exploring it in depth one Sunday per month over the next five months. I hope that you will be co-explorers, co-adventurers with me.

A few simple, elementary things I might say about the covenants of this covenantal faith: covenants are promises about ways of being together. Here in this church, it is obvious that one of the promises we make in covenant is to be together in ways that respect each other’s worth and dignity, ways that are safe. Being non-creedal we can’t expect to all believe the same things, but in covenant we can respect each other even and especially when we don’t agree with them.

Our covenant includes inclusion – we are all equally chosen people – and so part of our covenant helps to make all feel welcome regardless of age, gender, sexual orientation, or physical ability.

And our covenant – I would submit – is not insular, is not the property of those of us inside these walls. I would submit that it reaches outward, into the community. As those undercover reporters asked me in a way, “Do you believe the way I believe? Because that is necessary for us to relate to you.” They were posing a creedal question and giving me a creedal test. Covenant is larger than creed. What promises do we, should we, must we make to each other – knowing that we will break our vows – but then find it worth it to promise again, because we must. But, I’ve only just scratched the surface this morning.

You know, thinking about Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark, I am struck. In the scene we saw, it was suggested that the ark had these super-powers. Indiana Jones even say, whoever holds the ark holds the power of God. The movie imagines this as the power to shoot lightning bolts and melt people’s faces (you remember how the movie ends, right?) but that is just Hollywood dramatics. But what is the ark of the covenant? It is a physical reminder – a heavy and weighty reminder – of deeply made promises. In that way, covenants are things of great power indeed. Our covenants in this church – made with one another and with the spirit and source of life itself – are powerful. And so I find it very poignant that what was carried through the desert is a reminder of promises we are committed to live by.

I look forward to unlocking some of the mysteries and discovering some of these powers in the months to come. Promises that change lives, that call us to live up to our best selves, that summon forth our true, authentic, vulnerable, and passionate selves. The covenants that call us to become who we are called to be amidst others called to be become who they are truly called to be as well.

We are going to start the sermon this morning by showing a film-clip from the movie “Friday Night Lights”. The movie follows the season of a high school football team from Odessa, Texas as they reach the Texas State Football Championship game only to – having lost their star player to injury – face-off against a team from Dallas against whom they are under-matched in every possible way. In the first half, the team from Odessa is crushed by their superior opponents. We pick up the movie with the half-time speech by the coach, played by Billy Bob Thornton:

“You all have known me for a while... and for a long time now, you've been hearing me talk about being perfect. Well, I want you to understand somethin'. To me, being perfect... is not about that scoreboard out there. It's not about winning. It's about you and your relationship to yourself and your family and your friends. Bein' perfect...is about being able to look your friends in the eye... and know that you didn't let them down. Because you told 'em the truth. And that truth is, is that you did everything that you could. There wasn't one more thing that you could've done. Can you live in that moment...as best you can with clear eyes...and love in your heart? With joy in your heart? If you can do that, gentlemen, then you're perfect. I want you to take a moment...and I want you to look each other in the eyes. I want you to put each other in your hearts forever. Because forever's about to happen here in just a few minutes. I want you to close your eyes… and I want you to think about Boobie Miles, who is your brother. And he would die to be out there on that field with you tonight. And I want you to put that in your hearts. Boys, my heart is full. My heart's full.”

This second sermon in the “Covenant and Liberal Religion” series deals with the covenants we enter into that involve membership in this church. And, to tell you the truth, I struggled to find the right film clip to show you. I wanted to find the perfect “initiation scene” from a movie. And I was tempted – oh, was I tempted – to show you the hazing scene from Animal House. “Please sir, may I have another.” But, you just can’t show scenes from Animal House in church. So, I asked around. I was out on a date with someone who said she was a huge fan of movies. I shared that I was looking for a great initiation scene. She instantly replied, “Oh, there’s a wonderful hazing scene in Dazed & Confused. And there is another hazing scene in Old School too.” I also asked Jim Eller, the minister at All Souls, when he invited me to a Royals game two weeks ago. I also sent an inquiry to the Minister’s email chat-list and received responses that I should show a boot-camp scene from a movie like Jarhead or Full Metal Jacket. One colleague suggested I show the climax scene – I mean the climactic scene – from Steve Carell’s 40-Year-Old Virgin. I suppose that qualifies as an initiation of sorts.

But it was my colleague Brent Smith who suggested the Friday Night Lights clip. In support of his recommendation, he wrote, “the covenant of membership does not involve the relationship of one individual and another, but the relationship of an individual to a group… the team has an existence aside from the individual… and when an individual joins a group the identity of the group becomes added to the identity of the individual.” Paraphrasing Brent Smith’s email to me, he added, “Of course, some orthodox groups, the identity of the group supplants the identity of the individual. But joining a team or a group or a church need not be like that. The half-time speech in Friday Night Lights explains that the mission of the team is not what its members think it is. It points to a different identity when its members truly live out the mission of the team.”

[By the way, the next sermon in this series in September will be about what in Unitarian Universalism is called the “covenant of the free pulpit and the free pew.” If that sounds boring, you are right; it is. But that is just going to be an entry-way into a larger question about covenant. What is the covenant we share to help each other to grow spiritually? That’s the question I really want ask next month. And the movie clip we will show next month will have to do with people sharing a moment of spiritual growth together. And, unless I get a better suggestion from someone in the next month, I think the scene will feature Luke Skywalker and Yoda. If you think you can do better than that, I challenge you to send me your idea.]

Last month, in my introductory sermon in this series I defined covenant in this way. A covenant, I said, “is a set of commonly held promises… a set of commonly held promises that are enduring, but evolving… a set of commonly held promises that are taken seriously, taken so seriously that they are treated as sacred… but they are difficult promises to live up to, and so a covenant accepts that we will fail to live up to them, but that when we fail to live up to them we will not give up. We will re-enter into covenant, try our best again, but still may never fully live up to the promises we have made.” In my sermon last month, I explained that we are not a creedal church, held together by the beliefs we claim to share in common. We are a covenantal church, held together by the promises we make about how we will be together.

So, what are the promises we make about how we will be together as members of a church community? I want to give you two examples about how a couple of other UU churches approach membership. I will warn you, these examples are extreme. I mention them, not because I agree with them, but instead to provoke you.

First example: A colleague of mine talks about the expectations of members in the church that she serves. When a member inquires about joining they are told that their first pledge to the church will be no less than two-and-a-half percent of their income with the expectation that they will increase their pledge to no less than five percent of their income within three years. Further they are expected to attend church three Sundays out of four. And falling short of either of these expectations means a leader in the church visits them and asks, “Do you wish to continue to be a member here?” I repeat, this is a UU church.

Second example: another UU church understands membership to be nothing less than a life-long commitment. You join the church and you are a member for life. That is the expectation. Nobody is ever dropped from their rolls. But, you may ask, what if you move to another city in another state? You are made a “member emeritus.” What if, you ask, you decide you are no longer a UU and go join a Presbyterian church? You are made a “member emeritus.” Members emeritus continue to receive church publications and are approached for donations. You are a member for life. What provokes this church to have such an understanding of membership? Well, the church believes that as a result of participating in the church that your life will be forever changed. You will be different as a result of belonging to the church, and since you will be different, you continue to have a relationship with the church even after that relationship is not immediate. Because you are changed, the church continues to impact your life, even at a distance, and so there is an expectation of reciprocation. Membership is for life.

Like I said, I offer you these two examples not because I necessarily agree with them, but because I find them provocative.

At our church we name our expectations a bit differently. In fact, at our Exploring Membership Class (formerly known as the Seekers class) we actually distribute a hand-out that is called the expectations of membership. This hand-out lists those three expectations:

First, show up. You won’t feel like a part of the church community if you don’t come regularly to worship and church events.

Second, help out. Find a group to participate in and place to contribute your talents to the mission of the church.

And, third, give financially. We expect members to make a generous pledge of financial support to the church.

These three expectations are often abbreviated as time, talent, and treasure.

The chairperson of the membership committee is fond of saying something that goes like this: deciding to become a member does not confer unto you all sorts of special benefits, unless you count having the right to vote at congregational meetings and being eligible to serve on the board of trustees. Membership, she says, is a willingness to put your name where your heart is. It is a willingness to stand up and be counted as a part of the faith you’ve freely chosen and the community you’ve freely chosen. You put your name where your heart is. You claim what you belong to.

But, this is not a sermon about the expectations of membership, as important as it is to remind ourselves of those expectations from time to time. It is a sermon about membership as a covenant. What are the promises we make as members of the church? What do we promise to one another? Let’s hold that question before us for just a minute or two. What do we promise to one another?

You know, it is a funny thing that when I think about movies with memorable initiation scenes, with memorable scenes of an individual adding a group to their own identity, so many of those scenes are just so horrible and painful.

My first thought, after all, was a hazing scene from Animal House. What is that all about? The way to enter into a group is through abuse and humiliation. Really? As Indiana Jones, last month I brought the whip, but this month I didn’t go looking for the fraternity paddle – that is not a liturgical instrument in a UU church. Membership in this type of church does not involve hazing, unless of course you consider being invited to make coffee cruel and unusual.

And, the second thought was to turn to boot camp scenes from films like Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket, or Jarhead, or Stripes. And, what is this all about? Is this a way of saying that membership requires tests of strength and intimidating challenges.

Or then, I thought about a movie like Star Trek that features the Borg… that great collective of cyborgs, stripped of identity. “You will be assimilated.” And these are all such scary and screwed up depictions of what it means to become a member. You’re either humiliated, or you’re put through a grueling obstacle course to prove yourself, or you’re assimilated – stripped of your personality, your ideas, your individuality, your self-hood to become part of a larger collective.

And the covenant of membership here has absolutely nothing to do with any of these things. I should certainly hope! So, what are the promises we make to one another?

Did anyone catch the biblical reference in the speech by the coach in Friday Night Lights? It was subtle, but did anyone catch it? I guarantee you, no West Texas high school football coach is going to give a half-time speech that doesn’t have something to do with the Bible. If you didn’t catch it, the biblical reference was from the Sermon on the Mount. The coach’s speech was really a sermon on Matthew 5:48 and Jesus’ injunction to “be perfect.” This is good stuff here. We Unitarian Universalists are OK with Sermon on the Mount.

Let’s pick it up five verses earlier so we get the full context. So, starting we Matthew 5:43 we get this: “You have heard it said Love you neighbor and hate your enemy. But I say love your enemies and pray for your persecutors – only in this way can you be the children of God, a God who causes the sun to shine on good and bad alike and causes the rain to fall on the innocent as well as the wicked. If you only love those who love you, what good can you expect? Even the wicked do that. If you greet only your brothers and sisters, tell me how is that extraordinary? Even the hateful do likewise. But I am calling you to be perfect, just as God in heaven in perfect.”

Let’s look at what the coach says: Being perfect is not about the scoreboard… it is about our relationship with each other… being perfect is living in the moment and putting each other in our hearts forever. Then he ends by saying, his heart is full – enemy and friend, teammate and opponent alike. The whole team, from the star to the scrub. His heart is full.

This morning, I’m not asking you to be football fans, or Billy Bob Thornton fans, or mushy macho movie fans – I’m such a sucker for that scene, though. I’m not asking you to be Jesus fans or Sermon on the Mount fans, or fans of picking up on subtle biblical references, really I’m not. I don’t care if you read the Sermon on the Mount or not.

But, what if the covenant of membership was simply this: I am called to love not only my friends, not only my peers, not only those of my demography, not only the ones that I am easily inclined to like. But to be perfect, my covenant is to love everybody. Every person who comes through our doors. Every person who might ever come through our doors. Every person who our doors are held wide for but it is doubtful that they will even darken the doorstep.

And what if the covenant of membership was simply to look into each others eyes, put each other in our hearts forever, and then say, “Teammate of mine. Church member of mine. I will be a good teammate of yours. As best I can even though I’m going to fail to keep my promises sometimes.”

What do we promise to each other? I hope that in the making and in the keeping of these covenantal promises our hearts will be filled to the brim, and over-flow, and over-flow some more.

In July 20007 I began a six-month sermon series (one sermon per month) on "Covenant in Liberal Religion." Each sermon in the series will explore an aspect of covenant. Moreover, each sermon will be preceded by a clip from a movie that helps to illuminate the aspect of covenant being considered that morning.

My July sermon, Raiding the Lost Ark, introduced the concept of covenant and explained the difference between a covenantal and a creedal faith.

My August sermon, Sunday Morning Lights, explored the covenant of membership in liberal churches.

My September sermon, Keeping the Faith / Encouraging Faith dealt with what is known as the "Covenant of the Free Pulpit." But it really asked a more important question: "What covenant do we share to help each other grow spiritually?"

In the October sermon, Six Degrees of Covenant (and Kevin Bacon) I considered the historical idea of covenant between churches.

In November, apropos of Thanksgiving, we examined the idea of the social compact, or social covenant, and how we might restore this idea.

In December I concluded the sermon series by asking, "What brave new covenant is needed right here, and right now?"

[A couple things to know about this sermon. First, I delivered it while wearing a Faux-Hawk. Second, the reading before the sermon came from p. 190-192 of Anne Lamott’s book Bird by Bird. On these pages she tells the story of friends of hers whose child suffers an extreme brain injury during delivery. Expected to only “live” for a few days, the family brings the baby home to be around family and friends. Anne and her five-year old son Sam visit frequently and read Dr. Seuss books to the baby. When the baby dies, Lamott describes her son’s reaction to seeing his first dead person.]

Sermon – Part 1
I want to follow up on the very emotional reading sharing another reading by Anne Lamott, this one coming from her book Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith. This reading deals with a sad reality of life at its other end. Just as I know (and it is a sad but sacred privilege to know) that some of you can relate to the things described in the first reading, I know (in the same sacred and privileged and sad way) that many, many of you will relate to what Lamott describes in the second reading. She writes:

What are you supposed to do, when what is happening can’t be, and the old rules no longer apply? I remember this feeling when my mother was in the last stages of Alzheimer’s, when my brothers and I needed so much more information to go on than we had – explanations, plans, a tour guide, and hope that it really wasn’t going to be that bad. But then it was that bad, and then some, and all we could do was talk, and stick together. We managed to laugh at ourselves and at her, and at the utter hopelessness of it all, and we sought wise counsel – medical, financial, spiritual. I prayed for my mother to die in her sleep. I prayed that I would never have to take the cat out of her arms and put her in a home. A nurse summoned from the Alzheimer’s Association entered into the mess with us. We said, “We don’t know if we should put her in a home, and if so, when. We don’t know what’s true anymore. We don’t know what we’re doing.” The nurse asked gently. “How could you know?”

How could you know? How could you know? When I read this Lamott piece for the first time I was halted, moved. What a brilliant response from the Alzheimer’s Association nurse; how could you know? I found those words extremely comforting. Comforting to the Lamott family, but also comforting to me, who regularly operates under the delusion that I am expected to know, well, everything.

Each mid-August, as I return from vacation and study and denominational travel I like to preach a sermon that is both an anniversary sermon and a birthday sermon. This coming week is my birthday. It is also the anniversary of my first Sunday in the pulpit as your called minister. I try to make it reflective without being self-absorbed, contemplative without being self-centered.

This year, mid-August represents both the beginning of my fifth year as your minister and my turning 30 this Wednesday. I originally planned to preach about what I had learned in these past four years, and several weeks ago I sat down and actually composed a list of everything I thought I had learned in the past four years. I composed the list in a column on the left hand side of several sheets of loose-leaf paper. But then, on the right side of the paper I began a different list, a list of all the things I didn’t manage to learn in the last four years. This exercise was sobering so I decided to preach instead on this odd grammatical construction that I’ve titled my sermon – “Things I shouldn’t have learned by now.” A grammatical construction that doesn’t really convey what it is supposed to convey, because I messed up the title and it came out wrong. The title of the sermon sounds smug in its present form. It seems to indicate that I am going to talk about things I do know even though I’m not really expected to know them yet. Look at me, all preternaturally precocious. But, it is not meant that way, it just turned out like that - conveying the impression that I will talk of things I know that I shouldn’t be expected to know. And that just sounds plain arrogant.

But that is not what I intended. The awkward grammatical expression – “Things I shouldn’t know by now” – is meant to refer to something entirely different. It is meant to encompass those things of which Anne Lamott speaks when she quotes the Alzheimer’s Association Nurse, “How could you know?” What do you say to your five year-old son after you’ve taken him to visit a dead baby? When do you take the cat out of your mother’s arms and put her in a home? You do what you do, without really knowing for sure. Because how could you know?

Part 2
Go back about ten years in my life. I either just turned twenty or am about to. It was my junior year in college and I realized that over Spring Break in April I would be visiting seminaries as a prospective student. This was serious stuff. So I decided I needed to do something to mark this transition. I dyed my hair a brilliant shade of turquoise-blue and cut it into a Mohawk. It felt sacramental. [Random fact: What do you use to get a Mohawk to stand up? Actually, you use a paste composed of fifty percent Elmers glue and fifty percent raw egg whites.] And then I got rid of the Mohawk, grew out my hair all decent looking, did prospective visits to seminaries, and the rest was history: admission to Harvard, four years of classes, internships, chaplaincies, student ministries, and more.

And then, four years ago, you courageously invited a quite presentable, nicely-coiffed, 25 year-old young man to be your minister. Of the several choices I had of churches at which to serve, you Shawnee Mission stood above the others head and shoulders for the way you described your dreams for a future minister. You said, and here I literally quote what you said, “Our church is poised to grow significantly in the coming years – in spiritual depth, in commitment to the community, and in membership… the worst mistake that our new minister could make would be to not show enthusiasm and energy. We are eager for energy and enthusiasm.”

Here I am! Sign me up! We seemed to be a good fit for one another. So, four years ago you turned over the spiritual leadership of this church to a young man with a very presentable hair-do, not yet twenty-six, but with enthusiasm and energy. And you knew I would make lots of mistakes, and I did. But you agreed to forgive and forebear as long as the mistakes were not the worst mistake I could make: to fail to show enthusiasm and energy.

So, my faux-hawk this morning? It is not the melodrama of existential angst and despair at turning thirty. OK… maybe a little. It is sacramental too, I think. It commemorates the decade sinced I got rid of the bright turquoise Mohawk at age 20, a full decade of serious dedication – a decade that coincided exactly with my twenties. Thanks for letting me celebrate this in your presence.

Part 3
More than enough about me, though. Because this morning is not about what I have learned or what I have not yet learned. It is about some other kind of third thing. Not exactly things I shouldn’t know by now, but the things that more or less transcend our pure knowing. What were the words of that Alzheimer’s Association nurse? “How could you know?” This wasn’t a condescending “How could YOU know?” It was a hands-up-in-the-air surrender to the reality that there will be some things we just can’t know the answer to for sure. What is the right thing to do after you’ve taken your five year-old to visit a deceased baby? How could you know?

For some of us, these non-answers can be challenging. As Unitarian Universalists we may be very comfortable believing that there is not one single, orthodox, right, correct answer to the question of whether God exists. As Unitarian Universalists we may be very comfortable believing that there is not one single, orthodox, right, correct answer to the question of what happens to us after we die. As Unitarian Universalists we may be very comfortable believing that there are not certain, final answers to some religious questions.

But, what about when the questions aren’t metaphysical? What about when the question is right there in your face and hits you personally, when it comes to medical treatment for an aging parent, or what to say to grieving parents? Or, even what about when it is choosing a major in college or deciding to leave that position and go a different direction that carries a lot of risk? What about those times when there are wrong answers, to be certain, but there may not be one exact right one?

God’s eternal truth is that sometimes we can’t know for sure. Earlier we sang, “Light of ages and of nations, every race and every time has received thine inspirations, glimpses of the truth sublime.” But, the sublime truth is that sometimes we just can’t know.

Too often we think of life this way: Imagine a young girl 5 or 6 years old who is running around the pool. The child trips and skins her knee raw. The first time this happens, we might say something like, “Now you’ve learned why it is dangerous to run around the pool.” It is the lesson of experience, right? “Now you know.” “Well, this is a learning experience.” “Life has just taught you a lesson.” This is kind of childhood development type stuff. We turn even the painful into a learning experience.

But, the next time the young girl slips running around the pool, we might say something less educative. “Haven’t you learned this by now?” “Didn’t you learn your lesson the first time?” “Didn’t last time teach you anything?” “You should know by now…”

And we can break it all down into these two categories, this dualistic epistemology, where everything can be neatly divided into something you don’t already know and will someday learn or something you should know by now.

To use a different, funny example, that came to me, we either tell the child: “Well, I guess you learned a lesson that it is not nice to pull the cat’s tail,” or “you should know better than to pull the cat’s tail. Remember what happened last time you did that?”

This is not only for children, though. We can tend to chalk up our own failures and disappointments, our own gains and losses as either learning experiences or as a failure to have learned that lesson the first time, or the second, or the third, or…

But, if we are true and honest to ourselves, we might also imagine things we shouldn’t have learned by now. How could you know? How COULD you know?

When faced with religious questions, when faced with spiritual questions, we are not expected to respond with correct answers, with the right answers, but with honest and authentic answers.
Similarly, when faced with life’s hardest questions, when faced with life and death itself, we are not expected to respond correctly, only honestly, and authentically.

These thoughts I’ve shared with you this morning come, if anything, not out of any celebratory angst I am feeling about a certain birthday. If anything, it is coming out of the reality that the past two weeks have been a bit remarkable for the pastoral care demands at this particular time, including, among other pastoral care needs, visiting with families who have lost loved ones.

All of which, all of which has caused me to pause, to grow introspective, to search my own heart for the answers to this life, and to respond this way:

Not to proudly and precociously and triumphantly boast of what I do know.

Not to chastise myself for that which I have not yet learned.

But to return, in peace, to a place where I am able to admit what I should not know. Because how could you know? How could you know?

Benediction
Go forth not with abundant pride for all the things you know.
But, also, do not go forth beating yourself up over the things you have not yet learned.
Go forth honestly and authentically, with the knowledge that sharing your honest and true self with others will be enough and more than enough.



My Faux-Hawk, in honor of turning 30!

The newest book by Boston University religion professor Stephen Prothero (author of the fascinating book American Jesus) is called Religious Literacy: What every American needs to know - but doesn't.

On Sunday, September 2nd I will be preaching on this book and examining some of its bold suggestions, such as religion becoming the fourth "r" of American public education alongside reading, writing, and arithematic.

So, I bet you are wondering: How religiously literate are you? Prothero's book begins with a handy quiz. I've reprinted the quiz from this website. Take it and see how you do. I've hidden the answers on another section of the blog. Good luck and no cheating!

1) Name the four Gospels. List as many as you can.
2) Name a sacred text of Hinduism.
3) What is the name of the holy book of Islam?
4) Where according to the Bible was Jesus born?
5) President George W. Bush spoke in his first inaugural address of the Jericho road. What Bible story was he invoking?
6) What are the first five books of the Hebrew Bible or the Christian Old Testament?
7) What is the Golden Rule?
8) "God helps those who help themselves": Is this in the Bible? If so, where?
9) "Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God": Does this appear in the Bible? If so, where?
10) Name the Ten Commandments. List as many as you can.
11) Name the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism.
12) What are the seven sacraments of Catholicism? List as many as you can.
13) The First Amendment says two things about religion, each in its own "clause." What are the two religious clauses of the First Amendment?
14) What is Ramadan? In what religion is it celebrated?
15) Match the Bible characters with the stories in which they appear. Draw a line from the one to the other. (Hint: Some characters may be matched with more than one story or vice versa)

Biblical Characters:
Adam and Eve
Paul
Moses
Noah
Jesus
Abraham
Serpent

Biblical Stories:
Exodus
Binding of Isaac
Olive Branch
Garden of Eden
Parting of the Red Sea
Road to Damascus
Garden of Gethsemane

Want to see how you did? Click here!

The beginning of my homily this morning got all messed up because I mis-remembered a quote by Kurt Vonnegut, the famous novelist and avowed humanist and free-thinker. Earlier this week I was thinking about some of my favorite Psalms from the Hebrew tradition and I seemed to recall something about Vonnegut saying that Psalm 23 was the finest piece of writing ever written. I searched frantically for this quote, only to find that Vonnegut had expressed these sentiments about the Sermon on the Mount.

Some do consider the Twenty-third Psalm, with its imagery of walking through the valley of the shadow of death and of cups runneth-ing over, to be the greatest piece of writing ever. Just not Kurt Vonnegut.

Me, I’ve always been partial to Psalm 150. Psalm 150 is the final psalm and also the shortest. It is only six verses. In the third and fourth verses, the psalm lists how we are to praise. Praise with lute and harp, with trumpet and tambourine. And then the fifth verse arrives, and we are told to quote, “Praise the Lord with clanging cymbals; praise the Lord with loud, crashing cymbals.” I’ve always loved that particular verse. First of all, it is superfluous, unnecessarily repetitious for such a short little psalm. It is driving the point home. It is as if the psalmist is saying, “Praise with loud cymbals… no, I’m serious here, we’re talking crashing, clanging cymbals. Bring the noise. Bring the funk.” I like to think of myself as a clanging cymbals type of guy. I like to imagine Animal from the Muppet Show as the exemplar of this sort of piety.

But, there is a third Psalm that I think is just as good. It is the forty-second Psalm that begins with this great line, “As the deer thirsts for water, so my soul thirsts for you.” Depending on the translation, the word thirst comes across differently. The King James version uses the verb “to pant”: “As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so paneth my soul after thee, O Lord.”

In our service today, I am going to talk a little bit about thirsting and invite you to think about what you are thirsty for. For what do you thirst?

One of the books I have been reading this past month is called Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. It has kind of been a hot best-seller this Summer. It falls into the genre of spiritual writing and it even has an enthusiastic blurb by Anne Lamott on the cover, which is good enough for me. In a nutshell, the book is the memoir of a successful writer in her mid-thirties from New York City who goes through a tough divorce and decides to set out around the world to heal and find herself. She gets a book deal to do this and spends four months in Italy, four months at an Ashram in India practicing meditation, and four months in Bali, Indonesia studying under a Balinese medicine-man.

I decided to read the book as an experiment. I know dozens of people who have read Eat, Pray, Love and have seen dozens more reading it on airplanes, but I don’t know a single man who has ever read it. It is distinctly possible that I am the first man to have ever read it. I wanted to know whether a man could enjoy it. So far, I have strongly disliked it, and with only fifty pages to go, the window of redemption is closing quickly. (And if you accuse me of not giving this book fair shakes, consider that several years ago I read Anne Lamott’s Operating Instructions, a diary of her first year as a single mother to her son. I was riveted, even when she goes on for twenty pages about dealing with her colicky son. I’m open-minded. But Eat, Pray, Love doesn’t do it for me.)

But, here is one of the few passages in Eat, Pray, Love, that I actually found redeeming and insightful. It deals with the subject of thirst we are considering today. Gilbert writes,

I found during the beginning of my stay here at the Ashram that I was often dull-witted during [my meditation practices.] Tired, confused, and bored my prayers sounded the same. I remember kneeling down one morning, touching my forehead to the floor, and muttering, “Oh, I dunno what I need… but you must have some ideas… so just do something about it, would you?” This is similar to how I often spoke to my hairdresser.

There’s a wonderful old Italian joke about a poor man who goes to church every day and prays before the statue of a great saint, begging, “Dear Saint, please, please, please… give me the grace to win the lottery.’ This lament went on for months. Finally the exasperated statue comes to life, looks down at the begging man and says in weary disgust, “My son – please, please, please… buy a lottery ticket for crying out loud!”

If I want transformation, but can’t even be bothered to articulate what, exactly, I’m aiming for, how will it ever occur…. If you don’t have this, all your pleas and desires are boneless, floppy, inert; they swirl at your feet in a cold fog and never lift. So now I take the time… to search myself for specificity about what I am truly asking for. [pages 176-177]

Listen to these words again: “I want transformation, but I can’t be bothered to articulate what I’m aiming for… so now I take the time to search myself for specificity about what I am truly asking for.” For what do you thirst?

Over the summer our Board of Trustees and senior staff read the book Kicking Habits by Thomas Bandy, one of the leading thinkers about healthy church life. Bandy begins his book by pointing out that the vast, vast majority of people (especially those under the age of 50) who begin attending church do so because they are longing for some change to take place in their life. They are seeking to be transformed though they may not even be aware of what that change might look like or what the transformation entails. They have a vague sense of something missing or something that they want to be altered.

Not to drill the point home too hard, but Bandy says that they don’t come to find friends; they tend to already have plenty of friends. He says they don’t come seeking service opportunities; they already have more than enough places making demands on their time. No, they come for something they cannot get through going out with friends or serving on the PTA; there is some change they wish to make in their life. Now, the catch is that to make that change happen will involve creating intimacies and to make that change happen will involve doing something akin to service, but the intimacy and service follow from a longing, panting thirst for change.

I find myself now trying to integrate this into the way I approach ministry. I used to ask visitors to the church what they did for a living, hoping they would say they were a plumber (yay, a potential new member for the facilities committee) or a financial planner (Hooray – a future finance committee chair) or a teacher (send them down to the classrooms right away!)

Now, I try to ask people, “What transformation do you want for your life to undergo? What is missing? What do you want to change?” And only then do I ask them how can this church community be an agent of that transformation. How can we quench that desperate, panting thirst?

For what do YOU thirst?

Let’s do an exercise. In just a moment I am going to sound our little Buddhist meditation bowl and invite us to join in a few moments of quiet thought about this question. When I sound the bowl a second time, I invite you to be brave and turn to your neighbor and maybe ask them to tell you one thing in their life that they thirst for. If your neighbor is not brave, I invite them to share with you their prediction for what the Chiefs’ record will be this year. When I sound the bowl for the third time, I invite your attention to return up front.

First ring: quiet reflection on your thirst.
Second ring: sharing with your neighbor.
Third ring: come back.

If this exercise has been anything what I imagine it has been like, the conversations out there among you have been diverse. Some of you may not have been able to name any thirst; perhaps you have come to discover and discern. Some of you may have been able to name a thirst but have no idea how to make it happen; perhaps you have come to be empowered. Some of you may have been able to name a thirst and have a very developed plan about how to satisfy that thirst; perhaps you have come to be turned loose. Some of you may not have been able to name any thirst, but perhaps only a thirst you once had, a thirst that has been sated and satisfied; perhaps you have come out of a sense of abundant gratitude and fulfillment.

This morning as we start up a new church that never ended, as we come back to a place we never left, let us continue to ask each other what we thirst for. Let’s listen to each other’s longings. Let’s share and be receptive, understanding that just as we do not all share the same image of divinity (and that’s OK) neither do we all thirst for the same things (and that’s OK too.)

A. Powell Davies once said that life is a chance to grow a soul. It is that enterprise that we try to be about here in this religious community. There is so much before us.