RevThom

Homily: "Poetry for the New Year" (Delivered 1-1-12)

2012-01-02T04:49:00.000-08:00

First Reading
“A Change in Plans” by Tony Hoagland *

It’s tiring, this endless revision
of our idea of a world
which is continually revised –
as the painter good-naturedly lengthens
the ash on his model’s cigarette – or,
if nature is his model, subtracts a leaf
from the birch undressing in the yard.

It’s hard to remember
what we’re practicing for
with this long succession of goodbyes
as each new understanding
goes out of date, like a window
turning into a mistake.

What we’ve learned is mostly
not to be so smart – to believe,
as the hands believe,
in only what they hold.
And we don’t rush our explanations.
Instead, we tell a story:

Remember how the reptiles,
after generations of desire
to taste the yellow flowers,
thrust out wings one day and lifted from the ground?
Being birds by that time,
their appetites had changed.
But they kept on flying.

Second Reading
“The Century’s Decline” by Wislawa Syzmborska *

Our twentieth century was going to improve on the others.
It will never prove it now,
now that its years are numbered,
its gait is shaky,
its breath is short.

Too many things have happened
that weren’t supposed to happen,
and what was supposed to come about
has not.

Happiness and spring,
among other things,
were supposed to be getting closer.

Fear was expected to leave the mountains and the valleys.
Truth was supposed to hit home
before a lie.

A couple of problems weren’t going
to come up anymore:
hunger, for example,
and war, and so forth.

There was going to be respect
for helpless people’s helplessness,
trust, that kind of stuff.

Anyone who planned to enjoy the world
is now faced
with a hopeless task.

Stupidity isn’t funny.
Wisdom isn’t gay.
Hope
isn’t that young girl anymore,
et cetera, alas.

God was finally going to believe
in a man both good and strong,
but good and strong
are still two different men.

“How should we live?” someone asked me in a letter.
I had meant to ask him
the same question.

Again, and as ever,
as may be seen above,
the most pressing questions
are naive ones.

Third Reading
“Thanks, Robert Frost” by David Ray *

Do you have hope for the future?
someone asked Robert Frost, toward the end.
Yes, and even for the past, he replied,
that it will turn out to have been all right
for what it was, something we can accept,
mistakes made by the selves we had to be,
not able to be, perhaps, what we wished,
or what looking back half the time it seems
we could so easily have been, or ought…
The future, yes, and even for the past,
that it will become something we can bear.
And I too, and my children, so I hope,
will recall as not too heavy the tug
of those albatrosses I sadly placed
upon their tender necks. Hope for the past,
yes, old Frost, your words provide that courage,
and it brings strange peace that itself passes
into past, easier to bear because
you said it, rather casually, as snow
went on falling in Vermont years ago.

* Note: These poems are readily available for free on the internet. If you are the copyright holder of these poems and would me to remove them, please don’t hesitate to contact me and I will remove them immediately.

Homily
I used to schedule a worship service known as Poetry Sunday each year in the late spring, usually around the middle of June, when the church year was coming to a close. By that time of the year I’d often feel that I didn’t have too many words of wisdom left to offer. I’d turn to the wisdom of the poets, and allow myself and allow you to be held for a time in the grace of their beauty and insight.

So, why are having a Poetry Sunday in January? I didn’t run out of springtime poems. Neither is my own storehouse of ideas is growing bare. I figured that the morning of the first day of January is as good a time as it gets to pause, to reflect, to allow ourselves to be held by the grace of beauty, and to take time to listen intentionally. Plus, there may not be as many poems about the New Year as there are about the spring, but there are certainly a lot and it would be a shame not to hear a few of them.

I’ve always been remiss to try to divide the world into two types of people, but it seems to me that one true division could be made between those who regard the new year as a threshold moment, a true turning, an opportunity given to us by the universe to take a different path if we would only have the steely fortitude to make the necessary resolutions. And then there are those who do not regard the turning of the year as any sort of a watershed moment, who are not necessarily against the idea of self-improvement or personal betterment, but prefer gradualism over cold-turkey willpower, who view time as cyclical rather than epochal.

The poems that I selected for this Poetry for the New Year service all have to do with looking forward and with how we ought to regard a turning calendar or a changing era. These poems are about how we mark the passage of time and these poems are about our own plans and hopes and aspirations within time.

Someone asked the poet in a letter, “How should we live?” It is a question at the core of human life. “How should we live?” It is a question that cuts to the ethical core of the religious enterprise. And, it is a question that Nobel laureate Wislawa Syzmborska, in her poem “The Century’s Decline,” suggests is a naïve question. Taking a long, broad view of the twentieth century, she remarks that this is a question that we, the members of the human race, are not particularly good at answering.

There was going to be respect
for helpless people’s helplessness,
trust, that kind of stuff.
Anyone who planned to enjoy the world
is now faced
with a hopeless task.
Stupidity isn’t funny.
Wisdom isn’t gay.
Hope
isn’t that young girl anymore,
et cetera, alas.

In this poem Syzmborska humbles us, chastising us for our grandiosity and for our foolish utopianism. Her poem is no less true for us, now a full decade into the twenty first century in a Western democratic nation, than it was for the poet who was writing in Poland in the 1980s, an Eastern Bloc fully in the tumultuous throes of emerging from communism.

At the exact same time in the 1980s, Tony Hoagland, another of my very favorite poets, published his very first chapbook of poetry, named after the poem that was our first reading. (If you like the poetry of Billy Collins, you’d like Tony Hoagland. He is like Collins, but edgier and more irreverent.) From the United States to Poland, Hoagland’s poem can be read as a reply.We’re not talking about a century here, but the long history of evolution. As human beings, as living organisms, it is our nature to desire loftily, to plan intensively, to strive with all our might, only to recalculate our desired destination midway through the journey.

Remember how the reptiles,
after generations of desire
to taste the yellow flowers,
thrust out wings one day and lifted from the ground?
Being birds by that time,
their appetites had changed.
But they kept on flying.

Indeed, “this endless revision of our idea of a world” is tiring. It’s true, it can be hard at times to “remember what we’re practicing for.” According to Hoagland, we focus on the task at hand because it is the task at hand, and not any guarantee eternal significance and meaning. If Syzmborska tells us that time shows us our folly, then Hoagland urges us to be foolish, because what other option is there?

To these two poems, I add a third. I had never heard of the poet David Ray until just about a week ago, when the poem was recommended to me by a colleague. I’d never read any of his Ray’s poems, but I plan to read more of them. (Ray has a local connection, having taught for several years at UMKC which honored him as professor emeritus.) If Syzmborska writes that we are cursed by our foolishness and Hoagland writes that we are blessed by our foolishness, then Ray holds out the hope that we might be compassionate with ourselves for our foolishness.

[The past] will turn out to have been all right
for what it was, something we can accept,
mistakes made by the selves we had to be,
not able to be, perhaps, what we wished,
or what looking back half the time it seems
we could so easily have been, or ought…

How do you regard the turning year? How do you respond to the blank calendar, the symbolic fresh start? Do you see this day as a threshold? Or, do you see it as just another day?

I know that there are some of you who are restless souls. It is in your nature for you to scrutinize yourselves and to be perpetually aware of the exacting standards you don’t always live up to. You know who you are. Truth be told, I often count myself among this group. As out goes the old and in comes the new, I offer you and myself this blessing, a paraphrase of the words of David Ray: May the future, yes, and even the past become something you can bear. And, may this strange peace comfort you.”

And I know that there are some of you who are not nearly as strident, not nearly as insurgent. Some of you, like the figures in the Tony Hoagland poem, are content to be in the moment. To you, I offer this blessing: May the new year bring you yellow flowers worth your striving, and may you not confuse the long road for the foolish road.As we enter this New Year, carry these poetic reflections out into the year before us.

If here you have found a sense of determination and resolve, then go forth determined to live fully.

If here you have found an ability to laugh, take that laughter out into the world.

If here you have found a greater sense of peace, go forth and bring peace to a world ever in need of peacemakers.

If here you have found a depth of commitment, commit to blessing the world.

If here you have found a willingness to be foolish, go forth and love foolishly.

If here you have found hope, go and share it with all you meet. Amen.

Sermon: "Miracles for People Who Don't Believe in Miracles" (Delivered 12-18-11)

2011-12-19T08:49:00.000-08:00

Something very much like this actually happened. A decade ago I did my internship at a church in suburban Dallas. At this congregation there was an ongoing discussion group that met midweek to consider various religious texts, books, or current events. I was invited by this group to lead a series of discussions on a topic of my choosing and I chose the topic of mysticism because I had just previously taken a class on mysticism in divinity school. Following one of our discussions, a woman asked if she could visit with me. She wanted to tell me about her mystical experience.

The experience happened when she was alone and out in nature. All of a sudden she found herself completely paralyzed. Energy, like an electrical current, coursed through her. Despite being unable to move, she was not afraid. In fact, the feeling was intensely and immensely pleasurable. This experience lasted for what seemed to her like hours, but the experience also seemed to happen outside of time.

What actually happened? It is a question that this woman didn’t feel a particular need to answer. She had had a mystical experience. But, she was also afraid of speaking openly about this experience. She did not want to be judged or ridiculed. She didn’t want others to attempt to explain away her experience or deny that it had happened.

No, she was not suffering from mental illness. No, she did not have a seizure disorder or a brain tumor. No, she was not taking hallucinogenic drugs. No, while out in the woods she had not accidentally ingested mushrooms or berries and she had not licked any toads. And, no, she had not fallen asleep and dreamed the whole thing.

What had actually happened? She had an experience of mystical union with a divine being. At least that is how she made sense of it. But, how does one talk about that? Until she shared the story of this experience with me, she had kept it completely secret.

***

The Christmas stories that we hear this time of year, the stories that we will retell on Christmas Eve, are stories that contain miracles on top of miracles on top of miracles. In the first chapter and a half of the Gospel of Luke an angel appears to Zechariah, and then to Mary, and then to the shepherds along with a multitude of heavenly host; both Elizabeth and Mary conceive miraculously; Zechariah is struck mute fantastically and then cured in an equally fantastic manner; and John has something of a psychic episode while still inside of Elizabeth’s womb, detecting the presence of Jesus all the way over in Mary’s womb by way of fetal ESP. In the Gospel of Matthew an angel appears to Joseph, astrologers interpret an anomaly in the sky, and both Joseph and the astrologers have prophetic dreams.

These biblical texts are full of miracles, supernatural events, and synchronicities. How exactly has our own Unitarian Universalist tradition regarded these miracles? We know how Thomas Jefferson, influenced by British deistic Unitarianism, regarded them. Jefferson literally took a razor to the Gospels, performing an epic cut-and-paste job. He cut out every single miracle, not just the virgin birth and the angels, but the miraculous healings and the resurrection, too!

This miracle slashing tendency within Unitarianism was captured humorously by Christopher Raible when he rewrote a popular carol with these lyrics:

God rest ye, Unitarians, let nothing you dismay;
Remember there's no evidence there was a Christmas Day;
When Christ was born is just not known, no matter what they say,
O, Tidings of reason and fact, reason and fact,
Glad tidings of reason and fact.
There was no star of Bethlehem, there was no angels' song;
There could have been no wise men for the trip would take too long.
The stories in the Bible are historically wrong,
O, Tidings of reason and fact, reason and fact,
Glad tidings of reason and fact!
Our current Christmas customs come from Persia and from Greece,
From solstice celebrations of the ancient Middle East.
We know our so-called holiday is just a pagan feast,
O, Tidings of reason and fact, reason and fact,
Glad tidings of reason and fact.

Of course, Raible was not poking fun at Christianity or Christmas. He was lampooning us, encouraging us to laugh at ourselves for abolishing comfort and joy in favor of reason and fact.

I want to go back in time with you to the early 1800s, to the ministry and career of Ralph Waldo Emerson, and to a time in Unitarianism that was known for a theological debate called the “Miracles Controversy.” How many of you knew we had a Miracles Controversy? You may be surprised to know that this theological controversy was not about whether the miracles of the Bible, particularly the miracles involving Jesus, were true or false. The controversy was about whether the miracles of Jesus were unique. One side, the more conservative side, argued that the Biblical miracles had a kind of primacy. The other side argued that miracles did not only happen 2,000 years ago in the Middle East, but happened throughout human history, and, most importantly, were happening around us and to us now, directly. (I suspect that more than a few of us would have trouble choosing either side in this controversy.) The Transcendentalists took the here and now side of the debate. They were much more interested in experiencing the present than in believing in the past. They believed in miracles beyond miracles.

Here is where things begin to get weird. Just as the woman I spoke of at the beginning of this sermon kept her mystical experience a secret, we tend to keep an important part of our own religious tradition secret. Emerson’s wild band of Transcendentalist friends were deeply curious about such things as animal magnetism, mesmerism, séances, mediums, and various other forms of paranormal phenomena. That’s not a fact that we choose to broadcast, is it? Many of these same wild spiritualists were among the first to introduce the English speaking west to the religions of India, just as they were among the most eloquent voices speaking out and writing out in favor of the abolition of slavery and women’s rights. These are facts that we do broadcast. But here is the thing. I’m absolutely convinced that their commitments to greater human freedom, intellectual freedom, artistic freedom, and spiritual freedom were deeply interconnected with their willingness to explore and experiment with the occult and paranormal.

It’s been nearly two hundred years since the “Miracles Controversy.” Looking at much of contemporary Unitarian Universalism, it doesn’t seem like either side won. Rather, a third side came to dominate, the side that likes the Jefferson Bible and heartily sings out the words “reason and fact.” The experiences of the woman I spoke of earlier and the paranormal interests of the Transcendentalists are concealed. They are the secret story of our faith, and there is a secret story of our world. And, this is where things will get really weird.

In the early twentieth century, a man named Charles Fort began a most unusual project. He decided to read every single newspaper and scientific journal published in the previous century – in English and in French! What he was looking for was stories of uncanny coincidences and unexplained phenomena. And, did he ever find them! His notes mention tens of thousands of anomalies and coincidences. [see AI, 92-141] The world, according to Fort, is significantly weirder than we like to admit. In the words of Jeffrey Kripal [see note below], Fort wrote about,

tablecloths and lace curtains bursting into flames around teenage boys and girls (mostly girls, it turns out), or, even better, rains of fish, periwinkles, frogs, crabs, or unidentified biological matter falling from the sky and piling up in the ditches for anyone to see. Or smell.

Kripal continues,

Fort, by the way, was not the first American writer to notice the fish. Earlier, Henry David Thoreau had wryly observed that “Some circumstantial evidence is very strong, as when you find a trout in the milk.” [AI, 95]

None of this is about belief, by the way. This is not about believing that frogs actually, factually fell from the sky in the nineteenth century, much less that frogs fell from the sky in Pharaoh’s Egypt. What is absolutely factual, though, is that newspapers reported that frogs, and fish, and periwinkles, and unidentified biological matter did rain from the sky.

Here is another strange fact. Wolfgang Pauli was a brilliant physicist who won the Nobel Prize in physics in 1945. He also was a patient of Carl Jung, going to the doctor for help with emotional and sexual problems that plagued him. Anyone who knew him as a scientist knew about something called the “Pauli Effect.” You see, when Pauli entered a lab, weird things tended to happen. Equipment would malfunction, break, or explode. It was humorous, to an extent. When something went haywire around a laboratory, scientists would inquire about Pauli’s whereabouts. Even his presence in the same city as a laboratory was thought to cause bizarre things to happen. At a physics conference in a warm weather location, his colleagues insisted that he sit well away from the air conditioner. And, just what should we make of the fact that the furnace in our sanctuary stopped working on the same morning that I decided to talk about Pauli? Finally, during World War II Pauli was not invited to join the Manhattan Project, the team of scientists charged with developing the first atomic bomb, despite his reputation as a brilliant scientist. It is rumored that those organizing the research worried about what would happen if the “Pauli Effect” was unleashed on an atomic research laboratory. It was more of a risk than they were willing to take. To put it bluntly, a community of the world’s greatest scientific minds was willing to engage the idea that one of their colleagues possessed untamed telekinetic powers. [see AI, 14; MM, 128-129]

The secret story is that a whole parade of the brightest, boldest thinkers in virtually every field have been interested and involved in spiritualist, psychical, paranormal, and occult pursuits. The people we’re talking about here are psychologists, philosophers, anthropologists, scientists, inventors, artists, and literary figures, people who altered the course of human events and our understanding of what it means to be human. [see AI, 11-17] In their secret lives we find them contemplating and experiencing the “miraculous” despite being people who were not passionately committed to the miracles of the Bible in any way that was even remotely orthodox. And, in many cases, we find that the strange and bizarre is not a hobby off to the side of these brilliant thinkers, but an integral part of their work and their being, even a source of their “superpowers.”

There are stories far weirder than those I’ve shared. There are hundreds and thousands, if not millions, of these secret stories. I’m less interested in the facts behind any one story than I am in the fact that these stories mean something.

***

I want to come back into this room, this community, this congregation. The woman who shared her mystical experience with me a decade ago poses an interesting question for us. What would happen here if someone shared a personal story about a personal mystical experience, an anomaly, a synchronicity? I mean actually share it. Talk about it. Like during an adult religious education class, or in a Covenant Group, or in the Exploring Membership class, or at coffee hour, or over dinner at one of our Saturday Suppers, or even from the pulpit on Sunday morning.

I suspect that quite a few of us have had experiences that are not easily explained. I’m not talking only about full-blown miracles or paralyzing mystical trances. I’m talking about the subtle anomalies, minor synchronicities, sensations, premonitions, the tingling of sixth senses.

Jeffrey Kripal [see note below] shared with me a series of four sermons he delivered at the Emerson UU Church in Houston on this very same subject. About experiences like those I’ve talked about, he told his listeners, “Next time something like this happens to you, do not ignore the event. Do not let it pass without comment or interpretation. Most of all, do not approach it as a mere coincidence or a miracle. Approach it as a tiny piece of a story in which you are the central character. Who knows what might happen?”

My own charge and challenge to us is just a bit different. The experiences that I’ve talked about this morning are ones that many communities are completely unable to accept. In orthodox religious communities, spiritual experiences are fine, as long as they follow a very narrow script as to what is acceptable. The moment they cross boundaries, they are deemed heretical and taboo, and are forcefully, even violently, opposed. Outside of these religious traditions, our cultural institutions have a prevailing attitude that scoffs at and excludes these experiences for violating the principles of scientific rationalism, or insists that these experiences be disguised, obscured, or hidden away.

I’m interested in what I would call a “gnostic community.” Alas, a better name eludes me at this moment. It would be the type of community in which Ralph Waldo Emerson would happily stay. It would be a community in which the woman of whom I spoke at the beginning would feel no need to keep her story a secret. It would be a community that tells Wolfgang Pauli that he can sit wherever he wants. It would be a community, somehow, for those who are partial to the traditional miracles, for those who prefer reason and fact, and for those who experience miracles but don’t believe in miracles.

Thank you for considering this. And, I wish a very weird Christmas.

Notes

Jeffrey Kripal. This sermon would not have been even remotely possible without the scholarship of Jeffrey Kripal. I took a course from Kripal in the spring of 2001 at Harvard Divinity School. He is the J. Newton Rayzor Chair in Philosophy and Religious Thought at Rice University, where he is also the Chair of the Department of Religious Studies. His two most recent books, Authors of the Impossible: The Paranormal and the Sacred and Mutants and Mystics: Science Fiction, Superhero Comics, and the Paranormal, provided the core source material for most of the stories and ideas in this sermon. In the text of the sermon above I’ve cited the pages from these two books that discuss Charles Fort and Wolfgang Pauli.

Trout in Milk. When I read this quote by Henry David Thoreau I laughed so hard that I simply had to include it. But, what is Thoreau writing about? Here is a rational explanation. Dairy farmers of Thoreau’s era were known to increase their profits by watering down the milk they sold. Thoreau may have been making a joke. “You’re obviously watering down your milk; there is a trout in it.”

Sermon: "What's In a Name?" (Delivered 12-11-11)

2011-12-13T12:00:00.000-08:00

I remember, as a child, looking through the bookshelves of the house I grew up in and discovering a book of baby names that belonged to my parents. On the inside cover there was a pair of lists, handwritten in ink. The list of boy’s names had “Thomas” at the top, followed by a handful of inferior choices. My curious eyes scanned across the page to the list of girl’s names. How many of you know what your name would have been if you had been born the opposite gender? Apparently, my name would have been “Bambi.”

At least that’s what I believed for many years, until I realized that I had misread the handwriting in the book of names. My father’s name is Thomas. And, my mother’s name is Barbara. My name wouldn’t have been “Bambi.” It would have been “Barbie.” A modest improvement, I suppose...

In thinking about stories about names, I was filled by vivid and powerful memories. Earlier, our Intern Minister Lane Campbell shared the story of a renaming ritual for a transgender friend. So much is in a name. I have a vivid memory of college and an acquaintance telling me of the poem she had just published, a courageous, powerful poem about the poet coming face to face with the true origins of her name and struggling with what exactly this means for her identity. [I didn’t mention this in the sermon, but the poem’s title is “In the Name” and can be found in Blue Mesa Review #10, published in 1998. The poem deals with her tracking down an image of the woman for whom she was named – a Playboy playmate – and reflecting on this discovery in terms of her own emerging identity as a feminist and a woman.]

As your minister, you may have noticed that I try to learn as many of your names as I possibly can, as well as the names of the children in our church. I’m not perfect, but I am pretty good at it. Knowing your name, how you pronounce it, and how you spell feels important to me.

Names are deeply meaningful. There is a history and a story behind every name. You may have been named after somebody, a relative perhaps, and there is a story behind that. Or, you may not have been named after anybody, and there is a story behind that, too. You may accept the name you were given, or alter it to make it your own, or choose your own name. There is a story behind that. Even if you are ambivalent about your own name, even if you don’t particularly care for your name, your name has a story with meaning attached to it.

As a congregation, as a congregation moving in 2012 to a new location, we’ve decided to open up a conversation about our name and whether we should change it or not change it. Let me be entirely up front and say that on the question of whether we should change our name or not, I don’t have an opinion. I don’t actually care that much. However, and this may sound a bit confusing, I am extremely in favor of having a conversation about our name. I’m in favor of such a discussion because such a discussion is an exploration of our identity as a religious community, and it seems to me that it is really healthy and important to spend some intentional and deliberate time focusing on our identity.

I’m also excited that the decision was made to have this conversation, because I am very hopeful. It is not that I’m hopeful about a particular outcome. The outcome actually does not matter to me. What matters to me are the conversations we’ll have and the process of thinking about our identity. I’m positive and I’m optimistic because you, as a congregation, are healthy enough and capable enough and mature enough to have this conversation in a productive way. It is a conversation that you’ll bring your best selves to: your dreams, your views, your stories, your longings, your humor and joy, your hopes and fears and vulnerabilities, your respect and love and wisdom and understanding. I have the utmost faith in you.

What I want to do this morning is to frame a discussion about church names, the various issues we may want to think about, and how it all relates back to who we are. I’m told that we were formed as a congregation in 1967 as the Shawnee Mission Unitarian Society. But, even this I have some questions about. Over in Saeger House, there is a poster on the wall commemorating our first meeting with a “paid minister” on September 7, 1969 and signed by all those in attendance on that day. Curiously, the heading reads, “First meeting with a paid minister of the Johnson County, Kansas Unitarian Society.” Despite this confusing poster, we were known as the Shawnee Mission Unitarian Society through the 70s and 80s until, in 1994, our name was changed and we became the Shawnee Mission Unitarian Universalist Church. This change was made to reflect accurately the full name of our religion, Unitarian Universalism, and because our identity as a “society” confused people. It was thought that we should more clearly identify ourselves as a religious community. This change was made in 1994, and what those of us who were here seventeen years ago remember is that the decision was made very quickly, without a lot of input, and that many found the decision abrupt and jarring.

About our name, there are many things I could say. But for this moment, let me say that I do not believe that it is a perfect name, but that I also believe that there is no such thing as a perfect name. In Islam we learn about the ninety-nine names of God. God is too expansive to have one name. One Islamic interpretation of the ninety-nine names is that those are just the revealed names, and that there are perhaps an infinite number of hidden names, names beyond our ability to even perceive. It seems to me that we too, as a church, could come up with at least ninety-nine names. In fact, we are well on the way. I will guarantee you that none of those names alone is perfect, but that in the practical world we have to put something on our street signs and letterhead. And, if having an imperfect name is vexing and aggravating to you, I’d urge you to accept it, for all of us, you and especially I, are also imperfect.

As to the diversity of Unitarian Universalist church names, allow me to count the ways. There are roughly 1,000 Unitarian Universalist congregations in North America. Most are named for a location on a map. Every UU congregation in Kansas except for us is named after the city in which it is located. We, in fact, are named after a district that stretches across several cities.

Naming a church after its city – such as Springville Unitarian Church – harkens back to a 1950s ideal although it is a much older practice than that. Churches in the 1950s thought of themselves as denominational outposts, as cookie-cutter franchises. McDonalds’ golden arches communicated a menu and taste that was completely standardized. Similarly, First Presbyterian of Springville in the 1950s had the same hymns, same communion schedule, same Sunday school classes, and probably much the same sermon as just about any other First Presbyterian.

There is a certain utilitarian quality to naming yourself after your location. But, how specific should you be? In Bethesda, Maryland, there are two UU churches: River Road and Cedar Lane. Many UU congregations go larger, naming themselves after their county. Some have directional names. Northwest UU Congregation is located in the suburbs north and west of Atlanta, but should not be confused with a different congregation, Unitarian Universalist Metro Atlanta North, which is known by its acronym UUMAN, pronounced like “human” with an almost silent “h.” Northwest UU Church, meanwhile, is located north and west of Detroit, but is also located in the suburb of Southfield, Michigan, making it, yes, the Northwest UU Church in Southfield. Not all location names are named after geopolitical locations such as streets, towns, cities, or counties. Lots of UU churches name themselves after geophysical features. UU churches have incorporated natural images into their names, including river, lake, harbor, bay, valley, island, mountain, slope, foothills, high plains, prairie, and woods. Congregations are also named after regional after local plant life: Live Oak, Cedars, Wildflower, River of Grass. At least three – Caribou, White Bear, and Manatee – have animals in the names of the congregation. I’m pretty sure that we couldn’t get away with putting “Manatee” in our name.

Here’s how two congregations incorporate natural images. The UU church in Memphis is named the Church of the River, and the sanctuary looks out on the mighty Mississippi. Meanwhile, the Thermal Belt UU Fellowship in Tyron, North Carolina is named for the temperate weather caused by geologic formations. One suspects this congregation has several scientists for members.

Naming a church after pleasant images of nature causes me to recall an old comedy piece by Molly Ivins in which she tells us that suburban housing, shopping, and office park developments are named for what used to be there but was destroyed to make space for developments. Fox Meadows gets its name because there used to be foxes and meadows. Willow Creek gets its name because there used to be willows by the creek. At the Oak Park mall there are exceedingly few oaks and no park.

Of the largest churches in America, many have secular names that would work just as well as an upscale mall, housing development, or country club: Lakewood (the largest church in America with a weekly attendance of 43,500), North Point, North Ridge, Lake Point, Saddleback, Willow Creek, Prestonwood, Woodlands, and Eagle Brook. Just as popular with mega-churches are secular abstract terms: fellowship, new life, community, horizon. The very first time I drove by a “Prairie Life Center” I actually thought it might the name of non-denominational mega-church, and not a fitness center.

There next largest group of UU churches are named not for a place but for an idea. Some of those names are fairly old and some are fairly new. For example, in the mid-1800s it was all the rage for Unitarian churches to name themselves, “Church of the Messiah.” Confusingly, later in the 1800s, in was in vogue for Unitarian churches in the Midwest to take the name “Unity.” This was not a reference to the Unity School of Christianity (which wasn’t founded until 1889) but to the godhead as a Unity and not a Trinity. And, of course, there is the very popular name All Souls. In fact, one name that was considered when our church was founded as an offshoot of All Souls in Kansas City was “Southwest Souls” as we were south and west of downtown Kansas City. (Thank goodness that name was rejected.) Tulsa, Oklahoma is home to All Souls Church, the largest UU church in the country as well as three other smaller churches named after concepts: Hope Unitarian Church (named, in fact, for a woman instrumental in founding this church), the Church of the Restoration (named for a Universalist doctrine), and The Welcome Table Church, which describes itself as “A free, universalist, Christian, missional community.” More recent UU congregations that have named themselves after concepts include Pathways, Wellsprings, Tapestry, Mosaic, Spirit of Life, and the Church of the Open Door.

There are, of course, many names of Unitarian Universalist congregations that do not have to do with places or ideas, but with historical figures. A few have chosen to name their congregations after figures that are most people have heard of, such as Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry David Thoreau. (It is odd that our largest church named for Emerson and our only church named after Thoreau are both located in the Houston area, an area not particularly known for its transcendentalism.) Others have named their congregations after fairly obscure figures. It can be challenging enough to explain Unitarian Universalism to someone who has never heard of us, much less also trying to explain who Michael Servetus was and why your church is named for him. I know of four congregations named after their ministers. Just sayin’. (Of course, this was after their minister had died.) One UU church is named for someone who was very clearly not UU. That would be the Abraham Lincoln UU Congregation. But, it is also in Springfield, Illinois and if you live there you sort of have to name to yourself after Lincoln.

Our congregation in Charlottesville, Virginia is named after Thomas Jefferson, as are three other UU congregations. One of our denominational districts in the south had been named after Jefferson but recently voted to change its name due to its concerns about naming itself after the slave owner and architect of Native American removal policies. The congregation in Charlottesville is currently considering changing its name, an issue it struggles with at a deep level.

Their brand new senior minister, Erik Walker Wikstrom, shared this reflection in the possible name change in his sermon entitled, “What’s In A Name?” that he delivered in October.

What are we to do with this? What are we – an overwhelmingly white congregation that would like to become more truly diverse with regards to race, and ethnicity, and class; a congregation that occupies the highest point in Charlottesville, Virginia, a stone’s throw from Monticello – what are we to do with this? If, in the 1950s, the American Unitarian Association saw Thomas Jefferson as an exemplar of all things right and good in liberal America and thought it proper to build a Memorial Church in Charlottesville, then now, in 2011, we know that the truth is much more complicated. And perhaps we think that continuing to align ourselves with this slaveholder who truly believed that blacks were inferior and “made to carry burdens,” makes us complicit.

In his sermon, Erik asks a number of tough questions, but also seems to oppose changing the name.

I bring him up because, like their church, our church is named after a part of our local and national history that is complicated and hurtful. Technically, our name is derived from the name of the postal service district in this area. The postal district derived its named from the Methodist mission to the Shawnee Indian tribe as well as members of more than a dozen other tribes that were expelled from the East and sent to live here beginning in the 1820s. The Mission was established in 1830, moved to its location in Fairway in 1839, and closed in 1862. The Shawnee Mission was run by a Methodist minister named Thomas Johnson, as in Johnson County, who had been a supporter of slavery, but who was killed by supporters of the Confederacy after taking an oath of loyalty to the Union at the outset of the Civil War.

The history of the Shawnee Methodist Indian Mission is worth exploring at greater length than I am able to this morning. But, allow me to make a few points. As Unitarian Universalists, we’re not complicit in what took place in northeast Johnson County in the first half of the nineteenth century. As Americans, however, we live in a country whose legacy includes slavery, oppression, colonization, racism, and the destruction of peoples and cultures. Shawnee Mission is a part of that story, albeit a small part.

In the field of anti-racism, there is a concept known as white privilege. Part of white privilege is the ability to tell stories and use language that is blind to the lived experience of people of color. Speaking of how many African Americans view Thomas Jefferson, brilliant Jefferson historian Annette Gordon-Reed said, “[They] find his conflicted nature a perfect reflection of the America they know: a place where high-minded ideals clash with the reality of racial ambivalence.” When we say “Shawnee Mission” and imagine just a school district or just a part of Johnson County that is white privilege. A Native American may hear the term and think, “Yep, that’s where our children were taken to be civilized by the white folks who had kicked us off our land.”

Of course, changing our name does not change history. If only it was that simple. Erasing names does not overturn centuries of imperialism, oppression, and violence, nor does it address or redress inequality today.

Early in my ministry I attended an interfaith clergy luncheon with a distinguished theologian. As we introduced ourselves, one of the ministers in attendance introduced himself as the minister of the Country Club Christian Church. The distinguished theologian was taken aback and exclaimed, “That is a most intriguing name for a church.” The minister replied, “Our name reflects our geography, not our philosophy.” The same might be said of our name.

The final chapter of Freakonomics, the 2005 mega-bestseller by Steven Levitt and Stephen Dubner, deals with the subject of naming. The authors find that there is a correlation, but not causation, between names and socioeconomic status and education levels. Their stories are more interesting than their statistics. One story they tell is about a large family in New York that named their sixth child “Winner,” and then, for some inexplicable reason, named their surprise seventh child “Loser.” Winner’s life path was one of crime. He was arrested some three dozen times for all manner of criminal behavior. Loser, who went by Lou, turned out to be an upstanding citizen, civic leader, and Sergeant with the police department.

In conclusion, I share with the name of a church in Denver, Colorado. This church calls itself “the church for the right-brained and the left-out.” On their web-site they write,

Our name doesn’t sound like a church name… on purpose. We really want to connect with people who have no interest in “church” by society’s definition. There are plenty of churches for normal people and we think we have a unique calling to reach out to our otherwise unchurched friends…. Who have been outcast by society or even by the church itself. Most important to us, however, our name is humble and implies that being people of faith does not mean that we are better than anyone else.

The name of this church, you ask. Their name is actually Scum of the Earth. Yes, that’s right. Scum of the Earth. Let this be a reminder to us that a name is a name, and that beyond that name is our ministry of lives changed, free faith inspired, community created, services rendered, and justice advanced.

Sermon: "Alienation" (Delivered 12-4-11)

2011-12-07T11:19:00.000-08:00

Reading
This reading is adapted from words by Albert Q. Perry that appeared in Carl Seaburg’s Unitarian Universalist anthology, Celebrating Christmas.

One of my favorite Christmas stories concerns the rather snobbish ox who shared the stable with the family from Nazareth. With considerable amazement he witnessed the visits of shepherds and the strangers from the East; heard all the talk about stars and angelic choruses; and finally watched Mary and Joseph flee with their son. The ox was not impressed!

For days the other animals could talk of nothing but their human guests while the ox silently chewed his cud over in a dark corner. Finally he reproved his companions with this reflection: “I don’t understand all this excitement. I don’t know, I really don’t know why you are so interested in that vagabond family. If they had been anybody worth knowing, they would never have stayed in this broken-down shack. As for the baby, ─ it was very like any other baby that I ever saw. They were very ordinary people, I would say. Very ordinary people indeed!”

Regardless of how we react to this story, most of us can confess to being even more “ordinary” than the family from Nazareth. It remains our task to find ways for our ordinary lives to become more unusual, more extraordinary. It remains our task to cultivate unusual neighborliness, unusual generosity, extraordinary expressions of love, extraordinary attention to matters of the heart and the spirit. May this season bring extraordinary grandeur to our otherwise ordinary lives.

Sermon
While pondering the theme for this morning’s sermon and service, an image came to my mind. It is a bit of a random and obscure image, but I thought I’d share it with you. On the first season of the television program The Simpsons – see, I told you it was random – there was an episode that began by playing up the dysfunction, disrespect, and lack of civility in the Simpsons’ household. One evening the Simpsons decide to compare themselves to other families in Springfield. They slip out into the night, slink through bushes, and peer in at their neighbors through the windows of their living rooms. In this act of voyeurism they see scenes of domestic tranquility and wholesomeness. In this viewing they have an experience of alienation.

Almost every year on the first Sunday in December in has been my tradition to preach on a negative emotional state, what I call a “spiritual affliction.” In past years I’ve considered such themes as loneliness, anger, jealousy, disillusionment, and depression. It is not that this time of the year makes me pensive and pessimistic. Rather, it is that I know, pastorally, that some people, not everyone but a lot of people, struggle emotionally and spiritually at this time of the year.

Meteorologically, December is a harsh transition. “Now light is less,” as one of hymns puts it. The wind and chill startle us. Physically, we conserve heat by becoming closed and drawn in. It is the beginning of a season that is bare and raw, and I don’t just mean the weather. For some of us, for many of us, it is a season of various stressors, longings, expectations that are put upon us, and regrets that surface. In the words of what will be our closing hymn, this can be a season in which, “disappointment pierced me through.” So, what I want to do this morning is to focus on one of those challenging emotional states, one of those spiritual afflictions, the feeling of alienation.

Alienation. The dictionary defines alienation as estrangement, as turning away, as the state of being or feeling like an outsider, as the state of being or feeling isolated, or as the state of being or feeling withdrawn from the objective world as through indifference or disaffection. It is as if we were hiding in the bushes, looking in at this reality that is not ours.

Alienation, we might say, involves the feeling of existential distance and difference. Distance and difference. Such distance and difference are evident even in our common uses of the word “alien.” This word is used in the realm of science fiction and in the realm of immigration.

Let’s take science fiction first. [These two paragraphs are inspired by Jeffrey Kripal’s new book, Mutants and Mystics: Science Fiction, Superhero Comics, and the Paranormal.] In the realm of science fiction – films, television, books, comic books, and the like – aliens typically first appear as distant (that is, they come from a long way away) and different (that is, they are not human.) And, one of the really fun things about science fiction is that it plays with what happens when what seems very far away and very different becomes close and familiar, a close encounter of the third kind. Sometimes that distance and difference is overcome by empathy. E.T. the Extraterrestrial is not that strange. I, too, like Reese’s Pieces. I, too, have been homesick and have wanted to phone home. And, sometimes the distance and difference is overcome by painful recognition. When the aliens of science fiction are not cute and adorable, when they are threatening and menacing, they actually function in sci-fi literature as a way of reminding ourselves of our own human proclivities to colonize, enslave, exploit, and destroy. We see our own ugliness reflected.

[As an aside, we might note that many of the creators of these alien beings had a deep rootedness in humanism and religious liberalism. The Twilight Zone was created by Rod Serling, a Unitarian. Star Trek was created by Gene Roddenberry, a humanist. It is interesting to mention, for example, that the very first interracial kiss on television took place on a 1968 episode of Star Trek. What might it mean that one of our own society’s racist taboos was first shattered on a distant planet, many light years away? Talk about an overcoming of difference and distance.]

In present day America, the word “alien” is used in a different sense. The term refers to a non-citizen. It happens to be a legal term, resident alien, non-resident alien, and so forth. But, the language, as language does, also has significance beyond its precise legal definitions. I would submit that when immigrants are spoken of as aliens, the language emphasizes difference and distance, and denies a sense of common humanity. I would argue that there are whole classes of non-citizens that we would never think of as or refer to as aliens: the shortstop for the Kansas City Royals, the visiting professor at KU, the guest soloist at the symphony, the co-worker down the hall. All technically alien according to legal definitions, but we would never think in these terms.

Our current focus as a religious movement on immigration justice, on Standing on the Side of Love for families and individuals who suffer because of a broken immigration system, is based, I think, in a realization that emphasizing distance and difference beget dehumanization, and that our faith calls us to recognize the inherent worth and dignity of every single person.

Not only is alienation about a sense of perceived difference and distant. It is, like our snobbish ox said, a way of saying, “I do not recognize myself in you.” When we sung “Building Bridges” [a hymn we sang before the sermon] in our church youth group, the alienation that was being combatted was akin to teenage existential angst. But alienation also has a greater meaning and greater significance beyond that somewhat limited sense. I think social alienation is a term that we might use to speak to a larger sense of indifference. That way of thinking that says that the poor and the sick and the suffering are not my problem is a form of alienation. It can be holding your own self away or holding the other person away. It is saying, “I cannot see myself reflected in you.” Or, it is saying, “I cannot see you reflected in me.”

You probably weren’t expecting an Advent sermon that mentioned The Simpsons and Star Trek. They are funky, odd little examples. But, the truth is that alienation is a tough thing to face into directly. It is that feeling of distance and difference and inability to see your own self in another person. It is a feeling that becomes intense when you feel alienated from members of your own family. It is a feeling that is painful when you feel distant from those around you. It is a feeling of panic when you are in a group of people and, all of sudden, you think, “These are not my people. I don’t belong here.” Has this ever happened to you? Have you ever felt this way?

In years past, when I’ve spoken about these negative emotions and preached about these spiritual afflictions, something has been obvious. It has been really, really obvious that our lives would be improved if we had less of this or that, less of this spiritual affliction, if we could keep that emotion in check. In talking about loneliness or depression, it was very obvious that if we were feeling lonely or depressed we wanted to feel less so, because feeling that way hurts and we do not want to hurt. When I preached about anger or jealousy, it was clear that we all wanted less anger and less jealousy because when those emotions were strongest we tended to act in ways that were inconsistent with our best selves.

But, is alienation the same way? Why should we bother to work to overcome it? What if the people from whom we are alienated are people we shouldn’t even bother to like? I struggle with this. I can think of some events and functions that I had to attend where I’ve walked in and thought, “These are not my people. I cannot see myself in these people. I don’t really want to see myself in these people.”

Alienation will happen to almost of us from time to time. There will probably always be moments when it hits us. I think this is true. But, I also think that it is true that it can become a default script that comes to dominate our living.

One of the earliest sermons I ever preached was in Boston. In the sermon I used Jesus’ line where he instructs us to love our neighbors as ourselves. This wasn’t a major point of my sermon. In the receiving line afterwards, a woman approached me and said, “You can’t tell me to love my neighbors. My neighbors are horrible and I hate them.” That is who I do not want to become. That is what happens when a sense of alienation grow too powerful and dominates our lives. Too much alienation makes us misanthropic.

I want to end with some thoughts about what life would look like with the absence of alienation. The Latin playwright Terence offered probably the very best quote about being free of alienation. Terence wrote, “I consider nothing that is human alien to me.” It is a quote that sounds a bit different if you know the briefest sketch of his life. Terence was born about two hundred years before Jesus. He was born into slavery in northern Africa and, as a child, was taken to Rome as the property of a Roman Senator. He was educated and later freed and is remembered today because as a youth he wrote six comedies, still translated by Latin students today. He died very young, perhaps in his mid-twenties, perhaps at sea. And, knowing these few biographical facts about Terence makes us think a bit differently when we hear again his famous quotation, “I consider nothing that is human alien to me.”

Gandhi’s life is a testament to overcoming alienation. Gandhi’s early experience in South Africa, where he first faced off against the racism and prejudice of the British Empire, led him to a deeper sense of his connection to all. In South Africa Gandhi has a “Rosa Parks” experience on a train. When he refused to move, he was beaten. He worked for voter rights with a broad base of people of color. He was chased by a mob of white supremacists. He turned his treatment as an alien into a life lived in which nothing that was human was alien to him.

As Unitarian Universalists, what we find most inspiring in the figure of Jesus is his radically inclusive ministry. The core of his message is that there are none who are alien, that all human beings are the children of God, and we love God by treating each other like children of God. The aliens of Jesus’ time were the tax collectors, the lepers, the poor, the prostitutes, the Samaritans, the outcasts and the left behind. Like Terence and like Gandhi, the stories that are told about Jesus’ birth and childhood have him coming from the wrong side of the tracks. Nothing good can come out of Nazareth, we’re told in John’s Gospel. An expression of alienation.

We will all experience alienation. The question is whether we will grow distant in response, or whether we will grow into a profound awareness of connection despite the efforts to distance and differentiate.

My Favorite Music of 2011 (Ranking all the new music I bought this year)

2011-12-06T19:41:00.000-08:00

Last year I ranked my 10 favorite albums of 2010. This year I decided to rank all 23 albums I purchased this year from worst (#23) to best. Thanks to the wonder of YouTube you can hear what many of these bands and songs sound like. And, if you are interested in the thoughts of better music critics than me, you can read reviews of these releases by the Audio Visual Club, my most trusted source for pop culture information.

23) Fleet Foxes – Helplessness Blues
In 2008, Fleet Foxes’ self-titled debut album received massive critical acclaim. It was pleasant enough, but I didn’t get what all the commotion was about. Thinking I must have missed something, I picked up their sophomore release and realized I hadn’t missed much. Helplessness Blues contains a dozen indie folk songs with occasional moments of beauty. However, in listening to this record I found myself more bored than touched or inspired.
The AV Club’s grade: A
Sample song: Montezuma

22) R.E.M. – Collapse Into Now
Collapse Into Now was released back in March, but I didn’t get a chance to listen to it until the group announced that it had called it quits in September. It seems like this end of the band as we know it may have provided an impulse to look favorably on this album; assessment is clouded by nostalgia. What is striking is just how derivative this album is. It recycles many of the tricks that made each R.E.M. album an event around twenty years ago, but this album sounds uninspired. On virtually song we can hear references to R.E.M. hits of old. “Überlin” evokes the cool pacing of “Drive” and the pop hooks of “The Great Beyond.” “Discoverer” reprises the jangly rock riffs of Monster. “Oh My Heart” even references the mandolin of “Losing My Religion.” On the album you can also hear the spacious sound of New Adventures in Hi Fi and the verbal randomness of “It’s the End of the World As We Know It.” Once upon a time these features were compelling; here they sound tired. R.E.M. will be missed, but not for songs like those found on this record.
The AV Club’s grade: B+
Sample song: Überlin

21) Rise Against – Endgame
The key to enjoying Rise Against is not to expect too much. This band churns out politically-blunt but catchy hardcore punk rock songs that dazzle with brilliant guitar riffs and get your heart pumping. Their lyrics shout out a progressive and idealistic political ideology. It is an ideology with which I agree, but it is expressed in a way I surely would have appreciated more when I was 16. “Help is on the Way” attacks the lack of a response to the victims of Hurricane Katrina and the disastrous BP oil spill. “Architects,” my favorite song on the album, speaks of recovering a radical vision. “Our heroes, our idols have mellowed with age / Following rules that they once disobeyed.” (Come to think of it, when I was 16 I was listening to Rage Against the Machine whose politics were much more radical than Rise Against’s.) This is a band whose liner notes contain book (Naomi Klein, Jonathan Safran Foer) and documentary (Collapse, Captialism: A Love Story) suggestions. There are far worse soundtracks for a revolution.
The AV Club’s grade: B
Sample song: Architects

20) They Might Be Giants – Join Us
This is the first They Might Be Giants album I’ve bought in the last decade. I decided to pick it up after thoroughly enjoying TMBG’s excellent and joyous cover of “Tubthumping.” Join Us kicks off with the manic “Can’t Keep Johnny Down,” a song in the model of many of the band’s greatest hits. (The music video contest winner had a creative idea.) And, like too many TMBG albums, this one has too much filler in between its catchy tracks like the acoustic “Old Pine Box” and the lyrically-bizarre “You Don’t Like Me.”
The AV Club’s grade: B
Sample song: Can’t Keep Johnny Down

19) Foo Fighters – Wasting Light
Has this band really been around for more than 15 years? Formed in 1995 and fronted by Dave Grohl, the drummer from Nirvana, the Foo Fighters have carried the banner of alternative rock into the second decade of the millennium. Wasting Light, their seventh studio album, is full of solid rock songs. “Walk” has one of those perfect Foo Fighter choruses. “Dear Rosemary” includes a guest appearance by the amazing Bob Mould. “Bridge Burning” and “Rope” are great songs as well.
The AV Club’s grade: B
Sample song: Walk

18) Fountains of Wayne – Sky Full of Holes
It is not Fountains of Wayne’s fault that their fifth studio album, Sky Full of Holes, inspired the year’s worst piece of music journalism. Steve Hyden’s “The five-albums test” is arbitrary and pointless and joyless and ill-conceived. I also disagree with Hyden’s assertion that Fountains of Wayne has released five consecutive albums that are all, at the very least, very good. In my opinion, only their first album can be considered excellent. Their next two albums had multiple spectacular moments but aren’t what I’d consider classics. Their fourth album was, for me, a disappointment. Don’t get me wrong. I love this band. They are the master songsmiths with a seemingly endless supply of catchy pop-rock tunes. When they get it right, they are amazing. And, Sky Full of Holes has several moments when they get it right. “Someone’s Gonna Break My Heart” has aurally addictive hooks. “The Summer Place” is a rocking track and “Acela” is playful and fun. And, I could listen to “Cemetery Guns” over and over again. It is an above-average album with a handful of very good songs. That’s nothing to scoff at.
The AV Club’s grade: B+
Sample song: Someone’s Gonna Break Your Heart

17) Jay Z and Kanye West – Watch the Throne
Jay Z is the best known rapper making music today. Kanye West is coming off the release of My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy, an outrageous and brilliant work of recording genius that critics (The AV Club, Rolling Stone) said was the best album of 2010. There was no shortage of sky-high expectations with the release of this collaboration. From its magisterial title to its gold-plated CD packaging, this duo does not deny that they are the kings of rap. Unfortunately, when you are the king, there is nowhere to go but down. There is too little urgency to this album. Instead, they play it safe with raps and beats that are quality, though at times formulaic. The album’s best track is “Otis,” a single that features heavy sampling from Otis Redding’s “Try a Little Tenderness” and Jay Z and Kanye trading rhymes bragging about watches and cars. (The video for it is a lot of fun!) Other notable songs include the track “Lift Off” featuring Beyonce and “Who Can Stop Me.” Watch the Throne is an album full of great beats and great rhymes. What I miss is the sound of hunger and ambition.
The AV Club’s grade: A-, #9 album of 2011
Sample song: Otis

Interlude: Way, way back in 1994 I read a piece of music journalism (on the band Rage Against The Machine?) that argued that commercial rap music is the artistic representation of Reagan's economic principles. "Otis" would seem to confirm that. Jay-Z raps, "New watch alert, Hublots / Or the big face Rollies, I've got two of those." Kanye responds, "I pulled up in my other Benz. Last week I was in my other other Benz." I'm struck by the idea that enjoying this song involves a willing suspension of the ethical. What is your opinion of the willing suspension of the ethical in art?

16) Death Cab for Cutie – Codes and Keys
On one hand, this is the album on my list that is the most underrated. On the other hand, it is the worst album that Death Cab for Cutie has released. The first single, “You are a Tourist,” is one of the year’s catchiest songs. And, it is less catchy than many of my favorite DCfC songs. In fact, I liked just about every song on the album with the exception of “Underneath the Sycamore.” That this is their worst album tells you a lot about how much I love this group.
The AV Club’s grade: B
Sample song: You’re a Tourist

15) Explosions in the Sky – Take Care, Take Care, Take Care
This past summer I did a wedding in which the bridal party processed to Explosions in the Sky’s most well-known song, Your Hand in Mine, from the Friday Night Lights soundtrack. A great choice. I’ve enjoyed everything by EITS that I’ve heard at the same time that I’d dismissed it as just instrumental rock. I decided to pick up their newest album and it grew on me. Great tracks like “Last Known Surroundings” and “Postcard from 1952” became frequent favorites in my car and while writing sermons. Listening to this band makes me feel like my life has been scored as the soundtrack for a movie.
The AV Club’s grade: B-
Sample song: Last Known Surroundings

14) Mates of the State – Mountaintops
A few summers and several Mates of the State albums ago, I saw this duo put on a fantastic afternoon show at a music festival in Lawrence. Their syncopated rhythms, dual vocals, and terrific keyboards are always a joy to my ears. Mountaintops may lack a hit single, but it is a collection of ten very good songs. The spirited “Total Serendipity” is one of the year’s most fun songs. “Change” and “Maracas” are both very catchy. And, ballads like “Mistakes” and “Unless I’m Led” round out this terrific record.
The AV Club’s grade: B+
Sample song: Total Serendipity

13) British Sea Power – Valhalla Dancehall
This album is a collection of very solid songs by an indie rock group from “across the pond.” “Who’s In Control?” is frenetic dance number but the album gives way to a more subdued feel with gorgeous soundscapes on songs like “Cleaning Out The Rooms” and the epic, 11-minute, “Once More Now."
The AV Club’s grade: B+
Sample song: Who’s In Control? (SFW)

Interlude: I've gone back and forth on whether and how to mention this, but while searching for clips of these songs to link to, I stumbled across a striking video for "Who's In Control?" on YouTube. This video is NSFW. (That means, Not Safe For Work.) The video starts with young folks driving around and goofing off in their car. Next, we find them at a protest (of the G-20 summit in Toronto in 2010?). The protest becomes violent and one of the kids gets his nose bloodied. Then, we find ourselves at a protest after party (?) where lots of clothes get taken off. It is very mild, but also not safe for work. The thing about "Who's In Control?" is that it is a song that is catchy and makes you want to dance and it is also subversive. The opening lyrics to the song are, "Oh, were you not told? Do you not know? Everything around you is being sold. Do you not care? Will you not bear? Everybody else is going spare." Then, later in the song we hear the singer say, "Sometimes I wish that protesting was sexy on a Saturday night." What a fascinating line!

12) The Pains of Being Pure at Heart – Belong
Of all the albums I listened to this year, this one is the hardest to rank. I found out about this group when I learned that I had known its front man, Kip Berman, in college. It is a band with an interesting sound. Think of The Cure with a bit heavier guitars. Kip’s voice sounds a bit like a young Morrissey. And, somehow, those descriptors don’t sound quite right. Besides my own feeling that it is pretty cool that I know the lead singer, it’s been an album that has definitely grown on me. If you are checking it out, I’d recommend the tracks “Belong,” “Strange,” and “The Body.”
The AV Club’s grade: B+
Sample song: Heart In Your Heartbreak

11) Iron & Wine – Kiss Each Other Clean
I’ve always liked Iron & Wine fine enough. A song like “The Trapeze Swinger” or “Naked As We Came” might thrill me, but the rest of their catalogue seemed to run together. This album, however, came out sounding like their strongest album even if it doesn’t have one standout song that soars above the others. If it is hard to pick a “stand out” it is because they all stand out. Fans of their older material will enjoy “Half Moon” while the electronic distortion tinges on “Walking Far From Home” and “Rabbit Will Run” and the bluesy “Me and Lazarus” are all winners.
The AV Club’s grade: A-
Sample song: Half Moon

10) Eddie Vedder – Ukulele Songs
This has got to be one of the year’s quirkiest albums. It is also one of the most charming. This concept album consists of the Pearl Jam front man singing and playing the ukulele. The album art is a crack up; it features pictures of Vedder posing with his uke all over the Hawaii Islands. On rocks next to a waterfall. On a kayak. On rocks by the ocean. The music, though, is not cheesy, but sincere and pleasant and contemplative. Of his solo songs, the two best are “Without You” and “You’re True.” Even better are his duet with Glen Hansard on “Sleepless Nights,” his duet with Char Marshall on “Tonight You Belong To Me” and the gorgeous cello on “Longing to Belong.”
The AV Club’s grade: B-
Sample song: You’re True

9) Beirut – The Rip Tide
If you’ve never heard Beirut, you should! Beirut began as hipsters from Brooklyn playing songs inspired by old world European folk music. The Rip Tide has much less of an European feel, but it is still full of fascinating sounds. Instrument credits mention the accordion, the euphonium, and the farfisa organ, as well as tuba, clarinet, cello, glockenspiel, French horn, mandolin, and the ukulele. Above all of these instruments, Zach Condon’s breathtaking, old soul, voice soars. This band has produced another lovely record.
The AV Club’s grade: B
Sample songs: Santa Fe, Goshen

8) Okkervil River – I Am Very Far
I caught Okkervil River’s live show at a summer music festival in Iowa and was very impressed. Listening to their 2011 release I continue to be impressed. Front man Will Sheff leads this band in churning out an album full of great indie rock tunes with significant folk music influence. The band has a large sound complemented by brass, strings, woodwinds, synths, and more. The album takes a few listens and then grows on you. Indeed, it seems to offer more and more with every listen. Check out tracks “Wake and Be Fine” and “Rider.”
The AV Club’s grade: A-
Sample song: Wake and Be Fine

7) Bright Eyes – The People’s Key
How does Conor Oberst manage to put out winning album after winning album? This would have been a better album for Steve Hyden (see #18 above) to write about. Actually, The People’s Key took a while to grow on me. The opening track, “Firewall,” is unnecessarily long and alienating (in both senses of the word.) But the song “Haile Selassie” grabbed me and fascinated with me. On subsequent listens the entire album became even more intriguing and enjoyable. "Haile Selassie" mesmerizes with its 6/8 time, triplet beat as well as its bright keyboards and guitars. The song, like the entire album, weaves together images from Rastafarianism with various images from mysticism, science fiction, and the occult. Replete with mythemes of orientation, alienation, and radiation, this album could receive mention in a book by Jeffrey J. Kripal. And, if you choose not to pay attention to the weird lyrics, you can still enjoy the great music! Also worth listening to are tracks like “Shell Games” and “One for You, One For Me.”
The AV Club’s grade: B+
Sample songs: Haile Selassie

8) Das Racist – Relax
This is what happens when two very intelligent students from Wesleyan College meet in a dorm for “students of color for social justice” and decide to create a hip hop album with abundant references to post-colonial theory (and fast food and pop-culture.) Das Racist consists of Victor Vazquez (Kool A.D.) and Himanshu Suri (Heems) as well as their hype-man Ashok Kondabalu (Dapwell.) Their music is hilarious and bizarre, equal parts rap and performance art. About their own music, Suri says,

We’re not making music that’s instantly appealing. We dabble with nonsequiturs, dadaism, repetition, repetition. We make dance music while talking about not-dancey things. We say things that on the surface can seem pretty dumb but it’s a mask on some Paul Laurence Dunbar shit for actual discontent with a lot of shit in the world. Further, not a lot of people want to hear rappers talk about Dinesh D’Souza being a punk, Eddie Said, Gayatri Spivak being dope or even know who they are.

If you find that paragraph hilarious, you’ll like Das Racist. If not, you probably won’t. On one level, their music feels like an inside joke that you are never quite in on. On another level it is as fun and catchy as it is ridiculous and absurd. The addictive, outrageous, and postmodern absurd track “Michael Jackson” is as good a song to start with as any. From there check out the self-effacing “Girl”, the wonderful “Punjabi Song”, and the masterful “Rainbow in the Dark.” The latter song includes these closing lines, “No trust them white face man like Geronimo / Tried to go to Amsterdam, they threw us in Guantanamo.”
The AV Club’s grade: B+
Sample song: Michael Jackson

5) Wild Flag – Wild Flag
I grinned from ear to ear the first time I heard this record. It’s been seven years since Sleater-Kinney disbanded and I missed their sound, especially Carrie Brownstein’s voice and electric guitar. Now, two thirds of that group returns (along with Mary Timony and Rebecca Cole) as Wild Flag, a little less punk and a little more rock than S-K, but still really, really good. This album is a gem. “Something Came Over Me” is my favorite track on the album, but you should definitely watch the videos for “Electric Band” and “Romance.”
The AV Club’s grade: B+, #17 album of 2011
Sample song: Something Came Over Me

4) Wye Oak – Civilian
What a beautiful record! Wye Oak is an indie rock duo that turns out powerful, haunting, ethereal songs. Jenn Wasner’s voice and guitar work is enrapturing. These songs are so engrossing that I find them difficult to describe. Wasner’s lyrics tend to be challenging to decipher and even then their meaning is often elusive. But the feeling is there powerfully. In that way, she is a bit like the female version of Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon. I could go on and on about the song “Holy Holy” – one of the very best songs of the year – but that would only distract from the rest of the album that glows from beginning to end. Other fantastic songs include “Two Small Deaths,” “Civilian,” and “Fish.”
The AV Club’s grade: A, #1 album of 2011
Sample song: Holy Holy

3) The Decemberists – The King is Dead
I absolutely loved that I loved this album so much. It’s a great record. But, it is even better when you consider the band’s trajectory up until this point. After releasing three excellent (and quirky) studio albums the band’s next two releases were attempts at rock operas. The first of those, The Crane Wife, had a number of tremendous songs and a number of lousy ones. Their second stab at a rock opera, The Hazards of Love, was a disaster. With this year’s release they return to their roots and grow in a wonderful new direction. The King is Dead lacks the quirkiness of their earlier recordings and winds up exceeding them. “January Hymn” and “June Hymn” are beautiful. “Rise to Me,” “Don’t Carry It All,” and “This is Why We Fight” all are great songs as well, melding acoustic pop rock, folk, and bluegrass into a gorgeous and distinctive sound.
The AV Club’s grade: A, #10 album of 2011
Sample songs: January Hymn, June Hymn

2) Bon Iver – Bon Iver
My expectations were dangerously high when I went to see Bon Iver play a concert this fall. Their first album had floored me with its stripped down beauty and their second, eponymous, album was a jewel. Somehow they managed to exceed my expectations. How was that possible? Bon Iver’s first album was simple and delicate, falsetto vocals and an acoustic guitar. On this album the sound has grown larger and much more textured, but somehow it retains a lovely, intimate feeling. It is a very short album, but it dazzles from beginning to end. It is hard to select the best tracks, but I’d choose “Perth,” “Holocene,” and “Calgary.”
The AV Club’s grade: A-, #3 album of 2011
Sample songs: Holocene, Perth

1) Joy Formidable – The Big Roar
My heart raced when I first listened to the 7-minute album version of the single “Whirring” from this album. The song was an alternative rock revelation and this album soon grew to become my favorite record of the year. The Joy Formidable is a small band that makes a great big sound. The band is a trio from Wales with Ritzy Bryan on guitar and vocals, Rhydian Daffyd on bass, and drummer Matt Thomas. Both their name and the name of the album are perfectly spot-on. There is an emotional power to their music that leaves you feeling a sense of elation. There is also an intimidating size to their sound. It is most definitely a big roar. The song “Whirring” will become its own blog entry sooner rather than later so I’ll focus here on the other songs that make this a great album. The record is bookended by a pair a long tracks with long names. The opener, “The Everchanging Spectrum of a Lie,” and the closer, “The Greatest Light is the Greatest Shade,” each demonstrate their ability to create spectrums of sonic energy. The middle of the album is full of great tracks. Songs like “A Heavy Abacus” and “Austere” grow on you. “Cradle” demonstrates this band’s ability to craft a hard-hitting, three minute rocker. Their music hits you hard. It seeps down into your marrow. It envelops you. It was the most affecting music I heard this year and the best album of the year.
The AV Club’s grade: Not reviewed
Sample songs: Whirring, Cradle, The Greatest Light is the Greatest Shade

Sermon: "Moral Fluency and Moral Quietude" (Delivered 11-20-11)

2011-11-21T12:42:00.001-08:00

Reading
“In Praise of Feeling Bad About Yourself” by Wislawa Szymborska

The buzzard never says it is to blame.
The panther wouldn't know what scruples mean.
When the piranha strikes, it feels no shame.
If snakes had hands, they'd claim their hands were clean.

A jackal doesn't understand remorse.
Lions and lice don't waver in their course.
Why should they, when they know they're right?

Though hearts of killer whales may weigh a ton,
in every other way they're light.

On this third planet of the sun
among the signs of bestiality
a clear conscience is Number One.

Sermon
Over the last couple of months I’ve officiated at several weddings. When I do a wedding, it is interesting because I’m up there in front of a bunch of people and most of them I’ll never see again. They don’t have any experience of me, and most of them don’t have any experience of Unitarian Universalism. And, sometimes what happens is that people will come up to me and say things that project onto me ideas about ministers and churches in general, and these ideas don’t really have any connection to how I understand my ministry or our religious community.

Most recently a wedding guest came up to me and began, “Do you know why I don’t go to church.” I didn’t know, but I bet she was going to tell me. “I don’t go to church,” she told me, “Because church is someone telling you what’s right and what’s wrong, and I’m not going to sit there and have anyone tell me how to live my life.”

I politely excused myself as quickly as I could. But, now, I’m a bit curious. What exactly does she do that she is worried that someone will tell her not to do? But, I was also struck by what she thought it was my job to do. On one level, I kind of reject her understanding of the role of the minister. For example, say I run into you in a public place and you’re with your friend. “Oh,” you say to your friend, “I’d like for you to meet Thom. He tells me right from wrong and good from bad and he tells me what to do.” That would be awkward. But, I also would find it awkward for you to say, “I’d like for you to meet Thom. He’s a minister, but don’t worry. He never says a word to anyone about right and wrong or good and bad and he never says anything about how we should live our lives.”

Or, let me put it a slightly different way. Someone who lives in a different area of the country recently shared with me that she attended a discussion group at her Unitarian Universalist church. During the discussion, an older man remarked, “The great thing about the Unitarian church is that it doesn’t interfere with my life.”

I think a lot of people are drawn to Unitarian Universalism because of the freedom that is found here, because of the acceptance, and because nobody will say, “Here are the absolute answers. Here are the final truths. This is what the eternal word of God says.” But, it is also true that this church is a place where we ask questions about morality, attempt to figure out the answers to difficult ethical questions, and increasingly understand that there is an ethical dimension to how we live our lives. And, part of what we might gain here is some assistance with ethical discernment. We might develop a greater moral literacy, by which I mean the ability to read the ethical significance of affairs in the world around us. We might also develop a greater moral fluency, a larger capacity to speak about things of moral importance. And, we might exercise moral imagination and reasoning, the ability to question the way things are and think through significant ethical questions.

In bringing up the subject of morality, I should probably make clear that I don’t think that this is an area where we as a community of individuals are grossly inadequate or deficient or particularly in need of remedial instruction. Most of the time, most of us have a developed sense of right and wrong and good and bad. Our understandings of right and wrong have evolved over time and with experience and are open to the influence of those we trust and love. But, in articulating that sense of right and wrong, we may struggle at times to identify the source of authority.

Not a lot of us here believe that God literally gave Moses stone tablets with commandments chiseled on them. And, because we doubt that it happened this way, all questions about right and wrong will include a second question: on whose authority? The sources of authority we look to, then, are not singular. We find authority in the revelation that comes to individuals and communities and in our own experience of what works to preserve and uphold life. We find authority in the depth of our conscience, in the workings of reason, and in lessons from the humanities, the sciences, and the arts. We find authority in the examples and teachings of great moral figures and in multiple traditions of wisdom from around the world.

Moral fluency, moral literacy, moral reasoning: these are ideas I want to explore with you this morning. And, I want to suggest that moral fluency, and moral literacy, and moral reasoning are especially important because it can be argued that we live in a world that is less morally fluent. When I say that the world is less morally fluent, what exactly do I mean? I don’t mean that people behave worse than they used to. That is not what I’m saying at all. I mean that people are less likely to speak of things as having moral significance.

This idea for this sermon began as a response to an email I received from a member of this church. This member sent me a link to an op-ed piece by the right-leaning New York Times columnist David Brooks. Brooks’ article discusses a recent sociological study that concluded that young people struggle to articulate their thinking about moral issues. To quote from Brooks’ article,

[The researchers] asked about the young people’s moral lives, and the results are depressing.

It’s not so much that these young Americans are living lives of sin and debauchery… What’s disheartening is how bad they are at thinking and talking about moral issues.

The interviewers asked open-ended questions about right and wrong, moral dilemmas and the meaning of life. In the rambling answers, you see the young people groping to say anything sensible on these matters. But they just don’t have the categories or vocabulary to do so.

When asked to describe a moral dilemma they had faced, two-thirds of the young people either couldn’t answer the question or described problems that are not moral at all… "I don't really deal with right and wrong that often," is how one interviewee put it.

I think that Brooks is partially right and that the researchers he cites are partially right. But I also think that the truth is not nearly as bleak as they make it out to be. I do think that there is an increasing tendency to avoid speech that articulates moral principles. And, I think this is unfortunate. And, I think that there are good reasons that this is the case.

Allow me a digression to talk briefly about something that probably seems extraordinarily random: changes that have taken place in conservative political discourse. But, there is a reason why I bring this up, as I will explain shortly.

Conservative political discourse has changed over the course of the past few decades. A few decades ago, even a few years ago, the loudest right wing voices in America belonged to the religious right. In the eighties they were known as the Moral Majority, although both their status as a majority and as moral were dubious. In the nineties, they were known as the Christian Coalition, as the Religious Right. Their leaders spoke in the language of moral absolutism and moral certainty. They shouted condemnations and judgments. It was a movement that was morally repugnant and morally farcical. But then, this movement sort of dropped out of sight. Jerry Falwell died. Pat Robertson got old. James Dobson ran into money problems. Ted Haggard got caught up in a salacious sex scandal. Here in town, Jerry Johnston’s trajectory mimicked that of the movement as a whole. Of course, the dangerous ideas of the religious right are still around and they are still dangerous. Just look at Topeka. People who believe in religious diversity and the separation of church and state will always have to contend with Dominionists and demagogues.

Now, and this is my point, the loudest conservative political voices in America are much less overtly moral in nature. The language used by groups like, say, the Tea Party is not the language of morality. Their explicit goals are presented as amoral or extra-moral. Of course, the effects of their ideas would have significant consequences, consequences that I believe to be immoral and evil, but the discourse about those ideas, by and large, suspends morality as a category worthy of consideration. [Robert Putnam and David Campbell offer a slightly different sociological study of the Tea Party in this piece.]

I spoke about conservative rhetoric first because the opposite end of the spectrum, the religious left in America, has notoriously had a problem with articulating morality. Jim Wallis’ 2006 book God’s Politics: How The Right Gets It Wrong And The Left Doesn’t Get It. Note the subtitle. Wallis picks apart the moral vision put forth by the religious right, calling it shameful, but also condemns the left for being mute on the issue of morality.

Everything I’ve said so far has been painted with broad strokes. I’ve spoken in generalities and there are plenty of exceptions. But, thinking about those researchers who tell us that many in the younger generation struggle to articulate their moral thinking, I’m left to wonder whether this isn’t as much a rejection of the bombastic judgments of the religious right as it is something akin to the communication struggles that have plagued progressive religion and progressive politics.

If you read the actual interviews on which Brooks based his article, you find that they are not always as alarming as Brooks would have us believe. What is behind the moral quietude of these young people? The interviewees seemed cautious about judging other people whom they may not understand. They seemed careful not to express positions that may be insensitive or oppressive to ethnic or cultural minorities. There was questioning and curiosity mixed in with apathy. Moreover, they rejected the rhetoric of absolutism as false and fruitless and ugly. This is not to say that those interviewed always got it right. This is not to say that they don’t have much to learn. This is not to say that greater moral literacy and moral fluency and moral education are not needed.

I have to be honest with you, when given the choice between a red-faced demagogue and a person who practices moral quietude I would often choose the company of the latter. And, at the same time, I have to admit that something is lost in this moral quietude. What is lost is the ability to critique or challenge or resist the dominant cultural narratives around us.

The researchers I spoke of earlier also wrote this about those they interviewed,

We went into this consumerism section of the interviews expecting at least some emerging adults to display a heightened awareness about environmental problems associated with mass consumer economies. We thought we would hear a variety of perspectives, including some “green” and “limits-to-growth” viewpoints… We expected at least some of them to speak critically about the emptiness or dangers of all-out materialism… We also went into our interviews expecting to hear [them] talk about the political or military complications of such dependence on foreign natural resources like oil. And we expected some to emphasize the importance of personal, inward, subjective, or spiritual growth or richness over the material consumption of products. But we heard almost none of that… Soon we were nearly pushing [them] to consider any plausible problematic side to mass consumerism, if they could. They could not.

If spending money is fraught with moral considerations, saving money can be just as morally dangerous. As one minister friend of mine shared in a recent email, monies that are saved and invested, depending on where they’ve been invested, can be used in multiple by financial institutions to provide loans for the predatory lending businesses and other forms of “development” that blight our local communities as well as to create the factories abroad that exploit workers. Banks can use our investments to place bets on whether Greece will go bankrupt. There are enormous moral dimensions to the dominant narratives in which we live.

Polish poet Wislawa Syzmborska, in her poem “In Praise of Feeling Bad About Yourself,” writes,

On this third planet of the sun
among the signs of bestiality
a clear conscience is Number One.

Moral fluency, moral literacy, moral imagination, moral reasoning. All of these actively resist quietude. All of these muddle the clearness of conscience. They demand that we be more outspoken about our values, to risk offending, to risk speaking.

There is a balance to be found between the zealousness of declaring how other people ought to live their lives and the quietude, indeed the silence, of choosing to avoid “interfering” with anyone else’s life. But, it is necessary to find our way in between. Conscience demands it.

Sermon: "The Spirituality of Civic Engagement" (Delivered 11-6-11)

2011-11-21T08:13:00.000-08:00

Those of you who have been attending church for a while know that I was raised as a Unitarian Universalist. And, I mean I was raised as a Unitarian Universalist. From the first day of preschool to the last day of high school I faithfully attended religious education classes almost every Sunday. If they had given an award for best attendance, I probably would have won it. And, what I want to do at the beginning here is kind of reflect on that experience and how it had an impact on me.

Growing up attending a Unitarian Universalist Sunday school I did learn something about the history of Unitarian Universalism and something about the various religions of the world. Two weeks ago, in my sermon on suffering, I told the story of the Buddha’s adolescence and early childhood. The story of the Buddha was something I first learned in elementary school.

But, more important than any story, I also learned a particular approach to religion. I grew up learning that it was okay to ask questions about religion, that I could author my own religious understandings, that the differences between the beliefs and practices of different religions were not threatening, and that differences were worthy of respect. This education was priceless.

Another priceless learning happened in the areas of morality, values, and character. Religion, we learned, didn’t just have to do with what you thought about God or the afterlife. It had something to do with the type of person you were and how you lived your life. So, I learned something about religious stories and traditions. I learned something about how to approach thinking about religion. And, I learned something about what it means to be a good person.

But, that is not all that I learned. Some time ago I found myself asking myself, “How is it that you know what you know about civic participation?” I can tell you what grade I was in when I learned my multiplication tables. And, I can tell you what year in Sunday school we learned about the five pillars of Islam. But, when and where and from whom did I learn about the importance of civic engagement? One textbook defines civic participation in this way,

Civic engagement means working to make a difference in the civic life of our communities and developing the combination of knowledge, skills, values and motivation to make that difference. It means promoting the quality of life in a community, through both political and non-political processes.

A morally and civically responsible individual recognizes himself or herself as a member of a larger social fabric and therefore considers social problems to be at least partly his or her own; such an individual is willing to see the moral and civic dimensions of issues, to make and justify informed moral and civic judgments, and to take action when appropriate.

I didn’t learn everything I know about civics at a Unitarian Universalist church, but some portion of what I learned came from serving on committees, working with boards, volunteering, and realizing what it meant to practice care for an institution, a community, and the larger world.

It may interest you to know that the earliest Unitarian churches in America did not refer to their buildings as churches – or congregations or fellowships or societies – but as meetinghouses. The buildings were used for religious services on Sundays and for town meetings when the need for a town meeting arose. (The construction was also paid for with tax dollars, but that is another matter altogether.) What is interesting is that the business of the town and the business of the church were conducted in virtually the same fashion. Our annual congregational meetings look a whole lot like New England town meetings.

Our guest speaker on October 30 (Rev. Bobbie Groth) shared the fascinating history of the earliest Unitarians in Kansas. These activists literally risked life and limb to keep Kansas a free state. That was certainly one kind of civic engagement. You find stories that are equally amazing though far less dramatic in many other cities. In places like St. Louis, St. Paul, and Portland, Oregon, Unitarians played a leading role in establishing all of the important civic organizations, everything from the public school systems, universities, and libraries, to parks and museums, to various organizations that provided public services related to health and well-being.

This legacy of building social capital is not just something that our religious forebears did in the nineteenth century. My mentor, John Buehrens, recounts a visit he made as president of our movement to a Unitarian Universalist church in a mid-sized city. He met with a group of women from the church who told him that had been the largest city in the United States without a Planned Parenthood – well, at least until they started one!

Now, Unitarianism may be better known today if those people in St. Louis, St. Paul, Portland, and Lawrence, Kansas, had named all of their institutions after their faith. Alas, they also had humility. But, the important thing to note is that the building of these secular social institutions was the expression of a theological idea and a spiritual value. They believed that the arts and public education and public parks and social services that provide for the common good ought to be funded and protected. This is a sentiment that is much in need right now.

I want to talk about two books that offer troubling observations about the current state of civic engagement in our society. A decade ago Harvard sociologist Robert Putnam published Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community. His study documented the decline of membership and participation in civic organizations. In an appendix he lists forty civic and professional organizations, everything from 4H to the Knights of Columbus to Parent Teacher Associations to the American Medical Association. All of these organizations were formed in the early decades of the twentieth century. All of them saw membership spikes in the 1950s and 60s. And, all of them have seen significant decreases in membership over the last three decades. Today parents are less than half as likely to participate in a Parent Teacher Association as they were forty years ago. Today professionals are much less likely to belong to professional associations in their field than they were in the 1960s.

On to book number two. Just a few weeks ago, a team of social scientists led by Christian Schmidt of Notre Dame University, released a book entitled Lost in Transition, a study of the lives and struggles of young adults aged 18-23. The researchers write,

Democracy requires the active political participation of its people. A thriving republic depends upon its citizens becoming civically informed and active in order to exercise the informed public stewardship needed to sustain communities of responsibility and freedom… Any thriving human life, by most accounts, requires some participation in civic life, extending oneself beyond one’s private world to participate in broader communities and public institutions. By doing so, people have the chance to learn more about the larger world, connect relationally with different kinds of people, consider how to build shared lives together that benefit all, and personally contribute to the well-being of others.

The researchers continue, writing,

Most [young people] are either alienated from or despairing of public life in various ways, or maintain only tenuous connections to actual civic or political involvements.

And, if observations like these are true, it is mostly a case of the acorn not falling all that far from the tree. Putnam shows how rates of civic participation have been decreasing steadily for decades and decades. In searching for information and statistics on voting, the best sources I could find show that rates of voter participation have been slowly decreasing over the past forty years and were already decreasing even before today’s young people were born.

During midterm elections, less than one out of five of eligible voters votes in the primary. Twice that number, just over forty percent of eligible voters, votes in the midterm general elections. Or, put another way, eighty percent of those eligible to vote fail to vote in primaries. Sixty percent of those eligible to vote fail to vote in midterm elections. And, at least forty percent of those eligible to vote fail to vote in presidential elections.

Consider these extremely disparate images. Last week in our worship service we heard about families from Massachusetts who chose to move into a virtual warzone over 1,000 miles away in order to advocate for their deeply held abolitionist beliefs. This week we hear about people who cannot be bothered to vote. A century ago they created school systems from scratch in frontier cities; today they are less likely than ever to belong to a Parent Teacher Association.

On the subject of civic and political disengagement, the authors of Lost in Transition make this telling observation. They write,

We… find a statistically significant correlation among the [young people] we interviewed between enthusiasm for mass consumerism and lack of interest in political participation. The more [they] are into consumerism, the less they are into politics and civic engagement…

More profoundly at issue are their very visions of what a human self and society are and ought to look like. The ideology and practice of mass consumerism reshapes people – their fundamental visions of who and what they are – not into active citizens but acquisitive consumers. Society itself is transformed not into a rich network of various sorts of communities and social institutions that together comprise a civil society and promotes human flourishing, but rather a national mega-supermarket of endless products and services.

What disappears with the cultural takeover of mass consumerism are shared social identities, organic communities of solidarity, the civic virtues of duty and responsibility, and the learned processes of public deliberation, consensus building, and conflict resolution. What takes their place instead are individual-preference formation, acquisitive materialism, entertainment, and the sating of desires.

I want to ask us to hold onto the phrase, “a rich network of various sorts of communities and social institutions.” Wendell Berry, the great American writer and environmental activist, once wrote, “There is, in practice, no such thing as autonomy. Practically, there is only a distinction between responsible and irresponsible dependence.”

On the back cover of your order service you’ll find what you find every week, the seven principles of the member congregations of the Unitarian Universalist Association. These principles hold in dynamic tension our own individual freedoms and our larger responsibilities toward one another, our society, and our world.

The seventh principle, “Respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part,” usually evokes images of nature. If I ask you to imagine an interdependent web you might think of ecosystems, food chains, the carbon cycle, the water cycle, the cycles of seasons, and so on. I think these environmental understandings are a part, an important part, of the seventh principle, but that the seventh principle also speaks to the interdependence of human beings in human society. It speaks to systems of health care, social services, government, and education. It speaks to financial systems and markets. Indeed, what Wendell Berry says is true, “There is, in practice, no such thing as autonomy. Practically, there is only a distinction between responsible and irresponsible dependence.”

In the architecture of the New England meetinghouse there was little difference between civic engagement and faith. On the Kansas frontier there was little difference between civic engagement and faith. In the building of cities there was little difference between civic engagement and faith. May you go forth aware that civic engagement is an expression of spirituality, that autonomy is a myth, and that we are called to practice “responsible dependence” within the interdependent web.

Lions 1, Christians 0: A Minister Reflects on Tim Tebow

2011-11-01T19:04:00.000-07:00

On Sundays in the fall I believe in keeping a strict divide between the sacred and the secular. Sunday mornings are for spiritual pursuits, for leading worship, prayer, and celebration. Sunday afternoons are set aside for profane pursuits, for dozing on the couch while NFL games are on the television. Now, along comes Tim Tebow whose presence seems to demand that I introduce religious thought into my secular act of football watching.

At the end of this essay (section 4) I’m going to write about why I don’t like mixing football and theology. But before I do let me give a little bit of background information about Tebow for those who don’t follow football.

1. Background Information (for those who don’t follow football)
Tim Tebow is, for now, the starting quarterback for the Denver Broncos, one of the worst teams in the NFL. Tebow went to college at the University of Florida where he won a Heisman trophy and a pair of National Championships. He was a first round draft pick (25th overall) for the Broncos in the 2010 NFL draft. He spent most of his rookie season riding the pine but was given a chance to start at the end of last season once Denver had locked up last place in the truly mediocre NFL West. He did absolutely nothing during that time to distinguish himself as a future star.

Tebow started this football season on the bench once more. After 5 games, and with Denver again racing towards the bottom of the league, Tebow was given the chance to start. In his first game he played three and a half quarters of terrible football, but he did orchestrate an excellent fourth quarter comeback and overtime win. It should be noted that this victory came against the putrid Miami Dolphins, a team that very well may be trying to lose all of its games so that it can draft Stanford’s Andrew Luck in the 2012 NFL draft. (Luck is regarded as a once-in-a-generation football talent. He is so good and so coveted that some think multiple NFL teams will try to lose all their games this season in order to try to win the right to draft him. The strategy is commonly known as “suck for Luck.”)

Tebow, of course, is more than just a bad quarterback playing for a lousy team. He is more than just another in a long line of college superstars whose game did not convert to professional football. Tebow is a cultural icon, a bigger-than-life brand whose every move is deemed worthy of headlines on ESPN.

Tebow is an evangelical Christian and is very public about his faith. While dominating the college game at Florida, Tebow gained fame for wearing black stickers under his eyes with Bible verses written on the stickers.

Before he was even drafted, Tim Tebow made headlines in the weeks leading up to the Super Bowl. He appeared in a Super Bowl commercial paid for by Focus on the Family, a right wing Christian organization. The vaguely anti-abortion commercial spot featured Tebow’s mom talking about how she had a medically challenging pregnancy, but her son turned out to be a football star.

2. Tebow as Culture Phenomenon, Icon, and Idol
The Tebow phenomenon is not really about Tebow. It isn’t about football. Somehow, perversely, Tebow has become a symbol of the relevance and significance of evangelical Christianity in American culture. This is much more than I want to think about while dozing on the couch on Sunday afternoon. Grantland writer Brian Phillips only half-jokingly commented, “Somewhere within all our reptilian hearts lurks an instinct for trial-by-combat. This instinct tells us that when a person is strongly associated with an idea, we can use that person's success or failure within the sphere of competitive athletics as a legitimate indication of the quality of the idea… As a result, it's basically impossible not to see Tebow's ability or inability to complete a 15-yard out pattern to Matt Willis as a referendum on the Book of Deuteronomy.”

That may seem completely absurd, but fans have certainly attached enormous significance to the player. He has the bestselling jersey among any player in the league, unheard of for a player who is a second-stringer at best. Fans in Denver literally purchased billboard space demanding that Tebow be allowed to start. They weren’t rooting for a player as much as they were rooting for an idea. The idea was that Tebow is entitled to play. He is a clean cut kid whose faith says that “all things are possible to him who believes.” (Mark 9:23) And, it seems as though his fans really do believe that that he has been chosen and anointed for success on the football field despite all of his human limitations as a player.

Hollywood could not have scripted a better start for him. The Broncos comeback against the Dolphins was labeled “the Miami Miracle.” Tebow marked the victory by kneeling in prayer, bowing his head, and pressing his fist against his forehead – imagine Rodin’s “The Thinker,” just with the fist against the forehead instead of under the chin. Was Tebow’s pose earnest or was it premeditated? Only Tim knows for sure, but there will always be skeptics. It might be noted that with the right amount of pressure from the fist, your face will wince in pain making the prayer seem a lot more intense and sincere.

Even this pose became culturally significant. Over the course of the last week, “Tebowing” became an internet sensation with people tweeting pictures of themselves kneeling in prayer in all sorts of random locations. So grew the myth of St. Tebow.

Well, at least until Sunday. On Sunday there would be no second coming of the miracle in Miami. On Sunday the Broncos hosted the reeling Detroit Lions and the game was a slaughter. The Lions embarrassed the Broncos, winning 45 to 10. Tebow didn’t lose the game all by himself, but he certainly contributed to the blowout loss, playing the quarterback position as ineptly and abysmally as anyone in recent memory. Some of the Lions players even decided to show him up. One Lions defender sacked Tebow and celebrated by striking his iconic pose as he lay crumpled on the ground. Another Lions player Tebowed in the end zone after scoring a touchdown. Lions haven't treated a Christian this badly since the days of the Roman Coliseum!

3. Cold, Hard Football Facts
Before I conclude with some reflections about Tebow and theology, let me just say a few words about Tebow the football player. Tebow was, without a doubt, one of the great college players of all time. However, for a number of reasons, success in college does not necessarily translate into success in the pros.

The college game is extremely diverse with teams adopting innovative styles. Georgia Tech runs the triple option. Oregon runs the blur. Teams use the statue of liberty play and the hook and ladder. On a drive late in last Sunday’s game between Stanford and USC, Stanford utilized the wildcat formation and had Andrew Luck run a naked bootleg. The conservative NFL, meanwhile, prizes homogeneity. The players are too fast and too disciplined for strategies like these to work.

Tebow is far from the only Heisman trophy winner – an award given to college football’s most outstanding player – to not project as much of a quarterback in the NFL. Oklahoma’s Jason White won the award following the 2003 season and went undrafted. He never played in the NFL. Option quarterback Eric Crouch won the Heisman following the 2001 season and was drafted in the middle rounds by the St. Louis Rams. The Rams hoped to convert him into a backup wide receiver. Crouch retired before he ever played a game in the NFL. (Arkansas’ Matt Jones was another star college quarterback who was drafted to play as a wide receiver.) Andre Ware, Ty Detmer, Gino Torretta, and Danny Wuerffel all had underwhelming NFL careers. 1993 winner Charlie Ward elected to play professional basketball instead of football.

Each year there are several highly regarded players who are busts. And Tebow was not highly regarded as a "can't miss" NFL star.

4. Theology and Tim Tebow
The information I’ve shared above strongly indicates that it would be idiotic to draw any conclusions about Christianity from Tebow’s performance on the field. To do so would be the very definition of idolatry. Tebow’s performance is not a referendum on God’s truth or power. Those who want to make it such a referendum are setting themselves up for a significant disappointment.

The NFL is full of committed Christians. Of the 2,000 or so players who will play in the NFL this year, we can conservatively guess that hundreds of them are devout Christians. Kurt Warner, a very successful quarterback, used to attribute his success on the field to God. Which begs the question: when a safety missed a tackle on Torry Holt or when a cornerback failed to cover Isaac Bruce, was God causing those players to fail? Surely, Warner scored many touchdowns against defensive players who were devoutly Christian.

If an individual’s success on the football field is a part of God’s plan, then are the horrific injuries on the football field – concussions, spinal cord injuries resulting in paralysis, broken bones – also a part of God’s plan? What about the child who goes to sleep hungry in the neighborhood next to the stadium? What about all of the cumulative suffering in the cities of Gainesville, or Miami, or Denver? If God had a design for the play that sends Tebow’s team to victory, did God also design the trajectory of the stray bullet that killed the child during the drive-by shooting?

These questions trouble me. I would prefer not to think about them while watching football on a Sunday afternoon. In fact, what I find profoundly soothing is that the game is a game. It is a diversion, a spectacular and restful diversion. The outcome really doesn’t matter. One team will win and the other will lose and it won’t matter.

We’re surrounded by things that do matter. This is true for me as a minister and it is true for all of us. We face questions of life’s meaning and death’s meaning. We face the reality of pain and suffering. We face struggles and challenges. We ask questions about what it means to live lives of integrity and purpose. We wrestle with big issues. And, on Sunday afternoons for a few months during the fall, it is nice to enjoy a respite from these troubling thoughts. Play the game and don’t try to tell me it means anything.

When I think about mixing football and religion I can't help but remember the unfortunate case of Reggie White. Reggie White played in the 80s and 90s for the Philadelphia Eagles and Green Bay Packers. He was one of the greatest defensive football players of all time. He was also a Christian minister and his nickname was "the minister of defense." Unfortunately, White's great play on the field was diminished by an address he gave to Wisconsin legislature, a thoroughly ignorant and bigoted speech that was homophobic and also full of disgusting racial stereotypes. Not only is there a separation of church and state issue here, but I think there is also a separation of religion and football issue. White's celebrity as a football player has no religious or theological bearing. I don't show up and demand to diagram football plays. I'll stick to what I'm good at.

Sermon: "Bible, Brueghel, and Buddha: The Question of Suffering" (Delivered 10-23-11)

2011-10-26T14:55:00.000-07:00

Reading
The reading this morning comes from the book God's Problem: How the Bible Fails to Answer Our Most Basic Question – Why We Suffer by Bart Ehrman. Ehrman, a native of Kansas, is a professor of religion at the University of North Carolina, Chapel Hill where he specializes in New Testament studies. In addition to this book, he has written a series of popularly successful and accessible books on the Bible and early Christianity. In God's Problem, Ehrman writes,

Over the years I've talked with a lot of people about issues pertaining to suffering, and I am struck by the kinds of reactions I get. A lot of people, frankly, just don't want to talk about it. For them, talking about suffering is kind of like talking about toilet habits. They're there and can't be avoided, but it's not really something you want to bring up at a cocktail party. There are other people – again, a lot of people – who have simple and pat answers for the problem and really don't see why there's such a problem... When I go on about all the suffering in the world, they're tempted to write me an e-mail to explain it all to me. They tell me that suffering exists because of free will, or that suffering is meant to make us stronger, or that God sometimes puts us to the test. Other people – including some of my brilliant friends – realize why it's a religious problem for me but don't see it as a problem for themselves. In its most nuanced form… this view is that religious faith is not an intellectualizing system for explaining everything. Faith is a mystery and an experience of the divine in the world, not a solution to a set of problems.

I respect this view and some days I wish I share it. But I don't. The God that I once believed in was a God who was active in the world. He saved the Israelites from slavery; he sent Jesus for the salvation of the world; he answered prayer; he intervened on behalf of his people when they were in desperate need; he was actively involved in my life. But I can't believe in that God anymore, because from what I now see around the world, he doesn't intervene.

Sermon

In this famous 1558 painting, popularly credited to the Belgian master Pieter Brueghel though we don’t actually think he painted it, you see a landscape in which the land meets the sea. In the foreground three men go about their business. One man ploughs the field; another man watches his flock of sheep; a third is casts a fishing line. In the middle ground a pair of large sailing vessels head out to sea towards the sun hanging low in the sky as it prepares to set in the West. Look closely. What do you see in the lower right quadrant of the painting? Why, it is a pair of legs sticking out of the sea.

Brueghel’s famous painting is entitled Landscape with the Fall of Icarus. It is a reference to the story of Icarus in Greek mythology. The story goes that the youth Icarus and his father, an extraordinary inventor, were imprisoned on an island by an evil king. Icarus’ father constructed two pairs of wings and they secured the wings to their bodies with wax and used the wings to fly towards freedom and safety. But Icarus, the heedless young man, disregarded the father’s warning and flew too close to the sun. The wax melted. The wings fell away. The youth fell into the sea and was drowned.

Brueghel’s painting has been interpreted as saying something significant about suffering. Namely, it says that there is a human tendency to turn a blind eye to suffering. The farmer and fisher go on with life. The shepherd and sailor go on with life. How many museum goers pass by Brueghel’s piece without even noticing Icarus’ legs sticking up from the sea? W. H. Auden, in his poem about Brueghel’s painting, puts it this way,

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along

One of the world’s greatest religious stories talks about opening our eyes to suffering. According to legend, Siddhartha Guatama was born a prince in Nepal. His father, the king, had received a prophecy saying that his son would abandon him. In response, the king arranged for his son to live in a pleasure garden inside the palace walls. He never wanted for anything. He was provided with delicious food, education, and entertainment. He even had a marriage arranged for him. But, the story tells us that Siddhartha Guatama grew restless and decided to venture outside the walls of the palace. On his first sojourn, he encountered an elderly man who walked with a cane. Siddhartha Guatama had never encountered anyone like this and he learned about the natural processes of aging, how bodies in time grow weak and infirm, and how this would be his fate. On later journeys he encountered a man who suffered from illness and whose body was wracked with disease. He had never encountered anyone like this before and he learned about the reality of illness and that one day he too would face sickness.

Finally, he encountered a funeral procession bearing a dead body. Having had his eyes opened to the reality and universality of aging, sickness, and death, Siddartha Guatama decided to leave the palace life and become a traveling ascetic monk. He gave up every worldly possession and privilege, thinking that such renunciation would rescue him from suffering. Finally, he went to meditate under the Bodhi tree, and, after a considerable time passed, he attained enlightenment and became the Buddha.

The Buddha’s enlightenment is inextricably linked to concepts of suffering. In fact, in Buddhism the dukkha, or first noble truth, is that suffering exists. “This is the noble truth of suffering: birth is suffering; aging is suffering; illness is suffering; death is suffering; sorrow, lamentation, pain, grief and despair are suffering; union with what is displeasing is suffering; separation from what is pleasing is suffering; not to get what one wants is suffering.”

To say that suffering is a fundamental part of life is to say something that is pathetically obvious. Well, duh! But, Buddha and Brueghel each seem to say that suffering is something that we not only try to avoid for ourselves, which is understandable, but maybe it is also something that we try to avoid acknowledging as an existential reality that surrounds us. Suffering is a part of existence. But part of being awake and alive and enlightened is that we must face into suffering.

Indeed, there is no shortage of suffering to go around. When the Buddha spoke of suffering, he did not only mean the realities of warfare, torture, and famine. He did not only mean the sickening and senseless stories that lead off so many of news broadcasts. Suffering, as I believe the Buddha understood it, was a part of our existential reality, not just a result of certain awful circumstances. But, it is also true that suffering is not evenly distributed.

For those of us in the west, our ideas about suffering live in conversation with ideas about suffering that come to us from the Jewish and Christian traditions. In western monotheism suffering is complicated by the belief in an all-powerful and all-loving God. This is the problem that Bart Ehrman addresses in his provocative book entitled God’s Problem.

Last April and May I offered an adult religious class on Paul’s letters in the New Testament. This was the best attended adult religious education class I’ve ever offered, with some 25 of you attending either all or part of the class. The feedback from that class was that we’d like another class considering the Bible and so I decided to teach a class based on Bart Ehrman’s book on suffering. That class will start on November second so if you feel like going deeper with this topic, I hope you’ll sign up for it.

For Bart Ehrman, God’s problem is that suffering exists. “If God is all powerful, then he is able to do whatever he wants (and can therefore remove suffering.) If he is all loving, then he obviously wants what is best for people (and therefore does not want them to suffer). And yet people suffer. How can that be explained?”

It turns out that the Bible offers numerous explanations for the existence of suffering, but most of these explanations are problematic. And, what we find most troubling in the Biblical literature are explanations of suffering that are unsatisfactory and even indefensible.

Some texts of the Bible, especially some of the oldest books of the Bible, explain suffering as punishment coming from God. In Genesis, for example, we learn that God causes the flood to punish people for their wickedness. Needless to say, this is not a satisfactory explanation for suffering for a whole lot of different reasons. (What exactly are we to make out of the fact that innocents are almost always the ones who bear a disproportionate amount of pain when there is widespread suffering?)

The Bible sometimes, especially in the writings of the prophets, places the blame for suffering on the deeds and misdeeds of other human beings. We cause each other to suffer. There is a certain element of truth to this. People do cause a lot of suffering that we see in the world. Suffering is caused by greed, hate, indifference, anger, rage, and lust.

The Occupy Movement that we see on Wall Street and around the country, in my opinion, is largely focused on calling attention to this kind of suffering and calling for an end to government and corporate practices that cause so many to suffer so much.

But, not all suffering is caused by human beings. It would be possible to dramatically reduce the suffering in the world if people changed their actions and countries changed their policies. This would be a wonderful thing and the world would be a lot better off if this was the case. It would not, however, eliminate suffering. There will always be all kinds of suffering for which there is simply no one to blame. And there will always be questions about the reason for and meaning of suffering.

Finally, in the most interesting part of Bart Ehrman’s book, he spends time discussing biblical literature that responds to the reality of suffering by turning to apocalyptic thought. According to apocalyptic thought, the world exists as a battle ground between the cosmic forces of evil and the cosmic forces of good. Apocalyptic thinkers explain the problems and suffering in the world by concluding that the forces of evil have the upper hand for now. There is suffering because the forces of evil are in charge. But soon, very soon according to apocalyptic thinkers, the tables will turn and the forces of good will rule supreme. And the operative word is “soon.” Any day now. Any moment.

This past Friday was supposed to be the end of the world, according to a bizarre Christian man with a radio program. This past Friday was actually the revised date after the world didn’t actually end last May as originally predicted. People have been making predictions about the imminent end of the world for at least two thousand years. Not a single prediction has come true as far as we know. But, what is interesting about apocalyptic predictions is that the people who make them tend to begin by emphasizing the suffering in the world. Things are so bad now. The end is near. Things are so bad now that the end must be near. Things are so bad now because the end is near.

If you are feeling a bit uneasy, let me just relax you a bit by saying that there is no such thing as apocalyptic Unitarian Universalist theology. But, if you ever run into someone who is pretty sure about the end of the world, you may want to know that the person may not be nuts. They are more likely just scared and feeling overwhelmed by the reality of suffering in the world.

As Unitarian Universalists, though, the fact is that most of us don’t turn to the Bible to try to make sense of suffering. If anything, that insoluble problem of trying to reconcile the idea of an all-powerful, all-loving God with the reality of suffering was probably one of the big reasons why many of us went looking for other answers and other ways of making sense of suffering.

On an absolutely intellectual level, I mostly agree with Ehrman on this point. God is omnipotent, all powerful. God is omnibenevolent, god is all loving. Suffering exists. All three of these statements cannot be true. And, like Bart Ehrman, I think that if any source of Biblical wisdom gets it close to right on the question of suffering, it is probably the book of Ecclesiastes where it says that not all suffering can be explained, that it just is, and that in the midst of such suffering it is best to fashion as productive and joyful and giving lives as we possibly can.

If we return to the Brueghel painting, it may be instructive to imagine ourselves as the characters in the painting. Sometimes we are Icarus. The wings come off. We fall. It can seem as though no one notices or cares, that we are ignored. Oftentimes, we play the role of the ploughman or shepherd or fisherman. We live with blinders on. Is this necessary? Other times we are called to take the fuller view, to stand in the steps of the museum-goer and to behold the whole scene. If we notice and acknowledge and recognize suffering we might be transformed and changed.

Check out this song by the punk band Titus Andronicus that is entitled, "Upon Viewing Bruegel's 'Landscape with the Fall of Icarus'"

Sermon: "Overcoming the Denial of Death" (Delivered 9-25-11)

2011-09-30T12:54:00.000-07:00

Reading
From The Denial of Death by Ernest Becker

Often psychotherapy seems to promise the moon: a more constant joy, delight, celebration of life, perfect love, and perfect freedom. It seems these things are easy to come by, once self-knowledge is achieved, that they are things that should characterize one’s whole waking awareness… [But] only angels know unrelieved joy – or are able to stand it… I’ve never seen or heard [anyone] communicate the dangers of the total liberation that they claim to offer, say, to put up a small sign next to the one advertising joy, carrying some inscription like “Danger: real possibility of the awakening of terror and dread…”

Camus said, “The weight of days is dreadful.” What does it mean, then,… to talk fine-sounding phrases like “Being cognition,” “the fully-centered person,” “full humanism,” “the joy of peak experiences,” or whatever, unless we qualify such ideas with the burden and the dread that they also carry?... What joy or comfort can [be given] to fully awakened people?

What is the ‘best’ illusion under which to live? Or, what is the most legitimate foolishness?... I think the whole question would be answered in terms of how much freedom, dignity, and hope a given illusion provides.”

Sermon
Sometimes, despite a mortal minister’s best efforts, a sermon does wind up sounding an awful lot like a book report. There is just no way to say what I want to say without starting out with a bit of a book report. It won’t stay a book report, but it will start out that way.

One of the books I read this past month was a book that was highly recommended to me by a wise religious leader who I have a lot of respect for. The book is called The Denial of Death by Ernest Becker. It was a book that made an impact when it was published. It won the Pulitzer Prize in 1974. And, it is a book that is still somewhat influential today. A few years ago, Bill Clinton included it on his list of favorite books. Say what you will about Bill Clinton, but there is no denying that he is among our most well-read presidents.

Ernest Becker was a cultural anthropologist by training, but his field of study also included psychology, philosophy, theology and the humanities. In The Denial of Death he draws from the theories of Sigmund Freud as well as the work of several disciples of Freud, such as Otto Rank and Erich Fromm, who carried the psychoanalytic project forward. Becker also draws from the theology of Soren Kierkegaard as well as from Albert Camus and other existentialist thinkers. This is to say that it is a weighty, meaty, challenging book.

Becker’s book argues the following: He says that civilization, religion, and culture have been engineered to help us to avoid or to deny the reality of death. Becker says that our psychological formation is not centered on the repression of sexuality, as Freud theorized, but on the repression of the awareness of death.

The problem we face in modern times, Becker argued almost forty years ago, is that the old religious myths about death are no longer fulfilling. The teachings about heaven, the immortality of the soul, the second coming, and the resurrection of the dead don’t satisfy as they once did. Similarly, the old cultural approaches to life are no longer fulfilling. Becker writes that in previous times the vast majority of people could be handed a script for life: here is your job, your culture, your role, your duties. Don’t question any of it. Just do it.

Now that the old religious ideals are less powerful and now that culture is no longer as prescriptive, we’re faced with a much more individualistic challenge. Because death is too scary to face, we have to develop what he calls our own immortality project, or, what we might call our own hero project. The challenge is to find a hero project that is good. Becker writes,

What is the "best" illusion under which to live? Or, what is the most legitimate foolishness?... I think the whole question would be answered in terms of how much freedom, dignity, and hope a given illusion provides.

The danger, of course, is that it is possible to choose an immortality project that proves destructive. On the large scale, imperial designs, making war, and the amassing of grotesque sums of wealth all have at their root the conviction that these projects will lead to a kind immortality. But other heroic projects are really worth embracing. Becker writes,

The two… motives of human condition are both met: the need to surrender oneself in full to the rest of nature, to become a part of it by laying down one’s whole existence to some higher meaning; and the need to expand oneself as an individual heroic personality.

What Becker is saying is that death is too terrifying to face directly. In the face of the terror and dread, it becomes necessary to create a project of heroism worthy of the gift of our lives.

I might say just two more things. First, at just about the time that The Denial of Death was published, Ernest Becker was diagnosed with an aggressive and painful form of cancer. Just after his book was published, Becker was forced to put his own ideas to the test in the face of death. Sam Keen, then a young writer working at Psychology Today, interviewed Ernest Becker on his deathbed. Keen described him as embodying a kind of courageous heroism and called him a wise physician of the soul. I think that it is really quite admirable that he practiced what he preached.

The other thing I might say is that nearly forty years after his death, there is an organization in the Pacific Northwest that is dedicated to continuing the project of his thought. The Ernest Becker Foundation brings together doctors, psychologists, social scientists, religious leaders, and scholars of the humanities to think together about everything from physician-assisted dying to how the denial of death at the cultural level impacts public policy. For example, the Foundation’s fall conference this year will be on the relationship of the denial of death and climate change denial. But anyways, I mention this foundation because I think its mission statement is a spectacular synopsis of Becker's thought:

The Ernest Becker Foundation seeks to illuminate how the unconscious denial of mortality profoundly influences human behavior, giving rise to acts of hate and violence as well as noble, altruistic striving.

I’m not here to convince you of the rightness of Becker, but I do think that his thoughts are interesting. I don’t know if he is right, but I do know that it is common for us to face the existential reality of death with fear and trembling, with horror and dread, with a troubling sense of anxiety. Does the idea of death cause you to experience panic and anxiety? Is it something you go out of your way to deny and avoid? And, if you avoid it, what do you turn to in order to help you avoid it?

I have had some experience with people who are dying, with people who are close to their own deaths. And, I’ve always puzzled over something. I’ve known deeply faithful Christians who have faced death with poise and courage. And, I’ve known deeply faithful Christians with a deep faith who have faced death with panic and existential fear. I’ve known atheists and humanists who have faced death with courage and confidence. And, I’ve known atheists and humanists who have faced death with dread.

What my experience suggests is that even though questions about the meaning of death are theological in nature, how we respond to the knowledge of our mortality is not purely a matter of theology and belief. I’d like to think that theology is a part of it, maybe even a significant part, but I think there are other factors. Those other factors probably include personality style, affect, disposition, and overall psychological well-being. Our relationships and connections probably have a lot to do with it. Our own life story certainly is influential. And, I would also say that another factor would be the illusions by which we live and the hero projects we have taken upon ourselves.

In the time that is remaining to us, I’d like to share two views about death that I find helpful, or maybe even promising.

It would seem to me that one possible answer to the question of death’s meaning would be a kind of radically honest naturalism. And, if that naturalism is honest enough, I’m not sure that one could call it an illusion. What do I mean by radically honest naturalism? Let me say what I mean using the words of a folky song by the group Poi Dog Pondering,

A lifetime of accomplishments of which the dirt knows none,
only in death can one truly return
Return the carrots, the apples and potatoes,
The chickens, the cows, the fish and tomatoes.
In one glorious swoop, let the deed be done
and bury me deep so that I can be one […]

The song continues

For the dirt is a blanket, no fiery tomb,
No punishment, reward, or pearly white room
And you who say that in death we will pay,
The dead they can't hear a word that you say.
Your words are not kind, sober, or giving,
They only put fear in the hearts of the living.

These words are at once stark and direct, unembellished and unadorned. There is a plainness to them that is both radically honest and, to me at least, somewhat calming and soothing. It is an image that I find utterly absent of terror and dread.

For those of you who might find such radically honest naturalism unsatisfying, I might recommend Forrest Church’s book, Love and Death, which essentially is a Unitarian Universalist minister authoring his own hero project.

In October of 2006 at the age of 58, Forrest Church, the minister of All Souls Church in New York City, was diagnosed with a particularly difficult to treat form of Esophageal Cancer. As he was battling it, he wrote a book about his pastoral theology of death. The cancer went into remission but then returned a few short years later and proved terminal. In a pastoral letter to his congregation announcing his diagnosis he wrote these heroic lines,

I can also happily report that the theology I have hammered out in your good company – religion as our human response to the dual reality of being alive and having to die, and the purpose of life being to live in such a way that our lives will prove worth dying for – offers the same comfort to me during my own time of trial that I pray it has given you in yours. As for my mantra – want what you have, do what you can, and be who you are – I practice it every day, feeling myself blessed beyond measure.

Here is how Forrest Church responded to receiving a diagnosis of cancer on a Friday afternoon with the doctor telling him he probably had just months to live,

In retrospect, the most staggering thing about my reaction is that I cut straight through to acceptance. I embraced the diagnosis at its grimmest and began girding myself to die. No disbelief. No anger. No bargaining. In fact, if anything, I walked about in a pink cloud, feeling my death, getting used to it, finding my sea legs in what turned out to be remarkably gentle waters.

I couldn’t wander too far into myself, for I had an immediate task at hand: the sermon. I changed my topic, as I always do when the world turns in a different direction than I had been intending to go.

This is striking, isn’t it? He gets a call, telling him he has only months to live. He responds, “Now, let me go rewrite my sermon.” And he thinks, “My diagnosis will be a great story to put in the sermon. Talk about a hero project! There is something inspiring about that willingness to stand in the full presence of death, moved by not shaken.

Doubtlessly there is other good counsel I might offer, but this morning let me reiterate the good counsel offered by Becker and Church: Find your own hero project, a project that creates more freedom, dignity, and hope for more of the world’s people. Embrace that hero project, knowing that the purpose of life, as Forrest Church said, is to live in such a way that our lives will prove worth dying for. And know also what Forrest Church said, “the one thing that can never be taken away from us, even by death, is the love we give away before we die.”

Sermon: "Living After Trauma" (Delivered 9-11-11)

2011-09-22T07:00:00.000-07:00

Call to Worship
Come into this place if your heart is full of love; come into this place if you have affection and gentle kindness to share with those around you.

Come into this place if your laughter and smile can soften the hardness of another’s pain.

Come into this place if your faith is strong, if you feel called to service on behalf of all humanity and of this planet.

Come into this place if you are moved by beauty; come into this place and give attention to what is beautiful.

Come into this place if you are hurting, if loss and pain weigh heavily on you. Come into this place and allow yourself to be held.

Come into this place if you feel hardened against the world. Come into this place and begin to discover an inward stillness, begin to loosen the bands securing the armor you wear.

Come into this place if you feel adrift, if you search for purpose, if you are not sure how you can make a difference. Come into this place of discernment, seeking, and learning.

Come, let us worship together.

Reading
from Proverbs of Ashes by Rebecca Parker and Rita Nakashima Brock

Many years later, Rita and I reflected on [the many stories of profound trauma we had witnessed]. We talked about the power of presence to heal some of the effects of violence. Reliable intimate relationships can help people survive profound violence, terror and despair and enable them to live beyond their own personal pain. As Judith Herman notes in Trauma and Recovery, “Traumatic events destroy the sustaining bonds between individual and community. Those who have survived learn that their sense of self, or worth, of humanity, depends upon a feeling of connection to others.” Restored, people return to ordinary life and expand their concern to others-not as self-sacrifice but as self-possession. Present to themselves and to the reality of others, they do not live in denial of violence but in remembrance of presence. They have embraced a greater knowledge of the world, of evil. When we come into such presence of ourselves we are able to take responsibility for our actions and lives, in all their ambiguity. And in that process of taking responsibility, we turn the corner toward the practice of loving, the practice of transforming the world.

Sermon
I grew up in the small, safe town of Wayland, Massachusetts. The shelter of the town was evidenced by a game we played as children. My friends and I would read aloud items from the police report in the weekly town newspaper and then add the words, “And that’s the boring town where we live.” Our favorite went something like this: “On Thursday afternoon a Wayland resident reported that a turtle was crossing the street along Old Connecticut Path. Police were unsuccessful in locating the turtle.” And that’s the boring town where I lived.

Each year on the Sunday after Labor Day, at Wayland’s Unitarian Universalist First Parish, we sang, “May nothing evil cross this door, and may ill fortune never pry about these windows, may the roar and rain go by.” The sheltering walls of my childhood did not feel thin. Hate was kept out. Love was kept in.

This past summer there was a murder in my hometown of Wayland, the town’s first murder in a quarter-century. The victim was a young woman with her whole life in front of her. She had just graduated from high school and was preparing to leave town to attend a fantastic college. The suspect charged with the murder is a young man who had his whole life in front of him. He had just graduated from high school and was preparing to leave town to attend a fantastic college.

In the midst of a family’s trauma, a school’s trauma, a town’s trauma, something remarkable happened. The father of the girl who was murdered is a member of the Unitarian Universalist Church in Wayland. With my parents he attends a peacemaking group at the church. Somehow, in the midst of his unimaginable and horrific loss, this man has made himself the voice of profound compassion.

His reaction has been so profound and powerful that it was the subject of an editorial in the Boston Globe.

In the aftermath of his profound loss, he has shown something else almost unimaginable in these circumstances: compassion… Victims can set the tone for how a town deals with tragedy… [His] apparent concern for the suspect’s family and - yes - even the suspect himself creates an atmosphere of unification rather than inciting fear and revenge.

In the face of such a horrific loss, I think we could imagine understanding just about any type of response. Totalizing depression, paralyzing grief, utter seclusion, even all-consuming anger. We can even understand responses that we would not condone. If this man announced that he was determined to avenge his daughter’s death, we’d understand it, even though we wouldn’t condone it. If anything, the hardest response to understand is this man’s gentle and compassionate response.

I cannot imagine what this girl’s father is going through. I can’t imagine myself in his shoes. And, I cannot pretend to know how I would fare if, God forbid, I should ever find myself facing a similar trauma. I’d like to believe that I would be a force for healing and compassion and reconciliation, but I don’t know.

***

The subject of this morning’s sermon is trauma. It is a subject that I’ve selected due to the obvious significance of this day. I want to tell you from the outset that while I want to contemplate the religious and theological significance to trauma, I want to be very careful not to dress trauma up in pretty clothes or fail to take it seriously. My thinking about trauma tends to approximate my thinking about a similar word, crisis.

For at least the last fifty years, motivational speakers and authors in the field of spirituality have repeated a saying. They’ve said that the Chinese character for the word “crisis” is a combination of two other Chinese characters, the Chinese character for “danger” and the character for “opportunity.” They’ve said that we will have success or peace or enlightenment if we only treat moments of pain as opportunities for learning and growth. However, this saying is based on bad translation. According to leading Sinologists, the character for crisis does not mean danger and opportunity. It actually just means danger or, to be more precise, “a time of danger.”

It is perverse to suggest to a person that has experienced a trauma that the experience is an opportunity for growth. It is heartless to tell victims and survivors that this is an opportunity for learning. And, and, and, there are countless examples of people who’ve bravely lived through trauma or crisis or suffering who do say that they learned something from the ordeal, who can say that they grew as a result. But, let’s not deny for a second that nobody goes out in search of trauma, that the pain and suffering are most real.

We gather this morning on the ten year anniversary of a day deeply traumatic to the psyche of our nation. But, we also know that trauma can take many forms. Trauma can come in the form an act of violence against us from someone close to us, from a stranger, or from a terrorizing other. We can experience it when we ourselves or when the members of the larger community are the victims. Trauma can also come as the result of an accident or an act of nature, a tornado or hurricane, a flood or earthquake. An illness or disease can be traumatic as well. With the diagnosis or the symptoms of disease come an unsettling of our lives, a deep disruption of our days, and an awareness of our mortality. Or, trauma can come in the form of so many different kinds of loss.

Poise, grace, and strength in the face of trauma are all the more remarkable when we consider that some sorts of trauma can be exploited. There is a side to trauma that is filled with immense danger. Social scientists have developed a term, “collective trauma,” to describe traumatic events are shared across a society.

In the build-up to the horrific war in the Balkans in the nineties, Serbian leaders such as Slobodan Milosevic told and retold, again and again, the story of an historic battle that had taken place 600 years earlier, in 1389, in which an army of the Ottoman Empire had conquered a Serbian stronghold. The rhetoric was one of victimization, of humiliation, of having suffered to such an extent that they were justified in taking any step to avoid future suffering. This powerful propaganda evoked a sense of collective trauma that would later be used to justify acts of ethnic cleansing, war crimes, and other crimes against humanity. They were told that they were justified in doing anything to avoid suffering another humiliation.

In Germany, following World War I, the Nazi party came to power through emphasizing the traumatic humiliation of the Treaty of Versailles. We must defend ourselves. We must never again be victims. The rhetoric of collective trauma was used to summon support for fascism.

Following September 11, this same sense of collective trauma was evoked as justification and sanction for the suppression of civil rights, the violation of human rights, and every subsequent act of violence. Images of suffering, death, and destruction – the collective trauma of the memory of that day – could be conjured up to justify whatever needed justification.

Listen again to what Rebecca Parker writes, “Traumatic events can destroy the sustaining bonds between individual and a sense of larger community.” Trauma can sever our awareness of connectedness. It can create a sense of smallness and separation. But, Parker writes, “Restored, people return to ordinary life and expand their concern to others – not as self-sacrifice but as self-possession. Present to themselves and to the reality of others, they do not live in denial of violence but in remembrance of presence.”

She tells us that both the healthiest response to trauma and the path towards own healing is found in relationship, connection, and all that reminds us of the bonds we share with others. The unhealthy response to trauma, the response that perpetuates harm, will be one that divides and excludes, that severs relationship and denies connection.

If there was a lesson I would lift up from the September 11 memorials and retrospectives from the previous days and weeks, it is that the September 11 heroes that are memorialized for giving their lives in the effort to save lives come from extremely different walks of life. They were of different classes and races and ethnicities. The leaders of the passenger uprising aboard United Flight 93, the plane that crashed in a Pennsylvania field, included a conservative Christian man from New Jersey and a gay man from San Francisco. The victims from that day also included Salman Hamdani, a Pakistani-American from New York City who was an EMT and a police cadet. Hamdani died during the collapse of the towers; he had gone to the scene to attempt to save lives. In the days after September 11, his family received no condolences. Rather, they were interrogated. The tabloid press published fabricated reports, saying that he had gone into hiding with a terrorist cell or that he was being held in a secret detention center by the US government. The remains of Hamdani the hero were in fact discovered six months later amidst the rubble of the World Trade Center. [Hamdani’s story is included in the recently published oral history collection Patriot Acts: Narratives of Post-9/11 Injustice.]

If Parker is right, if the way towards healing and wholeness comes through connection, then we would also count as heroes all those who in their living help to demonstrate and build the connections between people, all those who speak of the interconnectedness of all humans, all those who continued to invoke the network of mutuality to which we belong.

A colleague of mine speaking on the topic of forgiveness once said, “You are not only the worst thing you’ve ever done. And, you are not only the best thing you’ve ever done.” Today, we might also say, “You are not only the worst thing that has ever happened to you. And, you are also not only the best thing that has ever happened to you.” Our mistakes and our triumphs, the pain we suffer and the good fortune we enjoy, these are all a part of us. They’ll forever be a part of us. But they don’t completely define us.

Trauma is a part of life. We will all face it, though to different degrees of severity. The danger of living after trauma is an always present danger. It is the danger that we will separate ourselves, harden our hearts, severing and denying the relationships and connections that make us fully human. The opportunity is always there as well, not only in times of crisis but all the time. It is the chance to recognize the immediacy and the expansiveness of our connections. So may it be.

Sermon: "Some Assembly Required" (Delivered 9-4-11)

2011-09-13T12:59:00.000-07:00

On the one hand, my words this morning may seem a little presumptuous, a little like putting the proverbial cart before the proverbial horse. On the other hand, what I’m going to talk about – our potential move to a new location – is what many of us are thinking about. It is the proverbial elephant in the room. I beg your indulgence as I put the elephant before the horse.

If next week’s vote is to go ahead with the purchase of the Bonjour School, it will not yet be time to celebrate. There will still be the need to secure financing, to do all of the necessary due diligence. If it is the will of this congregation, then the closing date will be the day to celebrate. Or maybe it will be the date of our first service. Or maybe it will be the building dedication ceremony. Actually, all of these will be celebrations. If it is the will of this congregation. And, if all of the other inspections and negotiations work out.

But, this morning, on this Sunday before Labor Day, I do want to put the elephant before the horse. I thought I wanted to speak to you about vision. Now, let me tell you, I am a vision type of person. I am a dreamer. I am an imagination type of person. And, I could speak to you about vision. A vision of programming. A vision of being able to have dedicated space for social action non-profits with which we partner. A vision of a giant community garden, or acres of tall grass prairie restoration area with walking paths, or paved parking spaces – praise Jesus – or the ability to host meaningful events to which we can invite the community, or even adequate space for the members and programs we already have. But this morning I don’t want to so much lead with a vision of the future of this congregation. I want to tell a few stories about our history.

A few weeks ago I officiated at a memorial service for a man who had been a founding member of this congregation. A few days before the service, I met with the members of his family in the living room of Saeger House. We were joined by a close friend of the man who was also a founding member. Sitting in the living room, the old timer’s eyes glanced at the passageway between the living room and the kitchen in Saeger House. He grinned. As soon as he opened his mouth I knew the story that was going to come out. It is a story that I’ve been told many times.

When our church purchased this property more than 40 years ago, Saeger House, the white farmhouse across the way, was configured very differently. There was a wall between the living room and the kitchen. One day a group of early church members were having a workday and they got to talking. They decided that it would be nice to have an opening between the living room and the kitchen. They were fairly sure that this wall wasn’t load-bearing. The next thing you know, one of them had grasped a sledge hammer. Soon the group of guys was taking turns demolishing the wall.

The farmhouse and the barn on this property were built in 1913. At that time it was a two-hundred acre dairy farm. By the 1930s and 40s, parcels of farmland was being sold off for the development and the farmers had retired on what remained of their land. In the mid-60s they sold the remnants of the farm to a Christian Church that turned around and sold it over to us shortly thereafter. The Christian congregation had done a bit of work on the place, but not a lot. They had, however, constructed a steeple on the roof of the Barn Chapel.

Early in my ministry I was shown a picture of a group of early members of this congregation. The picture shows them standing in a semi-circle, brandishing their tools. They were standing around the fallen steeple that they had torn down, smiling like hunters celebrating the killing of a large animal. Ah, Unitarians. I heard a rumor that they enjoyed tearing down the steeple so much that one of them suggested that they remount it so they could tear it down again!

The stories of those early days are remarkable. The building was disgusting, layered with trash and manure, detritus of both organic and inorganic character.

One more story. One day maybe five or six years ago I was sitting in my office. I think I was the only staff person in that day. This is before we had a paid facilities staff person. A member had driven up and parked out of view. This was normal. I bet he was someone just doing something around the building. It was the middle of the day and I was planning to go grab a bite to eat for lunch. I went downstairs, walked out the front door of Saeger House, and found that Bob N., the founder of this church, had positioned an extension ladder against Saeger House and had climbed all the way up to the height of the upper roof, where he was inspecting the guttering. At eighty years of age! I nearly fainted. There is a reason I believe in God.

Now, let me get to what I am getting at. Did you like the stories? Good stories, right? They are kind of romantic stories in a way, but only in a certain way. But, what is romantic is not the wiring, not the gutters, not the walls, not the steeple, and certainly not the animal waste caked to the floors and walls. Do you follow me? What’s romantic is the spirit of a group of people who took a funky, ramshackle property and turned it into something inhabitable.

The basic theology of the Unitarians of those days is no longer the dominant theology of today. For them, tearing down the steeple was not a facilities project. It was religious education. We’ve mellowed a little bit. We’re not as iconoclastic as we once were. I’ve heard all the stories about the early days of this congregation and back in those days, nothing, and I mean nothing was sacred.

But, the lesson that we can take away, the lesson we can learn is this: the Unitarianism of the late-60s and the Unitarian Universalism of today have something in common. These faiths tell us that some assembly is required. Some assembly is required. In other words, our faith requires some work on our own behalf. The answers don’t come pre-packaged. The loose ends are not all tied up. Ours is not a pre-fabricated religion. There is some assembly required. Am I right?

That is why we teach a class called Building Your Own Theology. This is why we don’t teach a class called Receiving Your Own Already Assembled Theology. Because nobody is going to build your theology for you. You are going to have to build it yourself. Some assembly is required. And, we would not have it any other way, am I right? None of us want to be handed a list of answers.

In the Christian theological tradition there is a term called “works righteousness.” If you ever hear the term, it is probably being used to criticize something. In traditional Protestantism, works righteousness is rejected. What “works righteousness” refers to, basically, is the mechanism through which a person becomes chosen for salvation. And, in traditional Protestantism, you are saved by faith or by grace, not by works. But, we Unitarians have always had a side of ourselves that has emphasized righteousness by works.

(As an aside, I think you can critique this. I’m not sure that works righteousness is always healthy. There are pitfalls. For example, when I visit someone who is quite ill, a person in their last days in hospice or in the nursing home, I have noticed that the angst and agony that the person feels is connected to not feeling useful. I’ve actually had people ask me, “If I can’t do what I used to be able to do, then what good am I?” It is gut-wrenching. This is something I could say a lot more about, but for now let me say that works righteousness has a shadow side. We talk about work giving us a sense of purpose, identity, and meaning. Try visiting an old school Unitarian in a nursing home and you’ll see what I’m talking about.)

Works are very, very much a part of our identity as Unitarians. Just consider the reading from Vanessa Southern, the title piece from her meditation book This Piece of Eden. What is Eden? How do we create Eden? For Southern, Eden is something we plant and tend ourselves, affixing a sign to it that we've painted ourselves. Eden is something we create. That’s works righteousness, if there ever was. In the New Testament Epistle of James, there is the famous line, beloved by us Unitarian Universalists. “So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead. Show me your faith apart from your works, and I by my works will show you my faith.”

When the old-timer sat with me in the Saeger House living room and told me about smashing out the walls, he was not at all possessive of this work. In fact, the opposite was true. He thought it great fun, a real community builder, a humdinger of a story. Everyone should have that experience.

Our faith is not something we are handed, completely formed. It is something that we build. Our facilities will never be handed to us completely formed. They will always be something that we build.

The sacredness of our journey is not at its beginning. It is in the community that is created along the path. Out of something neglected we can create a piece of Eden.

The work to which we will apply ourselves will not involve tearing down steeples, thankfully, or cleaning out animal stalls, thankfully. There will probably be a wall or two to tear down. It isn’t time to pick up the sledgehammers and paint brushes and shovels and rakes and implements of destruction quite yet. Tomorrow is Labor Day, after all. But soon. But soon, I hope, but soon.

Concert Review: Bon Iver at the Uptown Theater

2011-09-10T07:43:00.000-07:00

Bon Iver’s second album, and certainly the concert tour to support it, represent something rare and daring: a complete reimagining of the sound that made his first album an extraordinary masterpiece.

The almost Thoreauvian legend behind the creation of Bon Iver’s first album, For Emma, Forever Ago, is known well by fans of alternative music. For Emma was recorded in an isolated hunting cabin in rural Wisconsin during a long, harsh winter. The album is short and Spartan; its nine songs clock in at just over thirty minutes. The delicate, stripped down songs were not much more than Justin Vernon singing in falsetto and playing an acoustic guitar. Released by an independent label in 2008, For Emma came seemingly out of nowhere and received extraordinary critical acclaim. He fronted only the essentials and produced what was considered to be an essential album.

In touring to support For Emma, Justin Vernon invited the audience to step into his cabin. His stage presence evidenced a gentle charisma and a deep humility. He passed out lyrics for the audience to sing along. His demeanor communicated a sense of, “Aw, shucks, I’m surprised you’d come to hear me play music.” His backup musicians seemed entirely superfluous at times doing little more than clapping along. Were those on stage with him his band or true fans who had come to the concert with instruments? (To see what I mean, check out this clip of Bon Iver playing “Skinny Love” on Letterman.) His music was extremely confessional. Though his lyrics were often obscure, Justin Vernon bared his heart with every note he played. Those Bon Iver shows created a sense of intimacy. Company and Society were invited to sit in a chair right next to Solitude.

With the release of his second album and his tour to support it came obvious questions. How does a musician follow up on something so raw and personal? How would the intimate feeling he created playing to one hundred fans work now that he was playing to one thousand?

Bon Iver’s self-titled sophomore release declared that Justin was more than a heart-sick and liver-sick guy in a cabin. Justin keeps his (often auto-tuned) falsetto as well as his mellow style. But, Bon Iver is rich and deep. It feels emotionally expansive. Most of the songs on the second album are named after geographic locations, both real and imagined: Perth; Minnesota, WI; Michicant; Hinnon, TX; Calgary; Wash. While still a guy with deep emotions, he was no longer a recluse.

Justin Vernon took the stage last night at the Uptown Theater in Kansas City backed by an eight piece band. The stage was crowded not only with musicians, but with instruments: 3 electric guitars, electric bass, 3 keyboards, 2 drum sets, a percussion stand, bass saxophone, soprano sax, alto sax, tenor sax, clarinet, 2 trumpets, French horn, trombone, violin, and viola.

The concert began with three songs from the new album. They opened with the beautiful “Perth” which came across as a tight soundscape with Justin’s auto-tuned falsetto soaring above it. This was followed by “Minnesota, WI,” “Towers,” and “Brackett, WI” from the Dark Was the Night compilation. The turning point in the concert came with the fifth song, “Blood Bank,” which the band turned into a hard-rocking number. This was followed up with Holocene, a song that is quickly becoming my favorite from the new album.

Next came “Flume.” At last, Bon Iver was playing a song off For Emma. The amazing thing here is how nine musicians took a delicate, sensitive song and transformed it without strangling it. The songs from the first album were almost enhanced by the full band. They enhanced the cathartic ending of “Creature Fear” with an overwhelming noise solo. The most collaborative song from the first album, “For Emma, Forever Ago” also benefitted from the support. There was also enough of a hint of the old style with the band exiting the stage, allowing Justin Vernon to play “re: Stacks” alone with just a guitar. ("re: Stacks" is my favorite Bon Iver song, not only because it is absolutely beautiful but also because it is the only song I've ever heard that makes reference to the Dead Sea Scrolls. "This my excavation and today is Qumran.")

What was most impressive to me was the way the band managed not to overwhelm the delicate quality of the songs. As I listened it was clear to me that the songs were breathing, not suffocating. I think part of this had to do with the decision to make woodwinds a part of almost every song. In particular, the bass saxophone was a daring and wonderful choice. The bass saxophone is a rare instrument. It is gigantic and visually intimidating. (I had a chuckle noticing that the lead sax player, Colin Stetson, was wearing a ripped Iron Maiden t-shirt.) But the sound is one of breath.

All throughout the show it was possible to pull out delicate sounds that were glorious to my ears. During “Wash.” the percussionist tapped out a beat on the valves of a trumpet. On a stunning, joyful cover of Bjork’s “Who Is It?” he beatboxed while Justin Vernon added finger cymbals. On the 80s inspired “Beth/Rest” the percussionist had a field day, at one point playing the cymbal with a string of pearls.

The musical evolution of Bon Iver is necessary and also brilliant. To continue to pretend that he is surprised that anyone would show up to hear him would be inauthentic. His heart-ache gave us one of the best albums of the last decade. It would be sadistic to wish upon him any more of that quiet desperation, of that genuine meanness that drove him into a corner. In a cabin in the woods Justin Vernon discovered life. Now he is living it. And it is dear.

The best songs of the night: re: Stacks, Blood Bank, Wolves Acts (I & II), Holocene, Who Is It?, Wash., Creature Fear, and For Emma, Forever Ago.

Canadian singer-songwriter Kathleen Edwards was the opening act. She had a very enjoyable stage presence and played a short set of catchy songs with country, blues, and folk influences.

Book Review: "Blue Like Jazz" by Donald Miller

2011-08-30T15:04:00.000-07:00

There is a precise reason that I decided to read Donald Miller’s Blue Like Jazz in this last week of August. In another week or two I will have an essay published. I was commissioned to write the essay about two years ago for a forthcoming book, a festschrift, celebrating Reed College’s centennial. My alma mater chose a graduate from each major to write about his or her experience at Reed and the value of Reed’s education. I was the religion major selected. It will be a fun collection of essays. Some of the other essays come from highly regarded writers like Barbara Ehrenreich and Gary Snyder.

I began my contribution to the festschrift by writing a bit about Donald Miller’s 2003 book Blue Like Jazz. I wrote some things about his book that are highly critical. A number of years ago I read extensive portions of Blue Like Jazz and skimmed the rest. I didn’t care for it, or at least most it. Now, with my essay being published, I wanted to give the book another try to see if I would still stand by my criticisms. Plus, there is a movie version loosely based on Blue Like Jazz that is supposed to be released this fall, which will mean that the book might soon receive a lot more publicity.

Blue Like Jazz: Non-Religious Thoughts on Christian Spirituality is sort of a memoir, sort of a collection of essays on the Christian religion, and sort of a work of apologetics, which is to say a genre of literature that attempts to prove or defend the Christian faith. Don Miller grows up as a fundamentalist Christian in Texas, but his relationship with the church is uneasy. He is drawn to spirituality but disappointed by many of the trappings of the church. He condemns its hypocrisy, exclusiveness, and Republicanism. Told all his life that the world is evil and fallen, and taught to fear atheists, Democrats, and gays, Don sets out to discover a different way of being Christian.

Don moves to the Pacific Northwest where he struggles to earn a living as a Christian author and searches for authentic community. Don, or at least the persona he develops in his memoir, is a bit of a loner. He is awkward with women. He really struggles to live in his own skin.

Though Don remains a committed and evangelical Christian, he grows and develops as a person by entering into communities of the liberals he was taught to fear and judge. He writes about living for a month with hippies in the woods. He attends a Unitarian church. And, he writes about hanging out at Reed College in Portland, Oregon. I will return to Reed in just a bit.

Let’s consider what he writes about the Unitarian Church:

I began to attend a Unitarian church. All-Souls Unitarian Church in Colorado Springs was wonderful. The people were wonderful. Like my friends in the woods, they freely and openly accepted everybody the church didn’t seem to accept. I don’t suppose they accepted fundamentalists, but neither did I at the time. I was comfortable there. Everybody was comfortable there. I did not like their flaky theology though. I did not like the way they changed words in the hymns, and I did not like the fact they ignored the Bible, but I loved them, and they really liked me. I loved the smiley faces, the hugs, the vulnerable feel to the place, the wonderful old gray-haired professors, former alcoholics and drug addicts, the intellectual feminists who greeted me with the kindest, most authentic faces that I understood as invitations to tell my story. I began to understand that my pastors and leaders were wrong, that liberals were not evil, they were liberal for the same reason Christians were Christians, because they believed their philosophies were right, good, and beneficial to the world.

Don’s observations are perhaps idealizations. He has good experiences with liberal groups, but there is a sense of otherness in his descriptions that bothers me. Blue Like Jazz is not famous for his attempts to describe the Unitarian church. The book is famous for his stories about Reed College, so much so that when I wear an old Reed sweatshirt out in public, people stop me and ask me if I've read Blue Like Jazz.

Only about 25 of the book's 250 pages take place at Reed, but those passages are the ones that the book is best known for. At around 30 years of age, Don decided to audit a few classes at Reed, hang around the campus, and befriend some of the students, especially Christian students. (I graduated from Reed before Don Miller arrived, but I knew a few of the students he writes about in his book.) When Don came to Reed he was still involved in some conservative evangelical circles and he was warned to avoid Reed, that it was a godless place full of sexual immorality and drug use. He’d be eaten alive.

Miller, by his own account, falls in with a group of Christian Reedies and together they form a neat little community. Most famously, they set up a confessional booth at Reed’s end-of-the-year weekend-long party. The confessional booth is not what you think. It is not expected that drunk students will come and confess their sinful partying ways. In the confessional booth the Reed Christians take turns confessing the sins of the Christian church, ancient and contemporary, to any student who will listen. The story about the confessional booth is probably the most powerful story in the book. The movie version may just be an excuse to film this scene.

However, the movie version makes one very big alteration. It shaves ten years off of Don’s life. Don becomes an eighteen year old freshman, not a thirty year-old dude who hangs around the campus. This brings me to my main criticisms of his book.

In my essay, my harshest critique of Blue Like Jazz is that Don Miller comes across as “creepy.” Is he really creepy? Well, the makers of the movie version certainly didn’t want to put a thirty year-old on a college campus. Let me be clear. I don’t think Don was putting the moves on anyone, but it is weird to imagine him thinking of a small group of teens as his peer group. While not sexual, the relationship dynamics are awkward to say the least.

This creepiness factor is only increased by the way in which Don Miller writes about women. Part of the persona he cultivates in his writing is that he a nice guy who bumbles a lot and who is unlucky in love. But, he does not come across as sympathetic. He often writes about women as you might expect a middle school student to write about girls.

I think if you like somebody you have to tell them. It might be embarrassing to say it, but you will never regret stepping up. I know from personal experience, however, that you should not keep telling a girl that you like her after she tells you she isn’t into it. You should not keep riding your bike by her house either.

Christianity Today’s review of Blue Like Jazz said that Don Miller comes across as “Anne Lamott with testosterone.” The difference here is that Lamott’s quirks and neuroses are, for the most part, endearing. Miller’s aren’t. I compare Miller to Elizabeth Gilbert, whose writing displays personality quirks that I find off-putting. Maybe it is just personal preference. But, Lamott has walked through the valley of the shadow of death and crossed the slough of despair. She is a plucky survivor. Her distinct personality seems to serve her well in life and the same can’t be said for Miller who often seems at war with himself.

I probably wouldn’t feel as strongly about Blue Like Jazz if it were not for my own perspective on Reed College. To be more honest, I never would have read Blue Like Jazz if it did not mention Reed College. Reed is a really special place to me and I tend to react against attempts by outsiders to label it. A few weeks ago the Princeton Review published a list of the most “godless” schools in America and about a dozen people emailed me the story because Reed was on the list. Yes, it is a school that is famous for its atheism, its laissez-affaire approach to drug use, its weirdness, and a big old party at the end of the year that lasts an entire weekend and tends to involve nudity. It is also famous for its genius students, Rhodes Scholars, amazing faculty, small class size and conference-style classes, and overall academic rigor. A few years back the Wall Street Journal published a story praising Reed for exemplifying what a liberals arts education should look like. To play up its hedonism without playing up its rigor and its excellence is to serve a purpose other than truth-telling. I take it a little personally that this place I really love is best known for how it is defined by a guy who audited a few classes and loitered around the campus for a year. Maybe that’s selfish of me.

Though Miller rejects Christian Republicanism, his faith is by no means liberal. He believes in something like original sin and tends to overlook societal sin and focus on individual sin. He’s rather dismissive of other religious traditions in a way that comes across as ignorant. Satan plays too large a role in his theological worldview. I am always uncomfortable with anyone who quotes Ravi Zacharias as a wisdom source.

As a product of and builder of liberal institutions (Reed College, the Unitarian church) I am curious about Miller’s outsider perspectives on these institutions. While not unkind, his perspectives seem both distant and idealized. If he had stayed longer, what other parts of his worldview would have been challenged and changed?

Sermon: "Disciplines of Our Church" (Delivered 8-14-11)

2011-08-25T06:45:00.000-07:00

When I was twenty I did a study abroad program for a semester in England and I got to travel across a fair portion of Western Europe. I was tremendously privileged to be able to do this. In what I’m about to say, please don’t think for a second that I don’t know what a tremendous privilege it was to go overseas for nearly six months. But looking back, man oh man did I cheapskate across Europe! I didn’t save enough beforehand which necessitated certain decisions while traveling that are actually fairly embarrassing in retrospect. There was nothing I did that was illegal or immoral. In fact, vice was entirely beyond my budget.

I went to great lengths to save a schilling and pinch a pound whenever I could. For example, rather than pay to tour a cathedral, I simply scheduled my visit to coincide with the public worship service. If communion was served, well that was dinner and a show. My diet wasn’t exactly great either.

The Friends Meetinghouse in Norwich, England, held a mid-week meeting followed by a simple meal of cheese sandwiches. That was how I attended my first Quaker meeting. If you’ve never attended a Friends meeting, here is what it is like. Most worship in the Quaker tradition consists of what is known as an “unprogrammed meeting.” The meeting begins when the first person enters the meeting room in which chairs are arranged in a circular pattern. People enter in silence. Seating is open. Forty five minutes or an hour later two members of the meeting stand and shake hands. That is the signal for everyone else to stand and shake hands. Then you have cheese sandwiches. The entire time is spent in silence. (On occasion meeting someone will feel inspired to speak at an unprogrammed meeting. When this happens, the person who feels moved will stands and reading a short passage from the Bible or say a brief prayer. I attended nearly a dozen Quaker meetings in England and a total of three or four people spoke at all of the meetings combined. Most meetings passed in total silence.)

At the first Quaker Meeting I attended my brain was screaming after only about five minutes. The noise in my own mind was deafening. Forty five minutes felt like an eternity. It was grueling and exhausting. By the time I had attended my sixth meeting the 45 minutes of silence had become much easier to endure, even rewarding. I probably wasn’t experiencing what Quakers refer to as their “inner light,” but the time spent in reflection and contemplation was meaningful.

I admire the discipline of the Quaker meeting. It is a discipline to come together and sit, week after week, in silence. And, it is a discipline that leads to a living embrace of pacifism, that leads to simplicity and to having the humility to listen.

This month, Muslims around the world observe Ramadan. The observance of Ramadan requires all able Muslims to fast from sunrise to sunset. Neither food nor drink may pass your lips for the duration of the day. Ramadan lasts thirty days. It is an impressive discipline. And, I would have to think that having the strength to observe Ramadan leads to having strength in other aspects of life.

In Gandhi’s India and in Martin Luther King’s deep South, those who took part in non-violent civil disobedience demonstrated amazing discipline. It took discipline to march, to strike, to fast, to boycott, to sit-in, to go to jail. These collective actions required what Mohandas Gandhi called “Satyagraha” and what Martin Luther King referred to as “Soul Force.” Said King in his “I Have a Dream Speech,”

We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.

I am of the belief that it is a worthwhile project to take religious language that makes some of us uncomfortable and to engage that discomfort, to face our uneasiness, and to extract what is of worth from a concept that is challenging.

“Discipline” is one of those words that we might have polarized feelings about. In a secular context, the word “discipline” is used all the time to talk about things that are actually quite admirable. In the world of the arts, we celebrate the discipline of the musician or the dancer. In fine arts there are entire styles that depend on mastery, repetition, and pinpoint control. Think of calligraphy. In the world of sports, imagine those Olympic athletes who’ve refined motion to a science, the disciplined form of the figure skater or archer or platform diver. In recent years the evaluation of hitters in baseball has gone through a revolution and plate discipline is regarded as absolutely foundational to success on the baseball diamond. Michael Lewis’ best-selling book Moneyball describes the approach of teams that look for players who possess the patience to wait for a good ball to hit. If someone calls your child a disciplined student, that is a great compliment.

And yet, “discipline” is a word that makes some of us kind of nervous, in a religious or a non-religious sense. If you Google “discipline” and “child” the top sites that come up are fundamentalist Christian parenting guides. A quick review of the websites shows that discipline was most commonly used as a euphemism for “spanking.” If I ask you to imagine a school that believes in discipline, you’ll probably imagine either a military academy or a nun with a ruler. If someone is described as a disciplinarian, it is not a compliment.

The word “discipline” just has these types of connotations. When I am discussing various Christian denominations with someone who maybe doesn’t know the differences between denominations, I will sometimes make mention of a denomination known as The Disciples of Christ. (Disciple and discipline have the same root.) In reality, this denomination is one of more progressive ones. When I mention this denomination, people who’ve never heard of them assume they are conservative. That’s my point: we hear “Disciple” and think “discipline” and we think “strict, overbearing, uptight, joyless.”

Now, I suppose if I continued on this trajectory I would probably wind up finding a middle road. I’d speak of the way in which discipline can be confining and the way it can be liberating. I’d call into question strict, joyless, boot-campy discipline while praising the exalted form of discipline that gives us ballet and salt marches.

But, what I want to do is take this in a different direction. I want to bring us back into this room. All of here together in this and as this church that we love. And, let me just state the obvious in case you were confused. As a church we are not about producing disciplined classically trained pianists or ballet dancers. We will not teach you how to lay off the high heat or land a triple lutz. And, for that matter, while we will gladly and open-heartedly welcome and show respect for anyone who sits for forty five minutes in silence or anyone who fasts during Ramadan, and while we will respect that dedication and devotion to practice and will say that the observance is beautiful, there are countless religious disciplines, such as translating Sanskrit, or ecstatic Sufi mystic dance, or the Japanese tea ceremony, that are just not disciplines that we teach.

They are all wonderful and beautiful disciplines. They are just not our disciplines to teach. So, what our disciplines exactly? Or, let me ask this question by making use of a real life example. Peter Morales, the President of the Unitarian Universalist Association, was convicted recently of civil disobedience for his role in blocking the door to a jail in Phoenix while participating in a protest against immigration laws in Arizona a year earlier. He was one of 29 Unitarian Universalists arrested and those 29 UUs were among nearly 100 protesters arrested in Phoenix a year ago. So I ask, what discipline or disciplines did our UU brothers and sisters draw on to give them strength and presence while getting arrested for civil disobedience? And, this coming June our Unitarian Universalist Association will be having a justice General Assembly in Phoenix, and the plan is that our delegates will leave the sterile, air-conditioned confines of the convention center (in Phoenix, in June!) and fan out across the city and across the state to engage in ministry and action related to immigration justice. What discipline will we draw on for strength?

Does this question make any sense? I’m saying that disciplines shape how we are and that when we face circumstances that are trying and difficult and stressful and intense we recall those disciplines and they help to guide us through toils and snares and valleys of darkness.

There is a story that has been passed around in our movement for years. I think I heard it from a mentor of mine, but I don’t know where it comes from exactly. The story deals with a town or a city where there are frequently interfaith demonstrations for social justice. In this story, in this particular town, the Unitarian Universalists always turned out in force. Dependably. And, the story goes, that one day, an Episcopalian Priest who was a fixture at these rallies and protests was heard to remark, “God bless the Unitarians! They don’t know why they show up, but by golly they always show up.”

I used to not like this story very much. I felt like it was a backhanded swipe at us and an uncalled for one at that because we were the ones who did show up and do show up. Or, maybe it was a jab at our agnosticism. The Episcopalian Priest is able to say, “I’m here because I am a disciple of Jesus and I feel called to do what Jesus taught us to do.” We did not show up in response a scriptural commandment. As a Rabbi friend of mine puts it, “Being a religious liberal means being certain that the God that you aren’t even sure exists demands social justice.”

But, I want to offer a different reading of the priest’s observation that Unitarian Universalists showed up even though they are not sure why. I mean, the priest’s comment is just not true. We do know why we show up. We show up because we believe in justice. But, now I think that what the priest was asking is not why we work for what we believe. We work for what we believe because it is what we believe. I think the priest was asking about what keeps us from quitting, from throwing up our hands in frustration. What is our discipline? Why are we so disciplined about continuing to show up?

Here are a few guesses about the source of our discipline. I think part of our discipline is connected with what is known as our congregational polity, that is, that our churches are autonomous institutions that follow the democratic process. Doing democracy well requires a lot of discipline and a lot of patience. Doing democracy well also results in feeling a sense of ownership and responsibility, responsibility for your congregation or your community or your city or your state. In our tradition the members own the church. You own the church. You own the church. And, because you do, you might feel a heightened sense of responsibility for this space and this community and each other. A discipline born out of democracy.

I suspect that there are other disciplines that are ours, eithers distinctly or indistinctly. I think that an interfaith appreciation of diversity and a longing for an informed understanding of faith traditions that differ from our own is a discipline of ours. And there are more. And there are more.

You may not sit in silence for an hour. You may not fast for a month. You may not commit yourself to a daily study of Torah or to Taize singing. But I turn the question to you:

Where do you find the discipline to keep showing up?

Where do you find the discipline to face what is trying and challenging?

What holds you firm, even when another way would be more convenient?

Sermon: "That of which We Dare Not Speak" (Delivered 8-7-11)

2011-08-09T08:57:00.000-07:00

“Cowardice asks the question, ‘is it safe?’ Expediency asks the question, ‘is it politic?’ Vanity asks the question, ‘is it popular?’ But conscience asks the question, ‘is it right?’” – Martin Luther King, Jr.

Sermon
Stephen Singular is a New York Times bestselling author. He’s written twenty non-fiction books on a variety of subjects, everything from current events to politics to biographies of athletes. He is a native Kansan, a local boy done good from Lydon, a small town an hour South of Topeka. Singular’s best and most popular writing deals with religious and political extremism. His first book was about the murder of a radio talk show host by a white supremacist group. More recently, Singular has written an exposé on Warren Jeffs and Mormon fundamentalism. His newest book, The Wichita Divide, deals with the murder of Dr. George Tiller, and abortion politics right here in the state of Kansas.

Singular came to Johnson County to speak earlier this summer. Few noticed. A group of about fifty people came out to hear him, cramming into a conference room at a local community center. The only way his visit was advertised was on the email distribution lists of a handful of small political organizations.

When Singular spoke to us he was clearly frustrated at the challenges of finding an audience here in Eastern Kansas. Universities, colleges, and public libraries had all turned down opportunities to host him. Independent and chain bookstores passed as well. The press, including public radio, passed on the opportunity to cover his visit. That he’s been ignored is so very tragic and infuriating because his book is about us. Not us as Unitarian Universalists, but us as Kansans. It is about the extremist organizations that make our state their home. It is about politicians from right here in our county, such as Phill Kline, who’ve made careers off of anti-abortion sentiment. And, this sermon is about what the lack of a response to Singular’s visit says about us.

In a book published almost a year ago, Chris Hedges writes about something he calls “the death of the liberal class.” What he means by the liberal class is this: the liberal class is a collection of institutions that include academia, the press, the arts, labor unions, and progressive churches that play an important role in preserving democracy. Hedges writes that these groups are the watchdogs of society, exposing injustice and deception, opposing totalitarianism and greed, and recalling us to the best of our humanity.

Hedges warns that the institutions that make up the liberal class are constantly threatened by temptations, the temptation of getting swept up in propaganda, the temptation of protecting their own little niches by playing it safe and not doing anything unpopular, the seduction of being able to touch the hem of the garment of power and prestige. The temptation to sacrifice principles.

When the liberal class betrays its own principles it is willing to turn over lists of professors, artists, and actors to Joseph McCarthy. When the liberal class betrays its own principles it will eagerly publish fabricated White House intelligence reports about Iraq’s nuclear weapons program without any journalistic verification.

I saw a similar betrayal in the way Stephen Singular’s visit was basically ignored. The bookstore says it is a business and it wants to protect its bottom line, not alienate any of its customers. The universities would rather play it safe and not invite controversy or jeopardize funding. And so it comes to pass that murder and violent religious extremism become something that’s too dangerous and too controversial to address and speak out against.

More than a century ago, Lord Alfred Douglas wrote the poem, “Two Loves” in which he coined the phrase “the love that dare not speak its name.” During the infamous court case in which Oscar Wilde’s sexuality was put on trial, Wilde was asked to tell the court what that phrase meant. Wilde famously answered by telling the court that it is what society does not understand and what the government attempts to punish and silence.

It really struck me going to hear Stephen Singular and reading Chris Hedges’ book. I began listening for imposed silences, the times when someone declares, “That isn’t something we can talk about.”

Last month I attended the meeting of the Johnson County Commissioners. At their meeting they were going to vote on whether to accept or decline a half million dollars in grant money offered to the county health department so that the health department could run sexuality education programs targeted to at-risk youth. Johnson County was selected to receive this grant because of rising rates of teen pregnancy and an alarming outbreak of chlamydia. I attended this meeting and spoke in support of accepting the grant money for the health department.

During the discussion the Johnson County Commissioners ceded the floor for more than ten minutes to an anti-abortion activist from Wichita who drove three hours to come warn our County Commissioners about the moral dangers of teaching teens about contraception. The County Commissioners agreed, voting by a narrow 4-3 margin to accept a portion of the health grant with the stipulation that contraception education not be discussed. They deemed contraception too controversial to mention.

It was an Oscar Wilde moment, with the County Commissioners deciding that they need to protect society from the prophylactic that dare not speak its name. That of which we dare not speak.

Last spring I attended a community forum on school finance hosted by the MAINstream Coalition and held in the basement social hall of the Asbury United Methodist Church. A panel composed of State Senator John Vratil, Sue Storm of the State school board, and Blue Valley school district superintendent Tom Trigg discussed the dire state of school funding and the effects that proposed cuts would have in our community. The question and answer period turned bizarre. One audience member asked the panel about whether we could use schools to generate advertising revenue. Which begs the question of whether there is money to be made in sending your child to Ronald McDonald elementary or Coca-Cola East high school. It seemed like an eccentric question, until the next person asked about building more casinos (in a much poorer neighboring county, no less!) I happened to be sitting next to the moderator, a woman of impeccable common sense, and we turned to each other and said, there is something not being spoken here. The moderator used her privilege to ask the next question, about whether we were in denial about our ability to fund the types of schools we would be proud to send our children to without raising taxes. The response that came back was very matter of fact. One of the panelists told us that the conversation about raising taxes is not a conversation that can be had in Topeka.

Does that sound familiar? In the recent federal debt-ceiling debate were we not told from the outset that increasing revenue, even in the form of closing loopholes or letting tax cuts expire, was off the table? The compromise that dare not speak its name. That which dare not be spoken.

Now, let’s return to Stephen Singular’s lecture earlier this summer. I believe we are witnessing one of the most vicious assaults on not only abortion rights, but also on health care for women, and especially health care for the poor, that I’ve seen in my lifetime. In the time remaining I want to say a few things about this. I want to briefly describe the current state of affairs here in Kansas and nationally. I want to talk about all of this in light of the idea of “unspeakability,” how this issue has become one of which too many dare not speak.

In 2010 state legislatures in the United States considered more than 600 pieces of anti-choice legislation, passing approximately 5% of those bills. The outcome of the 2010 mid-term elections assured that this trend would only increase in 2011. In the first legislative session of 2011 alone, the Kansas legislature considered 13 pieces of anti-choice legislation, passing five of them. The legislature spent 25 hours of its time in session working to restrict abortion access. In the past few weeks, federal judges have granted injunctions against two of those new laws and our Governor is sparing no expense when it comes to assembling a legal team to defend the new legislation in court.

One of the laws that the courts have ordered put on hold is a law that would allow the state to re-allocate money from Title X family planning programs. Title X was created during the Nixon administration in order to provide family planning funding in conjunction with other health services to poor women. It is funded annually to the tune of around three hundred million dollars. In 1976, Congress passed the Hyde Amendment which prohibited federal funding for abortions. So, there are clear laws about what Title X funds can and can’t be used for.

Legislative attempts to cut off Title X funds are based on a new strategy based on the reasoning that if legal efforts to ban a specific medical procedure are unsuccessful, then the next step is to attempt to defund health centers entirely. Three weeks ago, the Dodge Globe reported on the imminent closure of a family planning clinic in Dodge City. This clinic provides testing as well as cancer and diabetes screenings to as many as 850 women per year who cannot afford health care. The article began,

Dodge City's Family Planning Clinic may close soon unless it can plug a $39,000 hole in its budget. Clinic director Karla Demuth learned last month that the clinic would not receive federal dollars in 2012, due to a budget provision that cut off federal family-planning funding for Planned Parenthood… Planned Parenthood of Kansas and Mid-Missouri have filed a federal lawsuit over the provision. The Dodge City clinic is not affiliated with Planned Parenthood and does not perform abortions. The clinic does, however, provide pregnancy tests and other women's health services, as well as some services for male clients.

Writes author Stephen Singular,

Highly disturbing pieces of the [extremist] mindset, [characterized by] anger, fear, blame, hatred, and absolutist thinking… have gradually crept from the fringes of our society into the American mainstream. They’ve become normalized inside major religions, the corporate media, and political leaders at the highest levels of our society. They are at the root of what all but shut down our federal government on the night of April 8, 2011, when the anti-abortionists were willing to sacrifice the jobs of 800,000 employees because they don’t accept what has been settled law in the United States since 1973. [That they believe] their religious ideology trumps the rule of law [is] the very definition of extremism.

Earlier, in bringing up those subjects about which many do not speak, I was talking about things that “major religions, the corporate media, and political leaders” have deemed unspeakable, have tried to pretend does not exist, or have attempted to silence either through punishment or policy. A gag order is placed on speaking about these things because they are too controversial or unpopular or dangerous. But, now I turn the question to us. To what degree do we contribute to making something unspeakable? What sinister silences do we participate in?

Chris Hedges alleges that, “In the name of tolerance – a word that the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Jr., never used – the liberal church and synagogue refuse to denounce Christian heretics who acculturate the Christian religion with the worst aspects of consumerism, nationalism, greed, imperial hubris, violence, and bigotry.”

“The liberal church and synagogue.” Is he talking about us? It is doubtful that he has us in mind. This sermon wouldn’t rank in the top 10 of “controversial” sermons I’ve delivered. But, for dozens of my friends who are ministers in mainline Christian denominations, this morning’s subject would be taboo, something of which they dare not speak. For them it is a sinister silence. But, it is something that can be spoken here. Our denomination has used the democratic process to vote to adopt no fewer than 10 unequivocally pro-choice resolutions making our denomination one of very few that has been able to articulate a pro-choice position with moral as well as verbal clarity. And I wouldn’t have it be any other way.

There is a sense in which the unspeakable needs to be a part of our lives for our own good. Sometimes you may just need to delete the horrible emails your obnoxious in-law sends you. That is healthy differentiation. It becomes unhealthy when you confuse your elected leaders with your obnoxious relatives. You can delete emails; you can’t delete public policy. Or, to put it another way, your obnoxious in-laws don’t hold your access to health care over your head. The state did pass a law banning insurance companies from covering abortions in their health plans. It is as sick as it is foolish to believe that silence will appease extremists. Silence is just not an option. Silence is death.

Towards the end of Martin Luther King’s ministry he turned his attention away from civil rights in the south and became an outspoken critic of the war in Vietnam. King is venerated today, but we forget how unpopular this move was in his lifetime. In King’s lifetime civil rights for African-Americans moved the discussion of race relations from something that you didn’t mention in polite company to something that was at the forefront of our national conversation. (The popular Kathryn Stockett novel The Help plays with this idea of speaking about what is unspeakable.) King was criticized roundly for taking on the war. Many of his followers deserted him. We forget how unpopular it was for him to speak about the unspeakable when it came to Vietnam. In one of his last sermons at Ebenezer Baptist Church, King said,

I've decided what I'm going to do. I ain't going to kill nobody in Mississippi ... [and] in Vietnam. I ain't going to study war no more. And you know what? I don't care who doesn't like what I say about it. I don't care who criticizes me in an editorial. I don't care what white person or Negro criticizes me. I'm going to stick with the best. On some positions, cowardice asks the question, “is it safe?” Expediency asks the question, “is it politic?” Vanity asks the question, “is it popular?” But conscience asks the question, “is it right?” And there comes a time when a true follower of Jesus Christ must take a stand that's neither safe nor politic nor popular but he must take that stand because it is right.

That of which I speak is not easy or comfortable or safe. Safety and the comfort are seductive illusions. Hedges would say that they are “temptations” that lead us to betray our principles. Anything that feels safe and comforting to us was won with sacrifice and dangerous effort. Our church, a place of welcome and comfort, was formed by heretics who faced banishment, imprisonment, and even death to create a free religious community. The freedom of speech, the freedom of assembly and petition, the freedom of the press, artistic freedoms, and the freedom of the ballot: none of these were easily won. None of these freedoms were thought to be safe.

Speak out! Challenge the unspeakable silences of those who would say "that's not something we can talk about" or "we can't go there." Speak out! Say out loud: "We need to go there." "That is something we need to talk about." Go forth and speak your conscience with bravest fire.

Sermon: "The Religion of the X-Men" (Delivered 7-31-11)

2011-08-01T10:54:00.000-07:00

Welcome
Good morning and welcome to this place. At first appearance, you may think that you have arrived at the Shawnee Mission Unitarian Universalist Church. That is actually an illusion. This morning you have actually come to a mansion on an estate in Westchester, New York. Welcome to Professor Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters serving the educational, developmental, social, and vocational needs of mutants.

You are welcome here as the person you truly are, no matter your race or ethnicity, your gender or sexual orientation, your beliefs or your doubts. You are welcome here no matter your superpowers of levitation or teleportation, your ability to breathe underwater or sprout wings and fly.

Join us as we invite every person into caring community, inspire spiritual growth, and involve everyone in working for a peaceful, fair, and free world. And, join us as we foil villainous masterminds who plot to destroy the world.

If this is your first time visiting us this morning, we hope you stopped by the visitor table in the foyer to pick up an information packet, fill out an information sheet so that we can contact you, and put on a nametag, because not all of us possess telepathic mindreading powers. Also, at the visitor table you can get measured for your spandex body suit and cape.
***

Call to Worship
Mutatis Mutandis. It is a Latin phrase that is not nearly as interesting as it sounds. The phrase literally means “by changing those things which need to be changed,” or, more commonly, “all necessary changes being made.” And, while the phrase mutatis mutandis may sound exotic, its uses are actually pretty boring. The Latin phrase is used in legal documents and in philosophical and economic writing to signal that what applies to one set of things also applies to another set of things. Yawn!

Mutatis Mutandis is also the motto of a special school for young mutants in the X-Men comic books. Here the term’s meaning is not boring or legalistic or procedural. It is ambitious, noble, even heroic. What a noble calling: to live in such a way so as to change those things that need to be changed.

We gather in community to recommit ourselves to such a purpose, to the changing of things that require change. We come together, each of us holding onto things within us we would wish to change, to release, to let go of. We come together with the injustices of the world weighing heavily upon us, with awareness of the world’s pain heavy upon our conscience. We seek the courage and the encouragement to continue to live in such a way that we do our part to change what needs to be changed, envisioning the world not as it is, but as it might be. To paraphrase reading #453 in our hymnal [which lists as its source the Passover Haggadah?!]:

Together, let us use our powers, ordinary and extraordinary,
to heal and not to harm,
to help and not to hinder,
to bless and not to curse,
and to serve the causes of goodness, justice, and mercy.

Sermon
One of the blockbuster movies of the summer of 2000 was the first X-Men movie. I didn’t plan to see it. I do have a soft-spot in my heart for the bombastic thrills of action movies, but I’d never been a big fan of superheroes. As a boy I collected baseball cards, not comic books.

What inspired me to go see the first X-Men movie more than a decade ago, and to see each of the four subsequent movies in the series, was a review of the movie that ran in Dallas’ LGBT-friendly newspaper. (You see, I found myself in the heart of Texas and the arts and culture recommendations in the gay paper appealed to me a lot more than the rodeos, livestock shows, and country music concerts I read about in the “straight” paper.) The reviewer wrote that The X-Men was a not-so-thinly veiled allegory for the gay and lesbian experience.

And, the reviewer was right. The world of the X-Men is a world populated by souls searching for a safe and understanding community on account of persecution from a hostile populace and demagogues who would score cheap political points by making them scapegoats. In the world of the X-Men, the public is panicked over the presence of mutants. Beginning at a young age, many of these mutants go to elaborate lengths to conceal their identities in order to pass in the world. Many live double lives and fear being “outed.” Most mutants feel a little bit different during childhood, and those feelings are magnified during teenage years when they tend to feel alone and like no one can possibly understand them. Scientists attempt to locate the genetic basis of mutation and argue about whether there is a “cure.” Meanwhile, mutant pride groups insist that mutation is natural and beautiful. In one of the later movies, there is even a teenager breaking the news that he is, in fact, a mutant while his parents sit uncomfortably on the family sofa searching awkwardly for words. Finally, the mom turns to him and asks, “Well, can’t you decide not to be a mutant?” [See the endnote on Superpowers and Sexuality at the end of this sermon.]

The X-Men were the creation of two young comic book writers from New York named Stan Lee and Jack Kirby. Respectively, their birth names were Stanley Lieber and Jacob Kurtzberg and they were the sons of Jewish Eastern European immigrants. The first X-Men comic books were written by Lee and Kirby nearly fifty years ago at just about the same time as the merger between the Unitarians and the Universalists in the early 1960s. Lee wrote of his comic book creations, “Mutants have an extra power, extra ability, some extra facet or quality denied a normal man. The word ‘extra’ was the key. Mutants are, in a sense, people with something extra… And a man with something x-tra could conceivably be called an x-man!” [As quoted in The Serpent’s Gift by Jeffrey Kripal, p. 126]

In the comic book series and various spin-offs you can encounter hundreds of mutants. Some have fairly basic superpowers: the ability to fly, super-strength, extraordinary speed, the ability to control water or wind or turn something into ice, the ability to shoot powerful lasers from one’s eyeballs. Other skills are more nuanced. Mystique, a female mutant, can mimic anyone’s outward appearance, but in her own natural state she's covered with repulsive reptilian scales. Rogue’s superpower takes the form of radical empathy; she absorbs the memories of anyone she touches. However, this proves so traumatic that she goes to great lengths to avoid touching anyone. And then there is a young male mutant, Banshee, whose superpower is the ability to emit a destructive, deafening scream.

In Stan Lee’s imagination, these extra abilities are a result of genetically-based evolutionary mutations. “The evolutionary mutation… is at once an astonishing gift and a social curse – the uncanny power… sets one apart from the rest of the crowd.” [Kripal, p. 127] In the mythology of the X-Men there are two competing philosophies represented by two powerful leaders. One of those leaders is Professor Xavier who possesses the mutant ability of telepathy. He can read other people’s minds and can even control other people’s minds with his own. Professor X believes that mutants and non-mutants will eventually live in harmony and he creates a special school for young mutants, “safely hidden from the gaze of the public,” [Kripal, p. 126] in which they can not only master their mutant skills, but also develop emotionally, socially, and morally.

A competing philosophy is represented by Xavier’s arch-nemesis Magneto. Magneto’s mutant ability involves being able to control metal magnetically. He can change the trajectory of a bullet, cause metal objects to levitate or hurl them through the air, and can even hold up a locomotive with his magnetism. Magneto’s character is Jewish. As a child he witnessed the death of his parents at the hands of the Nazis during the occupation of Poland. From this Magneto took away the lesson that people are hardwired to try to annihilate those who are different. Magneto sees the world as a place that is fundamentally hostile to difference. For him, it is better to eliminate others before they have the chance to eliminate you.

Magneto endeavors to destroy the non-mutant supermajority of humankind as a means of self-protection. For Professor Xavier, difference and diversity are marvels. They deserve to be celebrated for they are evidence of the very miracle of life. For Magneto, difference and diversity are the root cause of suffering. Difference needs to be abolished before it destroys us.

I’m not going to spend this entire sermon rehashing the various and complicated plot-lines of the X-Men comic books. I do however want to say a little something about how these characters and mythologies might relate to us and speak to us.

As the reviewer in Dallas’ lesbian and gay community newspaper noted, the X-Men movies of the 21st century play on themes of inclusion and exclusion. In contemporary society we find forces of acceptance and forces of hostility directed towards homosexuals. For Stan Lee in the early 1960s, the comic books’ subtext touched on not only anti-Semitism, but also racism and sexism. The X-Men are remarkably egalitarian when compared to any organization or club you can imagine in the early Sixties.

The X-Men can be read as autobiography, as the memoirs of Jewish boys coming of age in New York during the Great Depression, with the obvious embellishments of spandex and superpowers. The competing philosophies of Professor Xavier and Magneto are really two sides of a psychological coin having to do with identity formation and social acceptance. There is pride and shame, the idea of being chosen and the awareness of being oppressed. There is the secret knowledge of one’s own cultural heritage with its language and learning, its rites and rituals, its history and mythology, and there is the awareness that all of those things make you not only special but also “other.”

I would be willing to bet that most everyone here has, at some point in their life or another, felt a bit like a mutant. Maybe, for you, it was a long time ago, like when you were going through the pangs of awkward adolescence. Or, maybe it is during your family reunion and you wonder about the extent that you share a genetic match. (You know, humans and chimps share 98.4% identical genetic material. And you look at your relatives and think, “Oh, it has to be less than that.”) Or maybe you feel like a mutant in your own neighborhood. Or when you try to explain that you are a Unitarian Universalist. Or when you share your political and social views or your lifestyle choices. A member of our church recently remarked that she might as well have a third eye situated in the center of her forehead. The “miscomprehension of family, friends, or society in general” [Kripal, p. 132] can be devastating.

I decided to attempt to preach on the X-Men when in the course of a weekend in June I went to go see the fifth X-Men movie and I read a book entitled The Serpent’s Gift by leading scholar of religion Jeffrey Kripal, whom I had the pleasure of studying under as a graduate student at Harvard. One chapter, “Mutant Marvels,” describes parallels between scholars of religion and the mutant gnostic superhero. Later this fall, Kripal will release another book, Mutants and Mystics, that continues to explore these themes. He is a challenging, exhilarating, and unconventional scholar.

If you will allow me to geek out for a few moments on academic religious theory, there are two ideas in Kripal’s academic work that we might want to consider. The first point to consider is the idea that neither the superhero of popular culture nor the supernatural within religious mythology is entirely fictional. Rather, they are fantastical exaggerations of what is true. Or, to put it more plainly, we might doubt as to whether Jesus could cure leprosy or heal blindness with his touch. But, we can surely imagine Jesus repairing a person’s psyche, healing the spirit, and leaving a person feeling, well, healed. Not a lie, but an exaggeration that points to something true. Jesus would fit right in among the other mutant superheroes.

Kripal would say that the superheroes of Marvel Comics are also fantastical exaggerations. He’s right; I’ve met these superheroes. I’ve met Mystique, always altering her outward appearance in order to please, while inside feeling malformed and shapeless. I’ve encountered Rogue in the shape of several women and men whose depth of empathy leads them to carry deep reservoirs of pain and memory within them. And, I’ve met dozens of Banshees, whose deafening primal screams push away and offend.

Kripal’s first point that I want for us to consider: superheroes are real. It is just that when their stories get written down, the truth is exaggerated and mythologized. Kripal’s second point is a lot more dangerous. He is speaking to scholars of religion, but I would actually suggest that he might say the same thing to us. Could it be that living an authentic religious life means embracing our inner mutants, accepting and realizing the potential of the “dreams and strange gifts that [we ourselves] do not quite understand and cannot quite accept”? [Kripal, p. 133]

Which leads me to ask, what superpowers and mutant abilities are present within this room, within this congregation? And, an even more interesting question: If we can imagine that this church community is something like Professor Xavier’s mutant academy, what role do we play in the development of special abilities and in the instilling of heroic purpose in our members? What powers are here and how do we best develop them?

Now, I am not a mind reader. I possess no X-ray vision. For all I know, some of you may be wearing capes and bright colored spandex under your clothing. I do not know your alter ego. What superpowers and uncanny mutant abilities do we have in this room?

If you stumble looking for an answer, I would ask you to examine this question: Do you ever feel like some kind of mutant? Do you ever feel like you might as well have a third eye in the middle of your forehead?

Allow me to suggest a hypothesis. My hypothesis is that we feel like mutants, that we feel like we have a third eye in the middle of our foreheads, when we perceive the world in ways that are deemed abnormal or strange. That’s what it is about, right? After all, what is a third eye or a sixth sense but an unusual means of perception? I would even go beyond perceiving. Perceiving things differently can get you labeled as a mutant. Being in relationship with the world in ways that break cultural taboos will definitely get you labeled as mutant. Perception and relationship.

You may speak an unfamiliar mutant language. It could be the language of science, or computer code, or poetry, or heretical theology. You may have mutant vision, seeing beyond the normal horizons of eyesight. You may see the world through the lens of another cultural tradition causing you to look critically upon your own unquestioned culture. You may keep company with people whose perspectives are often marginalized. Mutants perceive what is not normally perceived, sense what is normally not sensed. Accordingly they possess a special knowledge, a knowledge that makes them dangerous and feared and despised.

All superpowers are really extra abilities, abilities that allow us to reach beyond, to connect: In the superhero comics much of that reaching beyond is spatial. A superhero can tunnel under the earth, fly into space, jump over buildings, or run extremely fast. Some of that reaching is natural, to reach out and commune with molecules and minerals, with animals and atoms, or even with the earth itself. Some of that reaching is psychological: mind readers, telepaths, empathic readers of dreams and desires. Some of that reaching is intellectual, or even radically emotional, a reaching into the depths of rage or desire or hope.

We might consider, then, that one of the superheroes at the height of the pantheon of superheroes exhibits some strong Unitarian Universalist tendencies. I am, referring to the master spinner of webs, Spider Man, whose power lies in reminding us of our connection to an interdependent and interconnected web. When your Spidey Sense is tingling, spin that interconnected web.

Endnote on Superpowers and Sexuality
I began this sermon above by making reference to an piece of writing that read the mythology of the X-Men as an allegory for the experience of the LGBT community in contemporary America. To be fair, superhero comic books make reference not only to homoerotic sexual energies, but to all sexual energies. Kripal argues,

In order to understand properly the hero motif in world mythology, and in American mythology in particular, we must be willing to mythologize sexuality as an originary expression of a kind of mystical humanism and recognize that hidden within human sexuality lie real “secret identities” and “superpowers” that continue to sublimate and morph throughout the life cycle into multiple forms of consciousness and energy as wild and various as any superhero team... Hence Dr. Kavita Rao’s rather matter-of-fact observation in a recent issue of Astonishing X-Men that “[a] child’s mutant power usually manifests at puberty.” My point exactly. What is x-tra is the seXual. [Kripal, p. 136]

Historical “decency” campaigns that have claimed that comic books have a corrupting influence on the young have frequently made reference to the erotic encoded within comic books. If you don’t believe me, watch this short clip from the first Spider Man movie. Or, read this scene from the screenplay, in which Peter Parker has sequestered himself alone in his bedroom:

Two empty glass bottles stand on a bookcase on the far side of Peter's bedroom. SPLAT! A web strand fires toward them, misses by a mile.

Peter, sitting on the opposite side of the room, frowns and tries again. SPLAT! Another wild miss. He looks down at his wrists, thinking.

INT HALLWAY -- NIGHT

Aunt May at his door with a bunch of laundry. She knocks.

AUNT MAY
Peter? What's going on there?

PETER
(opens door a crack, peeks out)
Exercising... not dressed, Aunt May.

AUNT MAY
Well, don't catch a cold.

CONTINUED:

He closes the door revealing the room is full of webs.

Sermon: "Speaking Honestly of God" (Delivered 7-24-11)

2011-07-24T15:29:00.000-07:00

Opening Words
[These words come from the book From Zip Lines to Hosaphones: Dispatches from the Search for Truth and Meaning by Jane Rzepka.]

What gods, if any, does a religious liberal look for? […]

Although atheism, agnosticism, and humanism are welcome and particularly popular, among Unitarian Universalists some gods are common.

God may be a spirit that offers a feeling of safety and advocacy close at hand, a feeling of belonging wherever you are. A warmth, a confidence, an acceptance.

Others experience a god that provides strength and encouragement, especially in the face of life’s challenges. A god that understands how difficult their situation is and how hard they are trying, as only a god can.
[…]
Some among us feel a life-force in the world, an energy, a liveliness, a connection that is not so much personal but universal.

No two Unitarian Universalist theists conceptualize their gods in exactly the same way – at least that’s my guess. But when people in our fold want a god in their lives, they are inclined to welcome a face of god that gives them strength for the good, with meaning and love.

Sermon
Way back in March, I delivered a sermon about a book that had just been released. The book’s title is Love Wins: A Book About Heaven, Hell, and the Fate of Every Person Who Ever Lived. Its author is Rob Bell, minister of an Evangelical Christian mega-church in Michigan. In the book he argues for an understanding of the afterlife in which the gates of heaven are a whole lot wider than most people believe. He’s almost a Universalist, which is to say that he almost imagines an all-inclusive heaven and a shuttered and boarded-up hell… almost, but not quite. But almost ain't bad.

Bell's book made a lot of people furious. You can scour the internet and find countless examples of conservative Christians saying really nasty and vicious things about him for writing Love Wins. I’ve read and listened to some of those ugly rants, and I feel like asking a few of those people, “Do you praise Jesus with that mouth?”

The controversy over the book created a stir and helped to push up sales. Bell received numerous invitations to appear on various television news programs. These scheduled appearances just happened, as fate would have it, to coincide with the horrific earthquake and tsunami in Japan. So, all of a sudden, Rob Bell found himself in the position of theologizing, of giving religious voice, to this devastation in Japan that touched the entire world.

I want to read to you, word for word, a few of the questions Rob Bell was asked when he went on television. Appearing on Good Morning America, George Stephanopoulos asked him, “So how do you handle the big questions being provoked by what we’ve been seeing in Japan? Why would God simply allow this suffering? And then, most of the Japanese are Shinto or Buddhist. Are they condemned to hell?”

In an appearance on MSNBC, Rob Bell is interviewed by Martin Bashir who comes off as hostile, and, frankly, like a jerk. Bashir begins by asking much the same question, just a lot more bluntly. Speaking to Bell, Bashir says, “Before we come to talk about the book, just help us with this tragedy in Japan. Which of these is true: either God is all-powerful, but he doesn’t care about the people of Japan and therefore they’re suffering, or he does care about the people of Japan but he is not all-powerful? So, which one is it?”

Okay, I want to hit pause for a few moments. I watched these clips and I was surprised by how much I was struck by these questions. To tell you the truth, I couldn’t help but put myself in the seat where Rob Bell was sitting. It is unlikely that I’ll ever write a book that will land me a guest spot on a network news program but, hypothetically speaking, how would I answer a question like this? Tell us something about the nature of God and make it fit in a five second sound-byte. How would I answer those questions if they were posed to me by George Stephanopoulos and Martin Bashir? My mind went back to that time I took a course on ministry and media skills, how we videotaped ourselves being put on the spot and answering pointed questions, and then we watched the videos of our responses to see if our answers communicated any sense of assurance or clarity or authority.

I imagined some different possible responses I might give if I had been sitting where Rob Bell had sat. I imagined myself answering aggressively. “Those are stupid questions. They are theologically juvenile. And, to explain to you why they are bad questions would take longer than you are planning to give me in this interview. I do not accept your premises and will not give the false choices you’ve proposed the honor of my reply.” But then I decided that answering this way wouldn’t be helpful to anyone.

I imagined confusing and undercutting the question with agnosticism. “Nobody can possibly know whether God intervenes in human affairs, or whether God has the power to intervene, or even if God exists at all. We just cannot know.” If my first response was too aggressive, this response seems to err on the side of too much passivity. It is a weak answer.

And the problem, I now saw, could be found in my unwillingness to honor the seriousness of the question. Each of my imagined answers had a bit of honesty in them. Questions like these, questions about where God is in the midst of suffering, really can’t be answered satisfactorily with five second quips. And, all answers are necessarily tentative and speculative. But, by dodging the question, I think you do refuse to engage in discussions about that which has been a perennial question throughout all of recorded human history. Why do we suffer? Does God cause us to suffer? Where is God in the midst of suffering?

The questions George Stephanopoulos and Martin Bashir ask can be understood in a different light. Consider the following (paraphrasing of an email that contained an) observation made by my friend and fellow UU minister Brent Smith:

In this “nation with a soul of a church” theological issues still remain at the heart of our culture. We may think in terms of philosophy, and concern ourselves with questions of God’s existence, which is a philosophical question more than a theological one. Or, we might put ourselves in the privileged position of the social scientist and compare and contrast how these questions are answered in various cultures and across world religions. But, in our culture we lead with a theological question. What is the nature of God’s love and what is the nature of God’s judgment?

Let me go back to those questions asked by the television personalities. Martin Bashir comes right after Bell. “Which of these is true: either God is all-powerful, but he doesn’t care about the people of Japan and therefore they’re suffering, or he does care about the people of Japan but he is not all-powerful? So, which one is it?” Bashir is asking a theological question about the nature of God.

Now, listen to Bell’s response. “I begin with the belief that when we shed a tear, God sheds a tear. So I begin with a divine being who is profoundly empathetic, compassionate, and stands in solidarity with us. Secondly, the dominant story of the scriptures is about restoration, about renewal, about rebirth. It’s about a God who insists, in the midst of this chaos, that the last word hasn’t been spoken.”

In all honesty, Bell’s answer is not a perfect answer. But, the question he is answering is all about the nature of God’s love and God’s judgment. I could spend a bunch of time unpacking Bell’s answer and what I think about it, but I want to move along.

So, let me hit stop as we move away from these interviews with a heretical evangelical minister. We are going to put all of this aside and bring the conversation into this room. As Jane Rzepka reminded us in the reading from the beginning of the service, as Unitarian Universalists we gather together with differing understandings of God. Some of us are atheists, agnostics, and humanists who try to avoid speaking or hearing the word God as much as possible. Others of us do find some concept of God to be beneficial or even desirable, at least insofar as the concept of God that is offered isn’t reprehensible or barbaric. We are diverse. I don’t pretend that we are all in agreement or that it would be a good thing if we were.

But, this morning, I want to challenge all of us. I want to challenge the theists and non-theists alike. I want to challenge us to assume that my friend, Brent Smith, is right when he says that we as a nation tend to make sense of things by leading with a question about the nature of God’s love and the nature of God’s judgment? Can you see how differing ideas about God’s love and judgment are going to lead to justification for different approaches to poverty, war, environmental destruction, the justice system, the education system, and the meaning of nationhood?

If this is true, just suppose it is true, then it is incumbent on us, theist and non-theist alike, if nothing else, to speak honestly of God. And, I want to explore what that might look like.

I use the word “honestly” in a very intentional way. And, that word may cause us to stumble. Because, at first it would seem that the only way to be completely honest is to admit to agnosticism. “We don’t really know. We can’t really know.” But, I think there are certainly times when rigid agnosticism is unhelpful. Suppose a white supremacist uses the book of Genesis to argue that God created some races to be superior to other races. The agnostic turn would require you to say, “I suppose that could be possible.” Or suppose you are being visited by your crazy uncle, the one who goes on and on about the connection between the Freemasons and the aliens. Your response – “I suppose that is possible” – is not spoken with honesty. You suppose no such thing. You’re just trying to change the subject. There are times when agnosticism can be without honor.

It is possible to speak honestly of God even if you don’t believe in God. Some people insist that God has given the United States a special blessing, that we come before all other nations, and that our interests supersede the interests of other nations. Others insist that God views all people equally and does not play favorites with nations. And, one of these statements seems more honest than the other. In all honesty, God did not help you score that touchdown and, honestly, God does not care who wins the Super Bowl. In all honesty. Speaking honestly of God.

Annie Lamott once quipped that you know you have created God in your own image when God hates all the same people you do. So, is the God of the liberal church a God who likes to listen to NPR, just like we do? That is not what I am saying. If anything, I do actually think that Brent Smith is on to something when he observes, “We need to acknowledge that God’s ways are not our own in that we limit our love, but God does not. We set boundaries around our affections, unlike God’s love which knows no boundaries.”

The Hebrew prophet Micah once told the people, God does not want you to sacrifice calves or rams, or to pour out rivers of oil, or to put on a feast, or hold a big celebration to show your love of God. God is not impressed by this. “The Lord only requires that you do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with thy God.” (Micah 6:8) Oh, is that all? Justice, mercy, and humility are a lot to ask. Are you sure I can’t just prepare a feast? I find Micah’s image of God to be a very honest one.

If you question the usefulness of speaking honestly of God, consider this allegation from cultural critic Chris Hedges. Hedges claims that the liberal churches and liberal synagogues have often failed “to denounce Christian heretics who acculturate the Christian religion with the worst aspects of consumerism, nationalism, greed, imperial hubris, violence, and bigotry.” Speaking honestly of God requires us to challenge popular images of God, images of a God who smiles upon the powerful, selects favored nations or classes, is impressed by showy displays of wealth, and blesses war.

Rob Bell, in introducing his book, says, “What we believe of heaven and hell is incredibly important because it exposes what we believe about who God is and what God is like.” That would be the nature of God’s love and the nature of God’s judgment. “It exposes what we believe about who God is and what God is like.” If we believe that God has created a heaven in which a few select people win, then we will be satisfied with a world in which only a few select people get ahead and everyone else suffers. If we believe in a God who would punish billions of souls for all eternity, we ourselves will be indifferent to suffering in the world and won’t challenge systems of exclusion and separation. If we believe that God is a designer of torture chambers, we will see no issue with designing our own torture chambers. If we believe that salvation means evacuation from this fallen world, we’ll see no need to reduce our carbon footprint.

Indeed, “what we believe of heaven and hell is incredibly important because it exposes what we believe about who God is and what God is like.” And, what we believe about who God is and what God is like is incredibly important because it will inform our notions of how we ought to live right here and right now.

Speak honestly of God, and speak of a God who does not limit love in the ways that we limit love. Speak of a God who includes all, even though our inclusiveness may have its limitations. Speak of a God who is “profoundly empathetic, compassionate, and stands in solidarity with us,” even though we sometimes have failures of empathy and commitment. Speak of a God for whom forgiveness comes easily even though for us it may come with painful slowness. And though we may judge with anger and contempt, speak of a God for whom there is no judgment apart from love.

To speak honestly of God is to speak honestly of those values that for us are noble and worthy and worth pursuing. Amen.

Sermon: "The Promise Making, Promise Breaking, Promise Renewing Animal" (Delivered 3-6-11)

2011-07-24T14:49:00.001-07:00

[This sermon was originally delivered on March 6, 2011]

Each week at the beginning of the service we repeat these words:

Love is the doctrine of this church,
The quest for truth is its sacrament,
And service is our prayer.
To dwell together in peace;
To seek knowledge in freedom;
To serve humanity in fellowship,
To the ends that all souls shall grow
into harmony with the divine.
Thus do we covenant with one another.

Love is the doctrine of this church. That is a true statement. Ours is a non-creedal church, meaning what binds us together, what connects us, is not a statement of belief. Rather, what connects us is a way of being together with one another in community. And, love, it strikes me, is a pretty fine way to endeavor to be together. “We need not think alike to love alike,” said Francis David, the Transylvanian Unitarian. It is more important to love alike than to think alike. So, rather than trying to agree on a doctrinal statement of belief, we try to cultivate a loving community. Love is the doctrine of this church.

The quest for truth is our sacrament. This, I suppose, is sort of true. In Christianity, a sacrament is a special ceremony or rite that defines stages of faith maturity. Protestantism observes two sacraments: baptism and communion. Catholicism adds five additional ones: confession, confirmation, holy orders, matrimony, and the anointing of the sick. Is the quest for truth really our sacrament? Even though they have their own meaning in our tradition, we do child dedications, coming of age ceremonies, services of union and weddings, as well as our flower communion in the spring and our Waters of the World ceremony in the late summer. We all, to some degree or another, engage in a quest for truth, and I suppose that some of us experience that quest as having a sacramental quality to it, whatever that means. But, we also do other things, like the child dedication ceremony we’re going to do next Sunday, that feel, well, sacramental.

And service is our prayer. This is only very partially true. In fact, it is somewhat misleading. We should add an asterisk and add an explanation in small print. Yes, many of us love performing community service, doing social action, and volunteering in many ways. A few of us even feel spiritually awakened when performing service. But, knowing you, I also know that meditation is your prayer, that communing with nature is your prayer, that reflecting on poetry is your prayer, that yoga is your prayer, that journaling is your prayer, that gardening is your prayer, and, yes, even prayer is your prayer.

Maybe we should say, “Love is the doctrine of this church; the quest for truth might be our sacrament (we’re not really sure); and, service, while a great thing, is not our prayer.” But, I have to tell you, that doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.

“Wait a second, Thom,” some of you may want to protest, “You’re taking these words on the front cover of the order of service literally. They are not meant to be taken literally. They are a creative rephrasing of what most people think it means to be religious. Being religious, at least the way we are religious, does not have to do with doctrines and statements of belief or rituals or the recitation of a holy text. It has to do with love and with searching for truth and, especially, with the way we are in the world.”

Those words on the front of the service that we read each week are attributed to a man named L. Griswold Williams, a Universalist minister, who put them to paper in the 1930s. We don’t believe that they were originally his words. We think he combined several affirmations and covenants that were popular at the time.

In the first three lines, the Williams affirmation mentions love grounded in community, the search for truth, and service to one another. In the next three lines, he reprises each of these elements: To dwell together in peace. To seek knowledge in freedom. To serve humanity in fellowship. And then the affirmation concludes with seven words, “Thus do we covenant with one another.”

This morning I want to revisit the idea of the covenant, a central core concept within our tradition. We say that we are a non-doctrinal church, a non-creedal church. We say that what binds us together is not a statement or profession of faith that we all share in common. The words on the front of our order of service are not a statement about what we believe. The Seven Principles of Unitarian Universalism are not a creed. We say that we are not a creedal religion, but instead a covenantal one. And, so I want to talk a little bit about what covenants are.
Three years ago I preached a six part sermon series on Covenants.

Thinking that covenant might be a topic that was boring to some people, I decided to dress up as Indiana Jones, wield a whip in the pulpit, and announce that what we were really doing, figuratively speaking, was searching for the lost ark of the covenant. Or, at least the ark of our own covenant. That sermon wound up getting published in a denominational publication. And, then I wound up getting quoted on the subject of covenant in dozens and dozens of sermons all over the country and even the world. That sermon was mentioned in British Columbia, California, Arizona, Vermont, and dozens of other places, including London, England. My definition of covenant was probably the most quoted part of the sermon. “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.” Or, in other words, a covenant is a promise that is made super-seriously and that proves difficult to keep.

The poet William Safford was a well-known pacifist, deeply committed to the principles and practice of non-violence. One of his most famous poems is the difficult and intuitive, “A Ritual to Read to Each Other.” It is a poem that is frequently read at peace-making trainings. I think his poem implies something about covenant. The line that stands out to me: “A pattern that others made may prevail in the world.” “If you don’t know the kind of person I am and I don’t know the kind of person you are, a pattern that others made may prevail in the world.”

This line certainly implies something about relationship and about the promises that are necessary for us to be in relationship with each other. The concern is that we not fall into thoughtless patterns of being together. The concern is that we be attentive to the promises we’ve made concerning how we will be together. We shouldn’t fall into default patterns of interaction. We shouldn’t follow the wrong God home.

Besides my oft-quoted definition of what a covenant is, the other thing about that sermon from several years ago that caught on was the story I told at the outset of the sermon. The context for the story was that the Missouri government was considering some piece of public policy around what may be taught in public schools about human sexuality. The regulations they sought to impose would have made it impossible for teachers to teach things that were true, that were scientifically and medically accurate. So, as one who takes seriously the sacrament of the quest for what is true, as one who seeks knowledge in freedom, I attended a public rally organized by Planned Parenthood. There, at that rally in front of the JC Nichols fountain on the Plaza, there were a couple of college students who were also conservative Christians who were also there to spy on what was going on. Word got around that a minister who supported sex education was in the crowd and the two students made a bee-line to find out the story of the minister who would stand up for medically-accurate human sexuality education.

They barraged me with questions, questions that clearly established that a pattern that others had made was prevailing in the world. They had never heard of Unitarian Universalism, so they began to try to ascertain whether I ascribed to the same creeds and doctrines to which they assented. “Do Unitarian Universalists believe in the Bible?”

But, you can’t know us by defining our doctrines. You can’t know us by pinning us down on a statement of belief. We’re covenantal, not creedal. You know us by knowing how we promise to try to be together. What is your doctrine? “Love is our doctrine.” What are your sacraments? “The quest for truth is our sacrament.” What words of incantation do you use when you pray? “We serve humanity in fellowship.”

In the assumptions that these ladies brought into the conversation, a pattern that others had made prevailed in the world. That pattern said that religion is about correct doctrine, established forms, orthopraxy. Talk about following the wrong God home and missing your star. It was agonizing to try to explain to them that we do not see religion as a matter of doctrines but a matter of relationships, not a matter of creeds but a matter of how we promise to be together.

The Jewish theologian Martin Buber famously said that our humanity is inextricably bound to our promises. He called us the “promise-making, promise-breaking, promise-renewing animal.” Riffing on Buber, UU minister John Buehrens said, “I believe that we humans are not so much homo sapiens (we are neither that wise nor that self-aware), but rather we are [the animal that makes promises.] We ourselves are created in the context of relationships, promises, commitments. We then either break them, make new ones, modify them, or renew them. To use a word deeply rooted in our culture, we are ‘covenantal’ by nature.” [See, John Buehrens and Rebecca Parker, A House for Hope.]

In the Jewish tradition, the religious tradition from which we get the concept of covenant, a major part of the high Holy Day of Yom Kippur involves the deep contemplation of our promises. The central prayer of Yom Kippur, the Kol Nidre, actually does something startling. It abolishes, for a moment, out of time, all promises. Rabbi Irwin Kula says, “It’s very frightening to imagine that we have no obligations, because it is our obligations, our promises that define who we are.”

Martin Buber turned modern Western history into a kind of parable. [Note: this parable is lifted and just lightly paraphrased from a chapter in A House for Hope by John Buehrens and Rebecca Parker.] Buber said that at the time of the American revolution and French revolution, three ideals united together. Those ideals were liberty, equality, and community. But, in the confusion of a changing world, the three lost track of each other in the melee of the crowd. Liberty traveled west and came to America. All by itself, its character changed. It turned into a kind of freedom without responsibility, freedom to exploit and mistreat others and our planet, freedom from the responsibilities of community and from obligation to the common good. While Liberty went west, Equality went east to the gulags of the Soviet Union. In the name of equality, freedoms of worship, conscience, speech, and association were abolished. The third ideal – community, relationship, kinship – went into hiding. It went underground, only to surface at those times when people joined together to oppose the distortion of freedom or the perversion of equality. Community arose during the civil rights movement. Community arose during the Solidarity movement in Poland. Community arises whenever we break from patterns that others have made so as to be able to claim a way of being together in covenant, in promises we make to one another about how we will strive to be together.

What Martin Buber says rings so immensely true to me. All of us, at any given time, in the context of the great web of our relationships, have to navigate the course of making and breaking and renewing promises. We live amidst these promises – promises we’ve made to our partners, to our children, to our work and our vocation, to our voluntary associations where we practice religious and civic engagement, to our wider society, and to ourselves. Living within these promises entails the difficult task of trying to balance and reconcile liberty, equality, and community. It is a sacred struggle. There is a sacred depth in the promises you make and keep.

Book Review: Death of the Liberal Class

2011-07-20T12:40:00.000-07:00

I just finished reading Pulitzer Prize winning author Chris Hedges’ eighth book, The Death of the Liberal Class, which was published in October, 2010. It is the sixth book by him that I’ve read.

What Hedges means by the Liberal Class is a group of institutions that together play an important and essential role in a democratic society. These institutions include academia, the press, the arts, liberal churches, labor unions, and, at times, the Democratic Party. Through truth telling these institutions help to shape public opinion and constrain the worst impulses of imperialism, war-mongering, and the greed of unchecked capitalism. The Liberal Class draws from a deep well of human wisdom that through literature, art, history, philosophy, and theology that instructs as to what it means to be human and reminds us of the perils of greed, wrath, and arrogance.

According to Hedges the Liberal Class has suffered a steady decline over the past century. The last one hundred years has been a prolonged dying process. Curiously, Hedges identifies the first decade of the twentieth century as a golden age for the Liberal Class. He cites the power of labor unions, the success of the Communist and socialist politicians, the work of journalists like Upton Sinclair, and the passage of laws protecting citizens such as the 1906 Pure Food and Drug Act.

However, beginning with World War I and continuing for the next hundred years, the institutions that form the Liberal Class have retreated from fulfilling their own highest calling. They’ve managed to shoot themselves in the foot and have allowed themselves to be taken advantage of by the Power Elite. (The Power Elite refers to greedy corporations who are willing to sacrifice the lives and wellbeing of others for their own gain.) The earliest betrayals of the Liberal Class came during WWI when the Liberal Class failed to question government propaganda, silenced critics from within its own ranks, and joined up with the drumbeat for war.

Such betrayals, of course, have only increased over the course of the last century. There were, of course, the purges of McCarthyism and, later, the booing of Michael Moore and the New York Times and Thomas Friedman functioning as a cheerleader for the invasion of Iraq. The Obama presidency, according to Hedges, demonstrates the utter inability of the liberal class to stand up to the power elite.

Hedges argues that the American state has succumbed to inverse totalitarianism. What Hedges means by inverse totalitarianism, to use a source from outside of the book, is something akin to what Friedrich Nietzsche describes in his observation that, “Submission to powerful, frightening, indeed terrible persons, to tyrants and army leaders, is felt to be far less painful than this submission to unknown and uninteresting persons, such as all magnates of industry are.” Inverse totalitarianism, to borrow Hannah Arendt’s famous formulation, puts the banality in the banality of evil. It is not submission to a charismatic leader. It is being crushed by unchecked corporate control and the “unknown and uninteresting persons” behind this control.

Some of Hedges’ analysis comes off at times as a stretch. His book is short and suffers from his attempts to make his analysis all-encompassing. He writes with an overhanded moral and ideological fury that spares nothing in its path. This works when he is critiquing environmental degradation. It doesn’t work as well when he is critiquing modern art. It is unfortunate that he devotes so much space in his writing to these digressions because I believe he does deserve to be taken seriously on his most serious points.

In all of his books Hedges manages to be a better diagnostician than a doctor. He is able to describe what is wrong; he is far less able to advise us as to a cure. Whereas Hedges has been known to present us with a few less-than-satisfactory suggestions in some of his other books, Hedges ends Death of the Liberal Class by sounding his most hopeless note.

Hedges forecasts doom. He says that nothing can save us from the Scylla and Charybdis of corporate control and environmental destruction. Hedges advises us to form communities of resistance in which small enclaves of people grow their own food and preserve moral education and humanistic learning. He advises us against violent resistance because of violence’s corrupting influence.

If you’ve read Death of the Liberal Class, I’d love to discuss your reaction to the book and how this book has shaped the way you think about the current political realities in the United States.

Sermon: "The Dark Side of Self-Reliance" (Delivered 2-20-11)

2011-07-20T11:54:00.000-07:00

[This sermon was originally delivered on February 20, 2011]

I do not tell this story because I think you are all that interested in stories about ministers. Actually, it’s probably healthier for you not to be interested in stories about ministers. I do tell this story (actually a composite of several stories) because I think it is unlikely that you’ve found yourself in exactly this situation, which makes it a safer story.

Andy (not his real name) was a middle-aged, second career minister whose first call was to a large church. It was a church with a lot of high achieving professionals as members, a culture that prized accomplishment. It was a church with a proud history of celebrated and prominent pulpiteers.

Not long after beginning his ministry Andy felt over his head. The work was demanding, intense, and even all-consuming. He experienced feelings of inadequacy, especially in the pulpit. He never felt that his sermons measured up. One week, after responding to a whole series of pastoral crises and administrative conflagrations, he came up empty when it was time to write his sermon. In a moment of desperation he went on-line, found a sermon that another minister had written, copied and pasted it, and preached it as if it were of his own authorship. It was well-received.

The consequence was not what Andy had intended. Instead of experiencing one-time relief, a singular respite, Andy’s sense of self-doubt and inadequacy increased, multiplied. Future sermons would have to be as good as the one he had stolen and faked. He fell into a pattern that grew compulsive. He received many positive comments on his sermons and the parishioners began to insist that the sermons be posted on the church website. Each compliment magnified his own feelings of inadequacy, shame, and his crushed self-esteem. He had dug himself into a pit and he kept digging. He alternated between poles of delusion and rationalization and self-hatred. Subconsciously, he wanted to get caught. And, eventually, he did get caught.

Some time ago I served a three year stint as a member of the Executive Committee of the Unitarian Universalist Ministers Association. Part of the work of that group, the most important and challenging and sobering work of that group, involved intervening in cases in which ministers found themselves in trouble. Sometimes the trouble was of the minister’s own making, sometimes it wasn’t. But, by the time these situations reached us, a lot of the better outcomes that had been possible earlier were no longer possible.

In the situations where we had to intervene, there was one common denominator that was shared by almost all of the ministers who found themselves in trouble. That common denominator was isolation, a determination to struggle privately and discreetly. The struggling person becomes guarded and constructs an increasingly elaborate façade. The psychic pain leads to withdrawal, emotional and relational isolation. Among professionals, especially those who work in fields such as ministry, not meeting with other professionals in your field is taken as a sign that you are in danger, that you are in trouble. Isolation is a warning sign. It signals that something is wrong.

Two weeks ago I preached the first part in a two part sermon series on Ralph Waldo Emerson’s famous essay, “Self-Reliance.” Self-reliance, I said, was a loaded term that has been used, misused, and abused in different ways over the past one hundred and seventy years. Self-reliance, as Emerson intended the term, had to do with self-confidence in one’s own thought and in the ability for the person to stand up and stick up for his or her own principles even when those views are in the minority, even when the crowd is moving in a different direction. Emerson writes, “Nothing can bring you peace but the triumph of principles.”

For all his talk about keeping the “sweetness of solitude” while in the midst of the crowd, it is a misreading of Emerson to think that he was advocating a futile kind of self-isolation. As one person who read my sermon from two weeks ago commented, it can easily be argued that Emerson was a major proponent and advocate for community. He was, after all, the founder of an intellectual club that included both men and women, that was modeled after the coffeehouses and salons of England and the European continent. Intellectual understanding was best pursued in the company of other co-learners. He was not, was never, a solitary genius. He was always part of a fellowship of thinkers.

And, two weeks ago, I talked about how the term self-reliance has been co-opted to mean something entirely different than what Emerson had meant. Self-reliance, self-sufficiency, self-determination, individual responsibility, personal freedom: in our contemporary society these are all used as code words for right wing economic and social policies.

Social change theorists have pointed out that since the mid-1960s, the concept of rights has been slowly losing ground as the dominant lens for understanding social issues in the public arena. And, since the 1960s, issues have increasingly been understood as matters of security, individual responsibility, and values (with the caveat that values are taken to mean right-wing Christian theocratic values.) What I’m saying, what these people who think about social change theory are saying, is that while most of us here in this room probably consider public education a human right, and health care a human right, and workers’ rights to unionize and receive a living wage and bargain collectively to be a human right, by and large most people would say that these things are matters of individual responsibility. The concept of personal liberty trumps the concept rights in the court of public opinion. This is a painful thing to hear and points to the need to develop new understandings and new ways of talking about and explaining and framing these issues.

What do I mean when I say that the frame that speaks of things in terms of rights has diminished in potency and the frame that speaks of things in terms of security, individual responsibility, and conservative Christian values has ascended in power? All you need to do is name an issue and see which frame has proven more successful in the realm of popular opinion.

Take, for example, the Patriot Act. When the vote came for that blatantly unconstitutional piece of legislation, the discourse that opposed it on the basis of human rights and civil liberties was completely annihilated by the discourse that framed the legislation as a matter of security.

Or, take the issue of unions. Right now we see this drama playing out in Wisconsin and Ohio. Proponents of unions have long held that unions function to protect the rights of workers. Opponents have maligned unions, accusing them of creating situations in which individual responsibility is compromised. Unions have been slowly losing power in our country since the Taft-Hartley Act of 1947. Proponents of unions, according to the analysis of thinkers such as George Lakoff, need a new way to talk about unions that is not based on a notion of rights.

It is easy to point to areas in our culture and in our politics in which we can say that a kind of rugged individualism, a survivalist ethos, and a preoccupation with individual responsibility are at play. And, it is also easy to deflate the balloon and let the hot air out of many of these arguments. It is easy to point out when someone was born already standing at third base and thinks they’ve hit a triple. It is easy to question someone’s claims of self-reliance when they have dozens of lobbyists on their payroll or when they cash bailout checks from the government.

It is harder to point out those moments when we ourselves practice a distorted and self-defeating type of self-reliance. It is harder to point out because it flies in the face of what we know.

We know, thinking back to that example of the plagiarizing minister, that things began to go bad when he was unable to reach out to colleagues, to mentors, to his board, and to outside resources to help manage the intense stress he was under. We know he set himself up for trouble when he closed himself off and insisted he could manage it all by himself.

We know, in looking at the major issues we face as a society, that improvements don’t happen through individual fortitude and stoic suffering. We know that it takes collective action, coalition building, organizing, and cooperative action to bring about change.

We know that the George Odell reading from our hymnal is true, that “We need one another when we mourn and would be comforted. We need one another when are in trouble and afraid… All our lives we are in need, and other are in need of us.”

We know this. We know this. But a lot of Unitarian Universalists tend to do otherwise. I’ve been having discussions will trusted colleagues, talking about a troubling pattern we’ve seen in our congregations. The pattern is that when a person finds themselves in trouble – an illness, a family crisis, a job loss, money problems, health problems, relationship problems – often when someone in our congregation finds themselves in trouble, they pull away. They pull away from church. They pull away from their friends here. They isolate. And, I’m not talking about stepping aside from a leadership position for a little while. I’m talking about refusing to ask for help and support and turning away the help and support that is offered.

And, from what I can tell, it isn’t just something that happens here in this congregation. And, I’m perplexed and frustrated trying to understand why this is the way it is. And, the only tentative hypothesis I have is that we’ve bought into a distorted idea of self-reliance that causes us to isolate and face hardship alone. Maybe you have another idea. If so, I’d love to hear it. I want your perspective on this.

During the time that I was an intern minister living in Dallas I managed to total my car. I remember my internship supervisor driving across town to pick me up and taking me to a rental car agency and offering to let the church cover the cost of a rental car until I could arrange for my own transportation. I remember feeling embarrassed by this, by my own lack of self-reliance. When I expressed this, my internship supervisor told me to be quiet. “Listen,” he said, “Humans did not survive, from an evolutionary biology perspective, because of their sharp teeth and claws. We did not survive because of our speed or strength. Not because of our thick, protective hide or our warm hair. We survived because of cooperation and taking care of each other.”

When you turn to another person from help, you are fulfilling a biological role as well as participating in a moral imperative. “All our lives we are in need of others and others are in need of us.”

The Good and the Interesting of 80/35

2011-07-07T15:11:00.000-07:00

Over the Independence Day weekend Anne and I traveled to Des Moines to attend the 80/35 music festival, named for the Eisenhowerian intersection of the two interstate highways in central Iowa. The festival’s name is evidence of the practical common sense and unpretentiousness of its location. While other festivals are named for a garble of fun to pronounce but meaningless letters – Lollapalooza, Bumbershoot, Bonnaroo – this festival’s name is nothing if not utilitarian.

80/35 could be called a third rate alternative music festival. Its headlining acts would find themselves charged with the mid-afternoon task of waking up the dehydrated and sunburnt crowd at most major festivals. Its mid-card and lower-card acts have virtually no name recognition. More precisely, while “third-rate” may describe the drawing power of 80/35 musical line-up, it was actually a charming and well-run musical adventure. 80/35 is situated in a city park that borders a fun little sculpture garden. It does not involve trashing some godforsaken field in the middle of nowhere. And, I’ve never witnessed such courtesy and lack of anti-social behavior within the mob-like anonymity of thousands of young people grouped together. Let’s face it: I’m now at the older end of the spectrum of festival goers and 80/35 indulged my creature comforts.

The highlight of this festival was getting to see two bands I’d never heard before but that had been highly recommended to me. Both of the bands exceeded my expectations.

The first band was the New Jersey punk outfit Titus Andronicus. They opened with “A More Perfect Union,” a complex and mesmerizing song that feels like a homesick ode to their home state. In all honesty, I have no idea about the song’s larger meaning, but the song does seem to play with powerful themes of nostalgia and utopian longing and how these emotions can be used, abused, and even exploited. (Or maybe I was just thinking of Independence Day.) “A More Perfect Union” also contains a wonderful little shout-out to New Jersey’s own Bruce Springsteen.

Titus Andronicus played a long set and dazzled on-stage. While punk rock is known for short and direct, two-minute numbers, Titus Andronicus creates longer songs that somehow manage not to feel watered-down and sprawling. Titus Andronicus had a fantastic stage presence that combined humility with energy and exuberance. The spirited playing of guitarist Amy Klein, who sported a tour T-Shirt of Des Moines’ own indie-group (and 80/35 performer) Poison Control Center, was especially noteworthy. She also happens to have a great blog about indie rock with a little feminism thrown in.

Listen to “A More Perfect Union” by Titus Andronicus
Listen to “Upon Viewing Bruegel's ‘Landscape With the Fall of Icarus’” by Titus Andronicus

The second band I really enjoyed seeing was the folk-rock ensemble Okkervil River. I had never heard their music before this festival, but I knew that their most recent album had received excellent reviews and that they are signed to the Jagjaguwar record label that is known for releasing Bon Iver’s albums.

Everything about Okkervil River was enjoyable and pleasing to the ear. As I listened to them, I couldn’t help but compare them to The Decemberists. However, I found that Okkervil River possesses in moderation all those characteristics that, in excess, make The Decemberists tiresome. Like Colin Meloy, Will Sheff of Okkervil River is dramatic and literary, just not overly so.

Listen to Wake and Be Fine by Okkervil River
Listen to Lost Coastlines by Okkervil River

Other bands I enjoyed seeing perform at the 80/35 Festival included Gold Motel, Pink Mink, and the flamboyant and entertaining dance-rock band of Montreal.

The most interesting performer of 80/35 was actually the festival’s headlining act, Girl Talk. How thoroughly post-modern to have a headlining act at a music festival who does not play any instruments or sing or even write music! So, what exactly is Girl Talk?

Girl Talk is actually the stage name of 29 year old Greg Gillis. Up until a few years ago, Greg Gillis lived a double life in Pittsburgh, PA. By day Gillis worked a biological engineer for a biotech company. By night and on the weekends Gillis flew all over the United States and even all over the world playing his own unique brand of dance music created entirely from samples. His laptop contains thousands and thousands of digital music files containing parts of popular songs. What Gillis does is to create what is known as “mash-ups” by layering two or three or four or five recordings on top of one another. Gillis’ style involves rapidly inserting and removing parts of songs. It never stands still.

It was reported that his most recent album contained samples from 379 different recordings. Over any given five-minute stretch, Gillis may sample from twenty to thirty different songs. Yes, I did mention albums. He has released five albums, each consisting entirely of other artists’ copyrighted material. These albums can be downloaded from his website. (You get to choose how much to pay!) Gillis believes that what he does is covered by the legal principle of “fair use” and has supposedly never faced a lawsuit, which is incredible because he’s sampled over from over 1,000 different songs. Girl Talk has been critically well-received. His releases have appeared on all kinds of best-of-the-year lists and his 2006 album The Night Ripper was included on The AV Club’s list of the best albums of the decade. Gillis has been able to quit his day job. The Girl Talk project, that includes headlining this music festival, evidently pays the bills.

So, what exactly is a Girl Talk concert like? His stage includes a table, a monitor, and his laptop computer. He claims to mix all of his samples live. This may or may not be true. With one hand on his mouse, Girl Talk dances behind his laptop. Every so often he removes an article of clothing. The audience comes on stage and dances right alongside him. There are lights and confetti cannons and beach balls. It is a big dance party. You can see what it looks like here. Or here. Or here. Or here.

The music that Girl Talk samples is mostly hip-hop and rap, top 40, and rock. It is all popular music. In the thirty minutes of his performance that I listened to, Girl Talk sampled from about twenty different hip-hop songs I could not identify as well as songs by Beck, The Ramones, Nirvana, Beyoncé, Tone Loc, Young MC, Miley Cyrus, Kylie Minogue, and dozens more I’ve probably already forgotten about.

You can find a huge number of his recordings as well as “concert” footage on YouTube. Some of his mash-ups are rather famous including his mixing of rap lyrics from Notorious B.I.G. with the music from Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer.” (The joke is that he is mixing something “big” with something “tiny.”) He also mixes “Paint it Black” by the Rolling Stones with an annoying song called “Black and Yellow” by rapper Wiz Khalifa. His vocal samples are drawn very heavily from rap and hip-hop and contain all of the racializations, misogyny, and glamorization of recreational drug use and excessive demonstrations of wealth that are so common within that art form.

Was Girl Talk entertaining? Not tremendously. He was a bit baffling at times. It was about ninety degrees out when he took the stage after the sun had been beating down brutally all day long and he took the stage wearing a hooded sweatshirt and warm-up pants. The sweatshirt stayed on less than five minutes, but c’mon now. His microphone work was astoundingly banal. Before clicking his mouse he grabs a microphone and says, “What is up Des Moines? Right now we are going to party. It is summer and we are outside. I said, it is summer and we are outside. We are going to party right now.” The rest of his microphone work consisting in exhorting the audience to jump or put our hands in the air and every remark of his was peppered with the verbal reminder that this all happening “right now.” The two words “right now” came out of him like some awkward verbal tic.

It is my tendency to look at things and inquire as to their meaning. I may be at fault for assuming that things have meanings. Girl Talk himself would probably deny that there is any meaning to what he does other than getting people to dance and have fun. He denies that he is offering any commentary on music and claims only to sample from music he enjoys. However, if John Cage’s 4’33” means something – (something about performance, something about the relationship between performer and audience, something about silence and whether silence is possible, etc.) – then I think Girl Talk probably means something.

I do think that the audience’s role at a Girl Talk “show” is performative. The audience is invited up on stage and surrounds and even swallows Greg Gillis. Meanwhile, Girl Talk’s role is at once minimalist and maximalist. Clicking a mouse is a fairly minimalist activity however the soundscape caused by this small act is large resulting in several songs piled on top of one another. The idea of the audience being up on stage is indicative of the “cult of self” that dominates American culture. The everyday events in my life deserve to be posted as a Facebook status update. I will tweet my daily activities in real time. Someday I might be the focus of a “reality” television program.

I would further say that Girl Talk is highly performative in the sense his music is probably best enjoyed by people who are familiar with the canon from which he draws and that, as a result, what is actually being observed is our own conscious recognition of the music. If you know none of the songs, it will appear jumbled. To actually enjoy Girl Talk I would argue that you have to enjoy that you recognize the music. Case in point, the loudest ovation at 80/35 came when Girl Talk sampled in a selection from teen pop sensation Miley Cyrus’ song “Party in the USA”. The guitar lick at the beginning of this song is just about the catchiest thing in the world. I’ve never heard this song on the radio. I don’t own any of her music. I would never pay to see her in concert. But this guitar lick is somehow familiar to me. What people at 80/35 – people who also don’t own any Miley Cyrus and paid money to come to this indie rock festival rather than a Miley Cyrus concert – were cheering was not the guitar lick as much as the fact tha they recognized the guitar lick. (There is further irony here. That Miley Cyrus song is about conquering homesickness by recognizing pop music!) I would posit that the more extensive your popular music knowledge, the more likely you are to enjoy Girl Talk.

Finally, I think this music says something about multitasking, short attention spans, and media saturation. There is no development in his music. There is no narrative arc. A song comes in and it is gone 15 or 30 seconds later. A verse and then no chorus, not to mention no second verse or third verse or bridge or solo. I think to enjoy Girl Talk one has to almost feel that there is something too slow about listening to only song at once. Let’s hear Nirvana and 50 Cent. Let’s hear Notorious B.I.G. and Elton John.

Exporting Hate: Lethal American Meddling in Uganda

2011-05-30T08:02:00.000-07:00

Lou Engle’s gravelly voice catches and his face contorts. He looks perpetually as if he is about to be overcome with emotion. He is wearing a yellow, short-sleeve, button-down shirt. He is the definition of middle-aged with a bushy moustache and a receding hairline of sandy brown hair.

When he appears on the video, it is jarring. He looks very much out-of-place. Lou Engle stands on a stage in Uganda’s capital city of Kampala, warning a sea of African faces about the dangers of the so-called “homosexual agenda.” With crocodile tears he tells the audience that gays are trying to hurt the nation of Uganda and hurt families.

Lou Engle appears in a documentary entitled Africa’s Last Taboo. The documentary takes you across the continent of Africa, exploring the rising tide of violent homophobia fueled by religious leaders and government officials. In church on Sunday, May 29, we showed a segment of this documentary dealing with homophobia in Uganda. (You can watch parts of this documentary on-line here.)

When he’s not stirring up hate in Uganda, Lou Engle spends his time spreading his Christian theocratic vision across the United States. Engle is the lead minister of the (unfortunately-named) International House of Prayer, located in the Kansas City suburb of Grandview, Missouri. He is also the organizer of an organization known as The Call, which hosts large prayer rallies espousing his politicized faith. Engle was heavily involved in helping California to pass Proposition 8, a ballot initiative that repealed same-sex marriage. Lou Engle is one of a large number of conservative religious leaders and politicians who have spent years working to try to transform Uganda into a Christian theocratic state.

In 2008 journalist Jeff Sharlet released the book The Family: The Secret Fundamentalism at the Heart of American Power. The book deals with a secretive organization in Washington D.C. that operated a house on C Street – incorporated as a church so as to avoid taxation – that provided dormitory living to a large number of politicians and also served as a training ground for politicians, government officials, business leaders, and ministers with powerful ambitions. Current Kansas Governor and then-Senator Sam Brownback is featured prominently in Sharlet’s book. The Family overlaps with another organization called The Fellowship that has hosted a National Prayer Breakfast, a private religious event attended by every United States President since Eisenhower in 1953, that is every lobbyist’s dream and has also been a way to circumvent official United States diplomatic objectives.

Jeff Sharlet’s book exploded in 2009 as a pair of members of The Family, South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford and Nevada Senator John Ensign, got caught in seedy sex scandals. Suddenly, Jeff Sharlet became a regular guest on television and radio news programs. Sharlet’s book contains numerous mentions of Uganda and Uganda’s dictator Yoweri Museveni. Sharlet alleges that The Family targeted Uganda, as well as Kenya, as a base for corporate and political influence in East Africa. Sharlet writes,

The actual fate of Ugandan citizens was never [the Family’s] concern. [Congressman Joe] Pitts, in the Family tradition, may have had geopolitics on the mind: with Ethiopia limping along following decades of civil war and dictatorship and Somalia veering toward a Taliban state, tiny, Anglophone Uganda has become an American wedge into Islamic Africa. But the American uses and abuses of Uganda are still more cynical: Christian Africa has been appropriated for a story with which American fundamentalists argue for domestic policy, a parable detached from African realities, preached for the benefit of Americans.

Before United States politicians and religious leaders made homosexuality a key issue in Uganda, they attacked family planning and AIDS prevention programs. Sharlet writes,

Uganda, which following the collapse of Siad Barre’s Somalia became the focus of the Family’s interests in the African Horn, has been the most tragic victim of this projection of American’s sexual anxieties. Following implementation of one of the continent’s only successful anti-AIDS program, President Yoweri Museveni, the Family’s key-man in Africa, came under pressure from the United States to emphasize abstinence instead of condoms. Congressman Pitts wrote that pressure into law, redirecting millions of dollars from effective sex-ed programs to [abstinence only] programs. This pressure achieved the desired result: an evangelical revival in Uganda, and a stigmatization of condoms and those who use them so severe that some college campuses held condom bonfires… [F]ollowing the American intervention, the Ugandan AIDS rate, once dropping, nearly doubled.

Since the fall of 2009, the Ugandan government has on several occasions considered passing a draconian anti-homosexuality bill. This piece of legislation has never come to a vote, though it surely will be considered again. You can read the bill here. It contains provisions for life imprisonment or the death penalty for gays, lengthy prison sentences for people who do not report people known to be homosexuals, and harsh penalties for doctors, ministers, and businesses that knowingly serve gay individuals.

The bill was introduced by David Bahati, a rising star in Ugandan politics with close connections to the Family. One of the bill’s most vocal supporters, Martin Ssempa, was a close associate of Rick Warren, minister of the Saddleback Church in California.

The anti-homosexuality bill is so repulsive and indefensible that it has caused many American evangelical leaders and members of the Family to try to distance themselves from it. The internet is full of allegations and speculations as to where many of these American figures actually stand in terms of their support for the bill.

Rick Warren initially said, “It is not my personal calling as a pastor in America to comment or interfere in the political process of other nations.” Then he backtracked, issuing a video to attempt to distance himself from the bill and Ssempa, the controversial Ugandan pastor who had visited him numerous times in California. Ssempa fired back, calling him a wimp and a flip-flopper.

Even some of America’s most vicious and virulent anti-gay preachers have backed away from the Ugandan bill. Scott Lively, a disgusting preacher who leads an anti-gay group classified as a hate group by the Southern Poverty Law Center and the author of a book, The Pink Swastika, which claims that homosexuals were the inventors of Nazism, has stated his opposition to the Ugandan law.

It seems clear to me that when folks like Lively and Lou Engle backtrack from fully supporting the Ugandan anti-homosexuality bill, they are talking out of both sides of their mouths. The homophobic violence in Uganda is so extreme that they want to have some evidence of plausible deniability lest they be implicated in genocide. On the other hand, their friends in Uganda say that they know that in their hearts, they support the persecution of homosexuals.

Despite what they say about the bill, I believe that American Evangelical leaders have blood on their hands in Uganda. Even if the government isn’t willing to kill gays, the mobs are certainly willing. Publications have outed dozens of gay Ugandans. Many have been murdered, including gay activist David Kato. The explosion of violence may have happened in Uganda, but American evangelicals helped to organize the mob and armed them with pitchforks and torches.

What can Americans do to help improve the situation in Uganda?

I think Americans can do several things. First, Americans need to make sure that the feet of American politicians and religious leaders continue to be held to the fire. Inquire about their activities in Uganda. Demand that they clarify their position on Uganda. Ask about travel. Scrutinize their interactions with Museveni, Bahati, Ssempa, or any other promoters of homophobia in Uganda. American ministers and politicians fear embarrassment. Pay attention and let them know you are paying attention.

Second, demand that the Obama administration use its diplomatic power to insist that Uganda protect the human rights of all of its citizens.

Finally, Americans can partner with and support organizations that are watching Ugandan political and religious leaders and Americans involved in Uganda.

Resources:
Here is Jeff Sharlet being interviewed on The Rachel Maddow Show.
Here is an article by Jeff Sharlet from The Advocate.
Here is a video of a Kansas City activist organization protesting Lou Engle.
Here is a statement by Unitarian Universalist Associate President Peter Morales on Uganda.
Here is coverage of Uganda in the UU World.

Homily: "Prepare to Launch" [Delivered 5-15-11]

2011-05-23T14:55:00.000-07:00

[This homily was preached as a part of our Coming of Age recognition service on May 15, 2011.]

When I was the age of our Coming of Age youth, I belonged to the model rocket club at my junior high school. To build a model rocket, you take a cardboard tube (short or long, skinny or fat) and then you glue on some fins made out of lightweight wood. Into one end of the rocket, you stuff a plastic parachute attached to the body of the rocket with a string, and you secure a plastic nose cone on the end and then you spray paint it. Into the other end of the rocket, you insert a blasting device that looks like a roll of quarters, but is filled with this horrible, sulfur-smelling, explosive power. You put the rocket on a launching pad, stick wires into the blasting device, and send an electric current through the wires to ignite the blasting device.

When you ignite the blasting device, it propels the rocket a couple hundred feet into the air, the nose cone comes off, the parachute comes out, and the rocket drifts peacefully back to earth. Well, that is what is supposed to happen when things go well. And, when I launched rockets, things didn’t always go well. I remember launching this sleek looking number that traveled perhaps thirty feet into the air and then turned abruptly and began heading at the group of students who were standing there watching. We all ducked for cover and the rocket sailed over our heads, slammed into the ground, and disintegrated on impact.

But, there was one rocket that failed above all others. This rocket was about four feet long and it looked powerful. You put not one, not two, but three blasting caps in it and the idea was that one would light the next which would light the next and would send the rocket several thousand feet into the sky. It looked like something that could possibly shoot down a large bird or a small aircraft. The day of our model rocket club meeting, I brought this giant rocket with me to school. It was too large to fit in my locker and so I had to carry it to all of my classes. I was very proud of this fierce-looking rocket, the largest and most powerful rocket in the history of the rocket club. After school, we went out to the sports fields. I placed the three blasting devices inside of the rocket. I put the wires in. I stood back. Way back. I pressed the launch button. Smoke began to billow out. And then more smoke. And then flames. The rocket burned on the launching pad. Finally, it jerked upwards and hung in the air about ten feet off the ground where it exploded and fell to earth in about seven flaming pieces. My classmates raced towards the burning pieces of my rocket and stomped out the flames.

I was crushed, embarrassed. As I picked up the charred remains of the rocket, I noticed that about eight inches of the cardboard tube remained intact. And, I had a couple of wood fins remaining. I returned to the next meeting of the model rocket club with a self-fashioned rocket that I was prepared to send on a mission of destruction. This thing had no parachute. The rocket had disappointed me once; the second time I would exact my revenge. It was not going to return. I placed the largest blasting device you could legally purchase in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts inside of it. I put it on the pad, stuck the wires in, and hit the button to launch it.

Zoom! It sailed off the launching pad, leaving behind just a faint hint of exhaust, and was gone into the stratosphere before we could even jerk our heads up to follow its path. In a split second it was out of sight. We usually chased after rockets to recover them, but this one was history. It was gone. A few weeks later I did discover a bright red fin about a half mile away from the school. The rest of the rocket was never found.

All this year, you have been in the Coming of Age program. What does it mean to come of age? It doesn’t mean that when you go home today, your parents will have packed up your stuff and will say to you, go get a job and an apartment, it is time for you to live on your own now. You wouldn’t do very well. Some of you really wouldn’t do very well. Does Coming of Age mean that you are now all adults? No. Not really.

What it means is that you are and will be transitioning into a time in your life in which the choices you make and the decisions you decide will become a lot more serious, a time in your life in which you’ll be asked to be responsible in the face of expanding freedoms.

Over the next five years of your life there will be all sorts of important rites of passage: you’ll go to a new school that will ask you for greater levels of responsibility. You’ll have the responsibility that comes with learning how to drive a car. When you turn 18 there will be a lot of choices, including where you want to live, for whom you will vote, what you want to try to do with your life, and what you want to become. And, all along the way, other questions will present themselves for you to figure out. You’ll face questions about the types of friends you’ll want to have, the types of relationships and whether to go along and do what the crowd is doing, You’ll have to make your own decisions about right and wrong, good choices and bad choices, choices with a moral dimension.

So, how exactly has this year prepared you for any of this? Well, we hope that your beliefs, your beliefs about right and wrong and good and bad, your beliefs about your place in the world, and your beliefs about justice and fairness will guide you as you face all these decisions and responsibilities. But, more than that, we hope that you will apply some of the same resources you used this year in thinking about big questions. We hope that you will work hard at finding good answers to the important questions and serious choices that you’ll be faced with. The questions are deep and they are hard: what does it mean to live well? What kind of person do I want to be? What responsibility do I have to help change the world?

Now remember, when we asked you to think carefully about your beliefs, we didn’t lock you in a room with a crayon and piece of paper and tell you to figure it all out by yourself. No, you thought about these questions while you were surrounded by peers, with the help of a mentor, and teachers, and religious professionals, and the members of this religious community. We provided you with resources, information about others who have asked important questions and answered those questions well. And, we encouraged you to trust your own conscience, to listen to that small, still voice inside of you.

One of the things that I hope you learned this year is that Unitarian Universalism doesn’t tell you that you can believe anything you want. You can’t believe anything you want. It doesn’t work like that. Try to believe that men and women shouldn’t have equal rights. Try to believe that it is OK for people of one race to have more rights than people of another race. Try to believe that the world is flat or that the world is only 6,000 years old. Try to believe that God will harshly punish people who belong to the wrong religion.

Hopefully, you can’t believe these things. You couldn’t believe them even if you wanted to. Hopefully, your own conscience, your own sense of right and wrong, tells you that you can’t accept these things. Hopefully, you say, “That is not what I believe. I believe something else.” And hopefully, in the years to come, you will have the strength of character to say, “That injustice is not right.” “How people are being treated is not right.” “That thing you are asking me to do is not safe and is not healthy.”

You see, with Coming of Age, we are preparing you to launch. We are preparing you to launch. And, we want to provide you with a few things: a powerful blasting cap that will send you far into the mysteries of the world. But we also want to provide you with a strong parachute that will help you to land smoothly and safely. And, we also want to provide you with some fins that will help steer you in good directions for the entire duration of your flight.

We want you to launch. We do not want you to fizzle out and sit there on the launching pad. We don’t want you to explode, to begin to lift off and then crash and burn. We don’t want to pack you so full of gunpowder that you disappear. We don’t want to lose you. We care that you are Unitarian Universalists.

This launching thing, it isn’t easy. It is a difficult balance, providing enough propulsion that you will go far in life and enough steering and enough of a parachute that you will go safely.

So, as you prepare to launch, take a moment to really think about where you want the rocket of your life to take you. Think of the heroic Unitarian and Universalist women and men whose lives you studied. They worked for justice. They fought for equality. They charted a new path for themselves, doing amazing work to help their fellow sisters and brothers. Do you want your life to be like theirs?

Take a moment to think about what you’ve learned and discovered this year. What matters most deeply to you? What does God ask of you? What is asked of us as Unitarian Universalists?

You’ve come of age. You’ve entered this next chapter of your life in which you will have to answer a lot of important and crucial questions. But, you won’t have to face those questions alone.

To infinity and beyond, kids.

When Prophecy Fails

2011-05-23T09:28:00.000-07:00

To tell you the truth, I did not pay much attention to all the talk about the eccentric and rich minister who convinced a lot of people to believe that the rapture was going to occur last weekend.

However, an email message from a colleague of mine reminded me of a book that I had read back in college on this sort of thing. You probably have never heard of Leon Festinger, but you are probably familiar with the term "cognitive dissonance" which he coined. "Cognitive Dissonance" is a term that describes the uncomfortable tension we experience when our thoughts and actions do not match, or when we think two thoughts at the same time that are in tension with each other. According to Festinger's theory, we will seek out ways to eliminate the feeling of cognitive dissonance, whether by changing our attitudes, by changing our behaviors, or by seeking out new information that helps our cognition to move from dissonance to consonance.

Leon Festinger, a social psychologist, decided to test his theory in a fascinating way. In the mid-1950s he had a group of his graduate students go "under cover" and infiltrate an obscure religious cult in the Chicago area that was predicting the end of the world. This religious cult was led by a woman who believed that she received transmissions from aliens from the planet Clarion. These messages announced that a flood was coming that was going to wipe out the world, but that the aliens were going to come in their flying saucers and rescue the followers of this woman who received the aliens' transmissions. When the flying saucers failed to arrive and the flood failed to come, Festinger's graduate students studied the reactions. None of the cult members rejected their leader. They all stayed. They all accepted a clarifying transmission that announced that the date had been changed.

Festinger published these findings in his 1956 book When Prophecy Fails. What he basically said, if I remember correctly, is that it was a lot easier for the prophet's followers to accept a new prophecy with a different date than it was to admit error and that their actions and thoughts had been a mistake.

I would have to believe that Festinger's book was in heavy circulation at research libraries across the country during the last week. If Festinger is still right, here is how the most devout believers will respond to this most recent failure of prophecy: they won't reject their faith or their belief in the rapture or even their trust in the guy who said that the rapture was coming. They will embrace new beliefs in order to transform their dissonance to consonance. They will accept that this was done by God to test their faith and that they passed the test. Or, they will continue to believe that the rapture is coming; they'll just figure that date was a bit off. (Seemingly) paradoxically, they'll become more devout, more certain.

Feeling No Need to Comment on Bin Laden

2011-05-06T07:19:00.000-07:00

On Monday, May 2, Anne and I started our morning, as we often do, with a brisk morning walk around Loose Park. On our way home we passed a Kansas City Star newspaper box and saw big bold black headline: “BIN LADEN DEAD.” I went home, showered, dressed, and got in my car to drive out to the church.

My car radio, as it often is, was set to one of the local sports talk radio stations. The radio personalities were playing audio from the Sunday night baseball game between the Mets and the Phillies in which fans had learned about Bin Laden’s death during the bottom of the ninth inning and had broken into chants of “USA! USA!” The sports talk radio personalities said something about how this brought us all together as Americans, that even people as polarized as Mets and Phillies fans could come together. I changed the station to NPR.

At church I logged onto Facebook and saw two comments by parishioners. One of our high school youth commented that it didn’t feel right to celebrate anyone’s death, even the death of someone who was responsible for murdering some 4,000 people. Another parishioner, who likes to post in Haiku, wrote, “Vengeance is mine, says / Some people’s Lord, but not mine / We sow love and peace.” The high school student was referring to his ambivalence, not about the death of Bin Laden, but about the type of response his death garnered. Likewise, my parishioner who wrote in Haiku was speaking more broadly, I believe. He was critiquing a worldview that equates justice with vengeance and retribution.

But here is my point. When I read these two posts I nodded and thought, “My parishioners get it. They are thinking about this big news event in ways that are reflective and thoughtful. They are doing good theology.” (Small sample size, I know.) And then, the next thought followed: I don’t feel any need to offer any comment on Bin Laden’s death.

My own impulse not to speak, not to make a declaration, not to offer commentary seems to stand in stark contrast to a media-infused world in which everyone seemingly feels compelled to offer their own “take” on the news. What does Bin Laden’s death mean for al-Qaeda and the future of terrorism? How did Obama handle this situation? What will it mean for Obama politically? How do we feel about those spontaneous celebratory gatherings in front of the White House and elsewhere?

And then, the reactions seemed to head in at least two different directions. First, conspiracy theorists began to question everything. What actually happened in Pakistan? What about the burial at sea? Can we get the long-form death certificate? Soon, the conspiracy theorists began to be drowned out by an impulse to collectively mass-remember September 11, 2001. People, when they gathered, began to talk about where they were and what they did and how they felt back in 2001. In some ways, this mass remembering was pre-emptive. This September will be the ten year anniversary of September 11, 2001 and preparations to remember had already begun.

Let me bracket this idea of collective remembrance and return to the question of whether I ought to say anything about Bin Laden’s death. Are my parishioners expecting me to say anything? Is there some aspect of this that they are deeply questioning or trying to make sense out of? Come Sunday, will those who join us for worship on Mother’s Day, long time parishioners and first time visitors alike, come expecting to hear something about Bin Laden’s death? I had really assumed not, but now I’m questioning that assumption because I hear from several ministers I know and love that they feel obligated to respond to Bin Laden’s death in some way in the worship service.

Since everyone else seems to want to editorialize – some in conversation, some in 140-character tweets, some in meandering blog posts – I reluctantly offer these thoughts. I offer them as a form of procrastination while I should be preparing my Mother’s Day sermon. And, I offer them as a way of clearing my throat, so to speak, because I really don’t plan to say much of anything about this on Sunday.

My best insight on the events of the past week is this. I’m quite struck by the narrative that has been created. The story begins with the September 11, 2001 attacks. The story goes on for a decade. The story reaches its climax with the raid on Bin Laden’s compound in Pakistan and his death. The story ends with chanting, celebration, and remembrance. What began on September 11, 2001 is now ended. This chapter is closed.

I utterly reject this narrative. It didn’t start on 9/11/2001. Years earlier, Bin Laden had been responsible for hundreds of deaths in the bombings of embassies in Tanzania and Kenya. Bill Clinton had retaliated, launching cruise missile strikes against targets in Sudan and Afghanistan. And that isn’t really when “it” started either. I commend to you the brilliant and challenging BBC documentary from 2004, The Power of Nightmares, that traces the parallel rise of both Islamic terrorism and American neo-conservatism as political philosophies. The Power of Nightmares begins with the origins of both strains of thought as reactions against liberalizing modernism, connects their key players in the 1980s as they banded together to fight the Soviet Union in Afghanistan, and then explains how each side has made the other.

However, if we must use the death of Bin Laden to bookend an era that supposedly started on September 11, 2001, I would suggest that it is most fitting to ask a question of this decade: What have we become?

What have we become?

We launched a war against the Taliban in Afghanistan and then lost focus on that war in order to launch a war against Iraq. With unclear and constantly changing objectives that might be described as Sisyphean or Quixotic, we spent hundreds of billions of dollars and devastated our economy, sacrificed the lives of thousands of members of the US military, brought back tens of thousands of soldiers suffering from bodily injuries and mental illnesses, and took the lives of countless civilians in Iraq and Afghanistan. Though combat operations have ended in Iraq, we continue to maintain an expensive military presence there as the war in Afghanistan approaches the ten year mark.

We continue to detain people at Guantanamo Bay without any clear plan of what to do with them. As a nation we embraced torture as well as secret and indefinite detainment. Our government waterboarded and devised methods of psychological torture. We witnessed the shame of Abu Ghraib and Bagram. We outsourced torture.

We passed the US Patriot Act, spied on our own citizens, and created a surveillance society.

And, that is why I don’t particularly feel any inclination to chant or celebrate in the streets or sigh any sighs of relief or feel a sense of closure. I’m not shedding tears for Bin Laden. I’m soberly reflecting on the steep cost of all we’ve been through: the cost in lives, the cost in human suffering, the economic cost and who has had to and will have to bear that cost, the cost to our freedoms and liberties, and, of course, the moral cost and the cost to our humanity.

Not that I really feel as though I have much to say.

Sermon: "Sustained by the Psalms or Something" (Delivered 4-17-11)

2011-04-22T06:18:00.000-07:00

Reading
“The Door” by Jane Hirshfield:

A note waterfalls steadily
through us,
just below hearing.

Or this early light
streaming through dusty glass:
what enters, enters like that,
unstoppable gift.

And yet there is also the other,
the breath-space held between any call
and its answer––

In the querying
first scuff of footstep,
the wood owls' repeating,
the two-counting heart:

A little sabbath,
minnow whose brightness silvers past time.

The rest-note,
unwritten,
hinged between worlds,
that precedes change and allows it.

Sermon
Just about every year I get an invitation to guest preach at a Christian congregation here in town as part of a special sermon series during Lent or Holy Week. And, I always look forward to these opportunities. It’s a real treat. Because I get to write a sermon that is substantially different from all the other sermons I write and preach over the course of the rest of the year.
Let me explain what I mean by this. A couple weeks ago I was the guest preacher at Community Christian Church on the Plaza, a Disciples of Christ congregation. I spoke as part of a midweek Lenten sermon series they were offering. The sermon series was entitled, “Sustained by the Psalms.”

Here is how I approached that sermon: I chose a very specific text from the Bible, the forty-sixth psalm. I explained some of the wonderful and intricate features of the text. I explained how the text might be useful or meaningful or supportive or challenging to the lives we lead. I started with something very small, very concise and precise and then I coaxed it and queried it so that it might grow into something large enough to fill and feed those in the congregation in their living.

And, when I preach here, to you, I never start with something very small and very narrow. I start with something big, a big idea, a big question, a large topic. Then I look for and search for examples and stories and texts that will distill that big idea down into something manageable, a container to hold these large thoughts.

More simply and succinctly, when I guest preach at a Christian congregation I can say, “Let me talk to you for the next twenty minutes about Psalm 46.” And then I move from small to large, from text to message. Here, I’d never say, “For the next twenty minutes I plan to talk to you about Psalm 46.” Just like I wouldn’t say, “For the next twenty minutes I’m going to talk about the forty-sixth chapter of the Tao Te Ching.” And just like I wouldn’t say, “For the next twenty minutes I’m going to talk about Shakespeare’s forty-sixth love sonnet.”

Sustained by the Psalms: over there I can say, “Let’s look at this psalm and this is what it says about sustenance, and refuge.” But here I would start large, with a big question like asking what sustains and supports us, and then we’d narrow it down to look at examples. The example might be a psalm… or something else. It might be another piece of poetry or a passage from the sacred scriptures of another tradition, or I might tell a story about the sustaining power of relationships or community or nature. Sustained, by the Psalms, or something else.

Ten years ago I spent a summer working as a hospital chaplain at an inner-city hospital in Dallas, Texas. One day during my shift I received a page informing me that one of the patients had requested a visit. I took the elevator to the patient’s floor and as I made my way down the hallway I saw that the room that I was headed towards had a police officer posted outside. The hospital where I worked was the hospital that provided medical treatment to individuals in police custody. (Jesus instructs us to minister to the sick and to those in prison. This was like a double-mitzvah. Two birds with one stone.)

I entered the hospital room. Another police officer was posted inside the hospital room. (The presence of two police officers meant that this patient was being detained for a significant offense.) The patient/prisoner was handcuffed to the hospital bed. He had requested that I visit him because he wanted someone to read to him from the psalms.

This is a true story. What followed was not exactly my most shining moment. Of course, I started with the twenty-third psalm, “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” Upon finishing, he requested that I read another one. While flipping through the book of psalms I tried to stall. “Do you have any that you particularly like?” Any requests? He answered me, “It’s your choice.” To my credit, I did not say, “Please pick a number between one and one hundred and fifty.”

So, I stalled. I tried to speed read through the psalms in order to find one that spoke to this situation. How could anything speak to this situation? And, the psalms are not categorized by theme, you know. And, it is not like you can possibly know where a particular psalm is going to go just from reading the first couple of lines.

I landed on a psalm that seemed very promising. This particular psalm begins with the pleas of a person in distress. “Save me, God, for the water has risen to my neck. I sink in deep mire where there is no foothold; I have come into deep water and the flood sweeps over me. I am weary with my crying; my throat is parched. My eyes grow tired with waiting for my God.” It continues in this way with the psalmist calling out to God: “I am afflicted and in pain.” “I am in over my head.” Oh, yeah, this was good stuff. Good choice, Thom. The psalmist writes of feeling alone and abandoned, afflicted and ashamed, weeping bitter tears.

But then the text turns in a direction I wasn’t expecting. A most inappropriate direction. The psalmist turns from crying out in pain to requesting that pain be heaped on his enemies. “Cause my enemies to go blind and let their loins swell up permanently with sickly fever. O Lord, vent your indignation on them and let your burning anger overtake them. Heap punishment after punishment on my captors; grant them no vindication. Let them be blotted out from the book of the living!”

I don’t think the police officer sitting on the other side of the room approved of the text I had chosen. After all, I had read a prayer that asked that he be smote!

It may be tempting to say I just chose a bad text. But, the reality is that my experience of these poems, these texts, is that they do tend to swerve between expressions that are poignant and touching, and expressions that are troubling. (Some of them seem downright schizophrenic, and for good reason: many of the psalms have multiple authors, writing centuries apart. A specific stanza written during a time of war might be inserted into an older psalm, written centuries earlier.)

So, when I went to guest preach at Community Christian, I decided to choose as my text one the most swerving, schizoid texts I could find, Psalm 46, which in the span of a mere eleven verses presents God as a creator of chaos, churning the water and shaking the firmament, and then God as a peaceful force, present in nature’s calm. Next, Psalm 46 conjures up images of political unrest and social upheaval, but then the psalm announces that God brings peace by putting an end to war, by snapping spears and breaking bows. This choice of a text was very intentional. After all, the two biggest news stories from that week had been the massive destruction wrought by the earthquake and tsunami in Japan and US military action in Libya.

Let me be perfectly clear on a couple of things here. I believe it is morally repugnant, not to mention theologically ignorant, to claim that God causes natural disasters. At the same time, while I reject the literal Judeo-Christian account of “In the beginning,” I do find the language of creation to be a powerful metaphor for speaking of the sacred dimensions of nature. On the other side of the discussion, I’m not sure what to do with the image of God taking disarmament into God’s own hands. Indeed, blessed are the peacemakers. But, the work of peacemaking seems to me to be a decidedly human endeavor. The image of God reaching down/out/over to break and disassemble weaponry is an awkward image.

So, let me pause right here and ask something. So what? Why does any of this matter? And, alongside this question I might ask another set of questions, questions about our relationship as Unitarian Universalists with the Hebrew Bible and New Testament. What do these scriptures mean to us? What should they mean to us? Should they be privileged in any way? Or disadvantaged?

In the past week I’ve had the chance to sit down with most of the youth in this year’s Coming of Age class. In these minister meetings, we look together at a poster that hangs in my office. The poster is a cheap print of a painting that hangs in a Unitarian Universalist church in Tulsa, Oklahoma. The painting is a still life in which each of the objects represent some facet of our UU tradition. In the still life painting, on the corner of the table, rests a small stack of three books. The bottom book is a leather-bound Bible. On it rests a volume of Emerson’s writings. On it rests a thin, empty journal.

These three books represent three different understandings of how we have approached finding truth. The first Unitarians and Universalists believed that truth came solely from the Bible. That is a sentence that may surprise many of us. The first Unitarians and Universalists believed that truth came solely from the Bible. In most seminal works of early Unitarian and Universalist theology the arguments were derived from scripture. Then, along came Ralph Waldo Emerson, the famous nineteenth century Unitarian minister turned essayist. Emerson and his Transcendentalist cohorts expanded the sources from which our tradition draws. Emerson argued that truth also comes to us from the scriptures of other religions, and from nature, and from intuition. And then, finally, the book on top of the stack is a blank journal, representing the fact that our faith is not finished, is continually in progress, is composed by us as we build our own theology and search for truth and meaning.

The six sources, a part of our statement of Principles and Purposes, confirm this breadth. The exact wording of our sources can be found at the front of the gray hymnal. (And, depending on whether your hymnal was printed before or after 1996, it might contain either five or six sources.) According to that denominational statement, the sources we draw from include our own experiences, Jewish and Christian teachings, the wisdom of world religions, human understandings drawn from the sciences and the liberal arts, the inspiring examples of heroic women and men, and inspiration from nature.

Whew! That’s a lot of sources! That’s a lot of sources for inspiration. And, with all that breadth, with all that variety and diversity, who has time for a measly little psalm that starts off well and then turns into a prayer for vengeance? Who has time for a measly little psalm that recklessly swerves between two polarities, destructive chaos and peace and security? I would argue that the sheer abundance and volume of spiritual sources on which we can draw may have the unintended consequence of allowing us to be too picky, too pure, too discriminating.

Today, Christians around the world begin their Holy Week, celebrating the street theater procession of Jesus into Jerusalem on the back of a donkey. The story of this week is glorious and tragic, incredible and heartbreaking. It contains difficult polarities, the contrast between the beautiful fellowship of the last supper and a stomach-turning account of torture and capital punishment. The story vacillates between Jesus’ prophetic challenge to the Roman Empire and the embarrassment of multiple betrayals.

On Monday, Jews around the globe will begin to mark the observance of Passover. The story of the Exodus is one of the world’s great stories, but the text is troubling. In Exodus 3, Moses kills an Egyptian and the text is ambiguous about the extent that one can argue that Moses’ actions were justifiable. The ten plagues are gruesome. And then there is the really troubling part in which it is said that God hardens Pharaoh’s heart time and time again so that God could inflict ever-increasing suffering on the Egyptians.

With the immense breadth of texts and songs and poems from which we have to choose, why not choose sources that have a bit more purity, sources in which the good guys are always good and God is always defensible? Well, because the world is not like that. Our earthly heroes tend to have feet of clay. Our world is full of complexity and nuance. These texts capture a messy and complicated world. Our longing for absolute purity in which we can always separate the wheat from the chaff and the sheep from the goats can become a self-defeating pipe dream.

The poet Jane Hirshfield, in her poem “The Door”, writes not about things and events, but the moments and spaces between things:

“The breath-space held between any call and its answer.”

The silence between the two hoots of the owl.

The moment between atrial and ventricular contraction.

“The rest-note unwritten hinged between two worlds, that precedes change and allows it.”

If you read the Psalms you may not even notice it, but some versions of the Bible preserve a Hebrew word, Selah, within the text. This word doesn’t translate easily. Scholars believe that it is a performance note, like a notation in a piece of music that denotes a key-signature or time-signature or tempo change. To us the text may seem swervy, a prayer of desperation turning into a prayer for vengeance, chaotic and tumultuous waters becoming a still, life-giving river. With that space, that Selah, confusion can be transformed into transition.

All of this information, textual and grammatical, might tell us something about ourselves. Like the texts, our lives do not exist on plateaus, monotonous and monochromatic. Like Whitman said, we contain multitudes. And complexities. And idiosyncrasies. Like Emerson said, our consistencies turn out to be foolish. Be attentive to that transformative moment, between a call and its answer. Realize that the doorway to change exists even between heartbeats.

Book Review: "The Instructions" by Adam Levin

2011-04-04T07:37:00.000-07:00

The truth is this: I love experimental fiction. Give me stream-of-conscious paragraphs that go on for pages. Give me non-standard usage and invented vernacular. Give me that feeling of finishing a chapter and feeling like you’ve just exerted yourself. Give me a book that you feel you deserve a medal for finishing. Give me a book that makes you pant as you try to catch your breath. No pain, no gain.

Give me The Instructions by Adam Levin, the 1,030 page debut novel that caused people to stare and gasp when I sat reading it at the coffee shop. “Wow, that’s one big book!”

The Instructions tells the story of 76 hours in the life of on Gurion Maccabee, a ten year-old middle school student and prodigious scholar who may or may not be the messiah. After getting booted from numerous Jewish schools in Chicago, Gurion becomes a student at Aptakisic Junior High School where he is sentenced to participate in a program known as The Cage. (A special program for dangerous students, The Cage resembles Jeremy Bentham’s Panopticon as described in Foucault’s Discipline & Punish. In fact, I couldn’t help but thinking that The Cage resembles something like plate 8 in D&P, which depicts inmates receiving a lecture in the auditorium of Fresnes Prison.) The charismatic Gurion enlists the help of his classmates from the Cage in carrying out an epic and deadly revolt against the school’s formal and informal power structures.

Joshua Cohen, in an unflattering review he wrote for the New York Times, said something extremely intelligent about Levin’s tome. Cohen pointed out the way in which The Instructions resembles Jewish scripture. Though written in the first person, The Instructions has certain Talmudic qualities. Any event in the plot, whether an action or a moment of dialogue, might generate commentary, explicit references to other moments in the text, and digression into subjects that seem at first to be at far remove from the matters at hand. Cohen writes, “[Gurion is] able to command in a single breath assorted items of Judaic arcana: biblical anecdotes, Talmudic responsa, Hasidic homiletics.” The book contains thrilling interpretations of passages from the Torah, including an exegesis of the story of Jacob stealing Esau’s blessing in which Gurion asks who exactly gets tricked. There is also a troubling exegesis of the biblical account of Abram bargaining with Adonai over the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah. Like the endless list of rules and commandments found in, say, Leviticus, The Instructions includes considerable miscellany, such as a thorough discourse on an orthodox form of the children’s playground game “slapslap.”

And, this description makes the book sound terribly tiresome but I didn’t find it to so. The book is laugh-out-loud funny with much of its humor owing its inspiration to the slapstick of Charlie Chaplin, the bizarreness of the Marx brothers, and even the wordplay of Abbot & Costello. In one instance, the Hebrew word for charity, tzedakah, is confused with pop singer Neil Sedaka. The book even pokes fun at itself. As the third day comes to a close, setting up the epic climax on the fourth day, one of Gurion’s friends remarks that this, “Was the longest day I’ve heard of outside of Irish literature.”

In every review I’ve read of The Instructions, Adam Levin’s work is compared to Philip Roth and to David Foster Wallace. A fictionalized Roth actually makes two appearances in the book; I just do not know Roth’s writing well enough to say much about this comparison. Certainly, there is much in this book that is inspired by, if not derivative of, David Foster Wallace’s Infinite Jest. (The similarities between The Instructions and Infinite Jest are legion, beginning with the fact that each book clocks in at over 1,000 pages.)

It is a shame that reviewers have spent so much time obsessing over comparisons between Levin, Roth, and Wallace, and so little time addressing what I see as the most important thematic element in Levin’s book.

The Instructions is a long and surprising meditation on righteousness. While the form may, on one level, provide a distraction from this theme, in another way the form complements it. Do zealots allow small things to slide? Can you tell a fanatic not to get hung up on the details?

A book like The Instructions is rare in so many ways. You just don’t encounter many novels like this. There’s Infinite Jest and then there’s not a lot else. But, what makes this book so very singular is not its form, but its treatment of righteousness. Literature is full of righteous figures who are toppled, who face defeat. Hubris meets with a tragic end. However, that is just not the case with this book. Even when Gurion’s revolution leads to tragedy, Gurion comes out blameless, morally unscathed. And, that is probably the most fascinating element of this book.

If you've read The Instructions, I'd love to chat with you about it.

Click here to read about other books I've read in 2011

Sermon: "Universalism: Free to a Good Home" (Delivered 3-27-11)

2011-03-28T13:39:00.000-07:00

A few years ago I attended a lecture at William Jewel College in Liberty, Missouri. The speaker was Brian McLaren, a minister, author, leader, and theologian. McLaren is considered the grandfather of a movement within Evangelical Christianity that he helped to birth. The movement is called “Emergent” or “The Emerging Church” and it is a movement that is both fascinating and has been widely criticized by conservative Christians as unorthodox and heretical and dangerous.

In addition to one curious Unitarian Universalist minister and number of college students who were clearly there for no other reason than to receive credit, the audience that evening consisted of dozens of members of local Emergent style churches as well as dozens of orthodox Evangelical Christians who came to witness to McLaren’s heresy and see if they could catch him in the act of unbiblical teaching. These Evangelicals glared at him throughout the lecture and used the question and answer time (literally!) to shake their Bibles at him and scream Bible verses at him.

After the lecture I approached McLaren and asked him to sign his newest book for me. I told him I was a UU minister. “Ah, yes,” he replied, “The Unitarians are always so kind to me.”

The reading comes from a chapter in McLaren’s newest book, A New Kind of Christianity, which came out in 2010. The paragraph I’ve selected comes from his chapter entitled, “Can We Find a Better Way of Viewing the Future?” In this chapter, McLaren argues that all beliefs about the afterlife are intimately related to how we imagine and envision the future. He writes,

Whatever the final judgment will be, then, it will not involve God (please pardon the crudeness of this) pulling down our pants to check for circumcision or scanning our brains for certain beliefs like products being scanned at the grocery checkout. No, God will examine the story of our lives for signs of Christlikeness – for a cup of cold water or a plate of hot food given to one in need, for an atom of mercy shown to one who has been unkind or unthoughtful, for a visit to a prisoner or an open door and warm bed for a stranger, for a generous impulse indulged and a hurtful one denied, like Jesus. These are the parts of a person’s life that will be deemed worthy of being saved, remembered, rewarded, and raised for a new beginning.

[Musical Interlude]

My phone rang. I picked it up and it was my friend who had just been watching television. She had seen a commercial for a church. The commercial had announced, “At our church our hearts are open, our minds are open, and our doors are open.” She had heard this hook with its refrain of open hearts, open minds, and open doors and she had remarked to herself that it was a great thing that the Unitarian Universalists were advertising on television. But then the end of the commercial came and she saw it was a commercial for the United Methodist Church. “Thom, I’m calling to let you know that they’re stealing your message.”

A few years ago the United Church of Christ put out a series of commercials. One commercial showed the sanctuary of a gorgeous traditional-looking church building. The pews had been rigged with ejection seats and an usher stood off in the corner. He pushed a button and the gay couple gets ejected. Then the single mom gets ejected. Then the homeless person. Then the racial minority. The commercial’s tag line: “Jesus didn’t reject anyone. Neither do we. No matter who you are or where you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here.”

My point here is about what I felt when I saw that advertisement that proclaimed “No matter who you are or where you are on life’s journey, you are welcome here.” When I saw that advertisement I thought for a second, “Hey, that’s our message. We’re the ones who talk about acceptance and every person having inherent worth and dignity. Don’t steal our message.” It was a selfish thought to think. Is it not a victory for us when others adopt a position of respect for all and inclusion of all, when hearts and minds and doors other than ours grow increasingly open? This loving approach, is it for us to keep for ourselves? Is it not for us to share? A loving God is always free to a good home.

This morning I want to discuss a part of our Unitarian Universalist heritage and identity that has been taking root outside of our institutions and that has been attracting a great deal of attention as of late. Over the past several years, several well-known Christian leaders have independently realized that they were Christian universalists. That is to say that they view the world through a Christian framework, but they reject the idea that God condemns people to Hell. Theologically, these new Christian universalists have come to embrace a position analogous to the theological beliefs held two centuries ago or more by our Universalist ancestors like John Murray, Hosea Ballou, and George de Benneville.

Many of you probably know the story of Bishop Carlton Pearson. I told his story in a sermon a few years ago. You may have heard his story told on a special episode of This American Life that devoted a full hour to him. Carlton Pearson was a Pentecostal mega-church minister in Tulsa who went through a theological transformation and rejected the idea that God would condemn anyone to Hell. Most of his flock left him after he began to preach these ideas. He lost his congregation but he stuck by his convictions.

Or, you may have heard the story of Philip Gulley. I told the story of Gulley in a sermon I delivered in 2009. Gulley was a Quaker pastor who co-authored two books of liberal Christian theology entitled, If God is Love and If Grace is True. He was threatened with having his credentials as a Quaker pastor stripped for preaching a universalist message and for preaching acceptance of gays and lesbians.

Or, you may have heard the story of Rob Bell. That is the story I am going to tell this morning. Rob Bell is the founding minister of the ten-thousand member Mars Hill Bible Fellowship in Grandville, Michigan. Rob Bell recently made headlines when critics accused him of being a universalist. The same charges of heresy and false prophecy that were lobbed against Carlton Pearson, Philip Gulley, and Brian McLaren were also hurled at Bell, all the more forcefully because the release of Bell’s book ten days ago was an event. The controversy around this book prompted invitations for Bell to appear and defend himself on all the major networks. He even appeared on Good Morning America. I don’t watch this program, but I’m not under the impression that Good Morning America devotes a lot of time to theological inquiry.

Bell tells the following story which prompted him to write the book. He begins,

Several years ago we had an art show at our church. I had been giving a series of teachings of peacemaking, and we invited artists to display their paintings, poems, and sculptures that reflected their understanding of what it means to be a peacemaker. One woman included in her work a quote from Mahatma Gandhi, which a number of people found quite compelling. But not everyone. Someone attached a piece of paper to it. On the piece of paper was written: “Reality check: He’s in hell.”

Bell continues,

Really? Gandhi’s in hell? He is? We have confirmation of this? Somebody knows this? Without a doubt? And that somebody decided to take on the responsibility of letting the rest of us know?

Another story the author tells amplifies this point,

Several years ago I heard a woman tell about the funeral of her daughter’s friend, a high-school student who was killed in a car accident. Her daughter was asked by a Christian if the young man who had died was a Christian. She said that he told people he was an atheist. This person then said to her, “So there’s no hope then.”

Which prompts Bell to ask,

No hope? Is that the Christian message? “No hope”? Is that what Jesus offers the world? Is this the sacred calling of Christians – to announce that there’s no hope?

Bell’s book, Love Wins, is the work of a fiercely committed Christian who is unafraid of asking hard questions about his own tradition. He does not avoid taking on the fact that the message that is so often equated with Christian orthodoxy seems to present a God who is, to put it kindly, a bit schizophrenic. Bell writes of this message,

[We’re told that] God loves us. [We’re told that] God offers us everlasting life by grace, freely, through no merit on our part. Unless [of course] you do not respond the right way. Then [we’re told that] God will torture you forever. In Hell. Huh?

In this book that came out ten days ago, Love Wins, Rob Bell sides powerfully with that side of the Christian story that is love-filled and hope-filled. He declares that it is contrary to the Christian message to declare that salvation is impossible for anyone. And he says that casting judgment is misguided and toxic.

Now, I’m not telling you to go out and buy Love Wins. I’m not telling you that you should read it. You might not enjoy it. The book is heavy, heavy on Christianity. And, most of us, I’m going to guess, don’t spend a lot of time thinking about the afterlife. We don’t spend a lot of time worrying about the fate of our immortal soul. And, we definitely don’t live in fear of hell. Simply put, the issues that deeply concerned our Universalist Christian forebears some two centuries ago, the issues that Rob Bell and Carlton Pearson tackle in their writings, are not the types of issues that we spend a lot of psychic energy wrestling with. Am I right here? Are you tracking? I’m saying that you, you here in this congregation, probably didn’t wake up and come to church and think, “I’m hoping Thom will tell me about the afterlife.”

Just so nobody here can accuse me of ducking the issue, here is my theology of the afterlife in one sentence:

I do not know what will become of me after I die, but I am completely confident that if, by some mystery, my conscious self or some eternal soul should continue after my body dies, that what will come next, whatever it is, will be gentle, and kind, and peaceful.

I am an agnostic on this issue, but I am an extremely confident agnostic. For me it is that simple and I don’t spend a whole lot of time worrying about it.

And, if I said that in almost any other denomination I would get tossed to the curb, just as a Methodist minister in North Carolina got tossed to the curb earlier this week for saying positive things about Rob Bell.

So, if Rob Bell’s theology is not ours really, if this hasn’t been our issue for 200 years, why should we care? What skin could we possibly have in this game?

I think we should care for two reasons.

The first reason we should care is that the idea that love wins is contagious. The critics of Rob Bell aren’t going to like this, but when you embrace the idea of God’s love, your own love magnifies. Love is like the opposite of a slippery slope. As love grows it does not take us off a cliff. It takes us to the mountain top.

How many of you have read Hosea Ballou’s Treatise on Atonement? It is the most important early work in Universalist theology. Written is 1805, this book is long and dry. I tried to read it and couldn’t get through it, and I’m such a nerd for this stuff. But, it is foundational. In this theological work, Ballou discovered a God who, to paraphrase Brian McLaren, does not punish but reconciles; who does not diagnose, but heals; who does not expose but transforms; and who does not evaluate, but revalues and redeems. [p. 204] When you view God in this way it opens us up to move in all of the wonderful directions that our theology allows us to move. Case in point: the reading from Brian McLaren’s book I mentioned earlier, the reading from the chapter about finding a better way of viewing the future. The very next chapter in McLaren’s book deals with the question of how Christians should relate to non-Christians. Predictably, McLaren takes a position that demonstrates an open mind and an open heart. Crudely put, when you stop worrying that you are going to go to hell for being in mutual relationship with someone of a different faith and when you stop labeling them as damned, you’re able to be in relationship. We take the “no hell” part for granted, and for that reason we can engage in powerful interfaith work and value pluralism. And, that is important to us. And we can do that because we’ve worked out the judgment stuff. When love wins, love has a tendency to keep on winning.

I am tempted to say that the second reason that we should care about this Love Wins book is that if there is a public discourse going on about Universalism, we definitely want to be a part of that conversation. We have something to add. We have a personal testimony to give. We should be the ones going on Good Morning America and talking about what Universalism means. But I want to put aside those delusions of grandeur and take a much more modest approach. I want to go back to the very beginning when I talked about my conversation with Brian McLaren. “You Unitarians are always so kind.” That was a blessing that he spoke. And, it was a charge.

You see, Brian McLaren had just stood up there in front of his Christian family and spoken a message that I found profound and beautiful. And, members of his Christian family had shaken their Bibles at him, and literally screamed at him with foam gathering in the corners of their mouths. In their Biblical literalism they thought that their Christian faith demanded that they curse him. Matthew 23:33, they quoted, “You snakes! You brood of vipers! How will you escape the judgment of Hell?” The scene was ugly and tragic.

So, when McLaren told me, “You Unitarians are always so kind to me,” he was not pandering to someone who bought his book. He was saying that his heart was hurt by seeing members of his Christian family act with such hostility. Just as Rob Bell was hurt that a member of his church would feel inclined to deface someone’s art. Just as Rob Bell was hurt that a Christian would take the tragedy of a fatal car accident, or the tragedy of a Tsunami, as an opportunity to pronounce judgment on someone else.

Maybe it is our role in the wide world of religion, the wide world of humanity, to be the ones who practice kindness. Inclusive. Accepting. Forgiving. Kind. Open minds. Open hearts. Open doors. Being the ones who practice gentleness is not a bad way to be.

"'Illegal' means 'Illegal'" except when it doesn't

2011-03-26T06:05:00.000-07:00

Meet Leeland Davidson: 95 year-old resident of Centralia, Washington. Decorated World War II veteran. Not a United States citizen.

Mr. Davidson was born in British Columbia in 1916. Both of his parents were United States citizens, but they never filed the correct paperwork for their son. And, now Leeland Davidson has run into a bureaucratic nightmare because he can’t actually prove that his parents were citizens. They were each born in the rural Midwest in the late 1800s, before birth certificates were issued.

The citizenship surprise came when Mr. Davidson went to apply for an enhanced ID so that he could travel to visit his cousin in Canada. Not only was he denied the ID, the paper pushers advised him to let the matter drop. They warned him that if he pursued his attempts to get identification he might wind up losing his social security benefits. He might even face deportation.

Critics of the current immigration system in the United States refer to the system as “broken.” That brokenness would seem to be on full display here. After all, here we have a system in which laws, policies, procedures, and paperwork make difficult or impossible that which is “plainly the right thing to do.”

This story also is a perfect illustration of what white privilege looks like. Taking a page from Tim Wise, in this story we see that:

White privilege means being able to live in the United States for 95 years without ever once having your immigration status questioned.

White privilege means that rules and laws don’t really apply to you. “Oh, that’s not how the law was intended. We’ll make an exception for you.”

White privilege means being able to openly speak of your immigration status without fear.

White privilege means that your experience defines what it means to be American.

White privilege means that the media will treat your immigration story as a quirky, offbeat, and humorous human interest story. (In this news broadcast, this story was lumped in with a story about “pole dancing for Jesus.” I originally discovered this story in the Yahoo news feed that regularly brings me “news” of funny videos of pets on YouTube and unusual sports bloopers.)

While critics of the immigration system in our country refer to that system as broken, those who favor tougher immigration laws and enforcement have rallied around a slogan that announces “illegal means illegal.” This argument says that no exceptions should be made for anyone. The law is supreme. No consideration should be given to keep families together or to look out for a child’s welfare. If the child was brought here as an infant or toddler and has lived her entire life here, she should be barred from receiving financial aid to go to college. No consideration whatsoever should be given to complexity or nuance, to larger social and economic and geopolitical factors, or to a higher sense of what is moral and humane. Everything is black and white. Illegal means illegal.

It will be interesting to see whether the anti-immigrant voices in the United States speak up loudly and unequivocally in the case of Leeland Davidson. Will they demand that Leeland Davidson be held to account? Will they charge him with voter fraud? Will they charge him with social security fraud? Will they call for him to be deported to a country where he never actually lived? Somehow I doubt it. The laws are the laws and they need to be obeyed, except when they don’t.

Sermon: "Marching in the Streets in the Middle East" (Delivered 3-13-11)

2011-03-24T11:24:00.000-07:00

[Note: This sermon was delivered approximately a week before the United States, Great Britain, and France launched airstrikes against Libya. I have decided not to change my original sermon in light of these newest developments.]

There is a moment from my life, a moment of regret I think, that has been replaying in my mind quite a bit over the past couple of months. A decade ago I was sitting in a tea house in Cambridge, Massachusetts, having a conversation with a good friend, a Unitarian Universalist young adult at First Parish in Cambridge. We were both in our early twenties and my friend was a world traveler. While our tea steeped, I asked her about the any upcoming trips she was considering. She answered me, “Do you know where I’m really trying to get to? I’ve been dreaming of taking a trip to Iran.”

Truth be told, I chuckled nervously. Admittedly, Iran is not at the top of most American’s ideal travel destinations. Let me put it this way: at my bank, the tellers all have these little get-to-know-me name cards that state their name, their hometown, their hobby, and the country they most want to visit. There is a lot of France and Italy, a lot of Jamaica and Australia. Nobody says that they dream of visiting Iran.

My friend began to describe her dream trip. “There is an enormous youth population in Iran. They are young people who are educated, idealistic, politically thoughtful, and culturally inventive. There is a youth movement underway. Revolution is in the air. And there is nowhere I would rather go than the coffee bars of inner city Tehran. It’s where the movement is. I’m planning to fly to Moscow, meet up with some Russians I know, and have them escort me down and cross into Azerbaijan, at which point I’d catch a ride to the Iranian border, cross over, and figure out a way to get to Tehran.”

I wasn’t invited to go along exactly. And plus, I had committed to internships and was earnestly preparing for ministry. The September 11 terrorist attacks occurred a few months after that conversation. A few weeks later the United States attacked the Taliban and al-Qaeda in Afghanistan and the Bush Administration began to set into motion the invasion and occupation of Iraq.

I became the minister here. My friend traveled to Cuba instead. And, in Iran, the youth revolution was put on hold. There is a basic rule that says you don’t try to shake up your own government at a time when the world’s largest military superpower has invaded, occupied, and overthrown the government of the country neighboring you to the East, and has also invaded, occupied, and overthrown the government of the country neighboring you on the West, and has posted aircraft carrier battle groups miles away from your coast in the Persian Gulf, and an influential Senator and presidential candidate thinks it’s funny to sing “Bomb Iran” to the tune of the Beach Boys song “Barbara Ann.” Simply put, when nations feel threatened from the outside their citizens tend to unite behind their own leaders, even leaders many would normally oppose and criticize. Case in point: after September 11, the approval ratings of George Bush climbed from 55 percent to nearly 90 percent and remained elevated for the next two years.

***

This morning I want to say something about the populist political uprisings that have been sweeping through North Africa and the Middle East, beginning in Tunisia and then stretching out through Egypt, Libya, Mauritania, Bahrain, Yemen, Iraq, Iran, and beyond. I want to add another confession. Just as a decade ago I was oblivious to the presence of a revolutionary youth culture in Iran, this is a topic that I am far from the expert on. Many of you may know far more than I know. So, be forgiving and kind to me if you conclude that I just don’t get it.

The purpose of these remarks is also to be self-critical and reflexive. Examining these revolutions may in fact challenge some of the judgmental and biased views that some of us may hold about the people in that region of the world. And, to preview the sermon next week, in which I will talk not about taking the streets in the Middle East, but taking to the streets in Middle America, examining the revolutions half a world away may stoke our own thoughts about the possibility and necessity of revolution right here in our own backyard.

What I said about Iran a decade ago (and I should point out that it is quite possible that we may see a similar uprising in Iran in the coming months) is also true about Tunisia and Bahrain and Egypt. All of these countries have population bubbles with enormous populations of young people in their teens and twenties. The median age in Egypt, for example, is 24. By comparison, in the United States it is 35. These nations have an extremely large population of youth and it is the youth who are both the best educated and who face the greatest struggles with unemployment. The unemployment rate for young people in Egypt and Tunisia is significantly higher than the unemployment rate of the rest of the country. The unemployment rate for those with college degrees is especially high. Make no mistake, the protests in Egypt were not purely economic in nature, though they were certainly fueled by rising food costs, endemic poverty, and chronic unemployment. The frustrations of poverty and unemployment, however, were combined with criticisms of rampant government corruption, political repression, police brutality, violations of free speech, and election fraud.

The story of what triggered the uprisings in the Middle East and North Africa is a story with which you are probably already familiar, but it is a story that deserves to be retold. The story involves a young man named Mohamed Bouazizi, a twenty six year old who supported his family by working as a street vendor in a small city in Tunisia. He repeatedly ran into harassment from the police as he tried to sell vegetables out of a cart. He was shaken down for bribes because he did not have the proper permits. One day, a police officer trashed his cart and Bouazizi responded by committing self-immolation in front of a police station. Two weeks later he died from the injuries he had inflicted upon himself. Ten days after his death, Tunisian President Ben Ali stepped down after having ruled Tunisia for 23 years. Ben Ali fled the country, and is currently in hiding in Saudi Arabia.

The speed and the momentum of the protests that toppled the government were extraordinary. Amateur Tunisian hip-hop artist Hamada Ben Amor, known as El General, released a couple of songs critical of the President’s regime. As his song was reposted time and again on Facebook, the movement unified around a tragic story that was emblematic of the political and economic frustration of the people.

Similarly, in Egypt, the rallying call to occupy Tahrir Square came from a simple Facebook status update that was reposted and reposted. A twenty six year old woman simply posted, “People, I am going to Tahrir Square.” Similarly, when Egyptian security forces brutalized and beat to death a twenty eight year old young man named Khaled Said in June of last year, social media users turned his death into a rallying cry for a movement. In memory of his death, a Facebook group entitled, “We are all Khaled Said” administered by a Google executive in Egypt provided an organizing platform that would eventually topple Hosni Mubarak’s thirty year reign in Egypt.

[By way of digression, I should mention that, at last year’s Unitarian Universalist General Assembly, I remember sitting with a colleague of mine who commented on the tradition of congregational delegates passing statements in response to a multitude of social issues. These are traditionally called Actions of Immediate Witness and Statements of Conscience. My colleague leaned over and told me that at this General Assembly, the delegates should be making “Tweets of Conscience” and “Facebook status updates of Immediate Witness.” His comment made me crack up. But, at that very moment the first young people in Egypt were joining the “We are Khaled Said” Facebook group.]

The power of social media cannot be understated. But, it can also be overstated. Last month Thomas Friedman published an article on contributing factors to the political uprisings. One of those contributing factors, he said, was the computer application known as Google Earth. Google Earth allows you to use satellite imaging to zoom in and see what is happening almost anywhere in the world. You can type in your coordinates and see what is going on in your neighbor’s backyard. Thomas Friedman claimed that the citizens of Bahrain used Google Earth to see a graphic representation of how the underclass lived in cramped, congested tenements while the elite lived in spacious estates. In response, one critic asked if Friedman was saying that it took satellites and a website for the people of Bahrain to understand the gross inequalities of wealth in their country. (And, by the way, this critic pointed out: the spacious tracts of land in Bahrain that you see on Google Maps are not controlled by the country’s ruling elite. Those are the expansive United States military bases.)

I do want to add a few words about the reception that these demonstrations and protests have had in the West. Many in the West have looked upon these demonstrations and uprisings with mixed feelings, while the voices of the radical right in our country have called the demonstrators fanatics and terrorists in so many words. This reception, whether cool or antagonistic, is due, I would argue, to a form of ethnocentric and often racist stereotyping that is known as Orientalism.

The term “Orientalism” was made popular by the Palestinian-American scholar Edward Said, who wrote a book on the subject in the late 1970s. Said provocatively wrote, “Since the time of Homer every European, in what he could say about the Orient, was a racist, an imperialist, and thoroughly ethnocentric.”

That is a bold statement. But, notice what one observer and commentator has written about the current political uprisings,

For years, intellectuals, mostly Arabs, have been confronted by the stereotypical, even racist, approach found in much of Western Orientalism… Under this approach, there is a contradiction between Arab and Muslim culture on the one hand, and democracy, equality and social justice on the other. Based on this contradiction, this form of Orientalism rejects any hope of democratization in the Arab world and justifies the prevalent tyranny…

According to this simplistic notion, limited to a dichotomy and tainted by the crude sense of supremacy in which this Orientalism is imprisoned, Arab society is conflicted between the forces of undemocratic political Islam and those of oppressive, despotic regimes. Terms such as democracy and social justice [it is suggested] cannot exist in Arab society because of the cultural obstacle that exists.

You should note that in the case of the invasion of both Afghanistan and Iraq, failures to establish a working democratic government in short order were blamed on the populations of those countries themselves. They’re incapable of democracy, it was suggested. I think we see the same kind of Orientalism, the same kind of skeptical “I’ll believe it when I see it” attitude among many in our own country.

This attitude, whatever you may think of it, should cause us to pause, to reflexively look at ourselves, to ask ourselves, “Are we qualified to be the supreme arbiters of what constitutes functional democracy?” Who was it that the Bible said should cast the first stone?

But, what we have seen, no matter where the future course of human events in North Africa takes us, is the fall of a corrupt 23 year regime in Tunisia, the fall of a corrupt and abusive 30 year regime in Africa, and, as we speak, the increasingly likely fall of a brutal 40 year regime in Libya. In the first two cases, Tunisia and Egypt, regime change happened with relative peacefulness. In Libya, the course of political change has taken a much more violent turn. Even so, there have certainly been much more violent regime changes. We should know.

The future, as always, is as of yet unwritten. There will be no utopia. There will continue to be struggle. But, the future does hold promise. It is important for us as people of faith to affirm the promise that the future holds.

Befuddled by the Bracket

2011-03-16T06:39:00.000-07:00

On Sunday night the bracket for the NCAA “March Madness” Tournament was released. Last year I posted a number of my predictions for the tournament on my blog. I made my picks arrogantly. I oozed self-confidence. I embodied cool self-assurance. I paid for my impudence. Pride goeth before the fall.

Last year I predicted a big tournament from the Big East. Of the 8 teams that conference sent to the tournament, half suffered major upsets in the opening round, and only two were still playing on the tournament’s second weekend. Only West Virginia, which made the Final Four, outperformed their seeding. My bracket was busted.

This year I fill out my bracket without any hint of confidence. I’m second guessing myself on all my predictions. I may not have the power to predict the future, but that won’t stop me from trying.

Here are ten things I think will happen in the NCAA tournament. Let the prognosticating begin:

1) Wisconsin beats Belmont handily
At first glance, it hardly seems a stretch to predict that a 4-seed will beat a 13-seed. However, this is one of the most commonly predicted first round upsets. Belmont finished the season with a 30-4 record and was the class of the less-than-competitive Atlantic Sun conference. Wisconsin finished the season with an embarrassment of a game in the quarterfinals of the Big Ten tournament. They scored an anemic 33 points against a hungry Penn State team fighting for its life. What’s lost in this story is that they played good defense, holding the Nittany Lions to only 36 points. Wisconsin will play to restore their reputation. They’ll be Belmont by over 20 points.
Result: Correct. While Wisconsin didn't win by 20, they did lead by double-digits for the last ten minutes of the game, including being up 19 with a minute and a half remaining before easing up.
Score: 1 for 1

2) Villanova beats George Mason
Of the 11 teams that the Big East is sending to this year’s NCAA tournament, no team is playing like they want to be there less than Villanova. They ended the season on a 5 game losing streak with the last loss coming against the University of South Florida in the first round of the Big East tournament. However, the first four losses all came against top-25 teams. George Mason was the Cinderella story back in 2006 when they made an unlikely Final Four run. They’ll have to look back on those days fondly. They are making a first round exit this year.
Result: Incorrect. Villanova followed up on a disappointing regular season and a disappointing Big East tournament with a first round exit in the tournament.
Score: 1 for 2

3) All the fives survive
It is a popular theory among bracket pickers that you have to have a 12-seed knocking off a 5-seed in the first round. Not this year. I like Vanderbilt, West Virginia, Kansas State, and Arizona in their first round matchups. They will all win in the opening round of the tourney.
Result: Incorrect. Three of the four 5-seeds did win. However, Richmond did knock off Vanderbilt in the opening round.
Score: 1 for 3

4) BYU does not make it past the first weekend
I won’t go as far as to predict that Wofford is going to beat BYU in the opening round in Denver. (I don’t even know where Wofford is?) However, BYU will lose to either St. John’s or Gonzaga in the second round.
Result: Incorrect. BYU won their first two games and went on to play in the Sweet 16 on the second weekend of the tournament.
Score: 1 for 4

5) Michigan State reaches the Sweet 16
Michigan State is one of the toughest stories in basketball this year. They started out the season ranked as the number 2 team in the country. Playing one of the nation’s toughest schedules, with 19 games against teams that made it to the NCAA tournament, Michigan State scuffled. I’m betting on redemption. They one of only two double-digit seeds that I think will make it out of the first weekend.
Result: Incorrect. Michigan State lost in the first round.
Score: 1 for 5

6) And so does Florida State
The other team is Florida State. I’m betting on Florida State handling an underwhelming Texas A&M team in the opening round and then defeating Notre Dame in the second round.
Result: Correct. Florida State defeated Texas A&M and Notre Dame, but then lost to an upstart VCU squad in the Sweet 16
Score: 2 for 6

7) No “Cinderellas” in the big dance
I define a “Cinderella” as a team that isn’t from a BCS conference (Big East, Big Ten, Big 12, ACC, Pac 10, and SEC) that wins 2 or more games against better-seeded teams. This year there will be no Davidson, no George Mason, and no Cornell.
Result: Incorrect. With an 8-seed and a 11-seed in the Final Four, 2011 was the year of the Cinderella. In fact, Virginia Commonwealth defeated a team from the Pac-10 in a play-in game before reeling off upset victories against teams from the Big East, Big 10, ACC, and Big 12.
Score: 2 for 7

8) Connecticut keeps its streak alive
How exactly does one predict Connecticut’s performance in the tournament? No team enters March Madness hotter, or more exhausted. Last week they won five games in five days, prevailing in the Big East tournament and defeating formidable foes such as Georgetown, Pitt, Syracuse, and Louisville. Some have said that this streak means they are over-seeded. Some have said that they are going to run out of steam. I say they will ride Kemba Walker’s hot hand to at least 3 more victories.
Result: Correct. No team ended the season hotter than Connecticut. They followed up on a five game winning streak in the Big East tournament by winning all six games in the NCAA tournament and a National Championship.
Score: 3 for 8

9) Kansas wins it all…
That’s my pick. Write it down.
Result: Incorrect. Kansas made it to the Elite 8 but lost to VCU.
Score: 3 for 9

10) …or do they?
But, let’s just assume for a second that Kansas slips up. Let’s assume that they fall somewhere along the way. (It’s been known to happen.) If Kansas trips up, it will be in a loss to Rick Pitino’s Louisville Cardinals. If KU doesn’t make it to the championship game, Louisville will.
Result: Very incorrect. Louisville had the worst showing of any team in the tournament, losing in the opening round to Morehead State.
Score: 3 for 10

Testimony: "I Stand with Planned Parenthood"

2011-03-12T04:48:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I spoke at the “I Stand With Planned Parenthood” press conference and rally in Topeka. The Kansas legislature is considering numerous pieces of anti-choice, anti-woman’s health legislation. The piece of legislation I spoke about is one being taken up on both the Federal and State level that would defund Title X and make Planned Parenthood ineligible to receive federal funding.

Good afternoon. My name is The Reverend Thom Belote. I am the minister of the Shawnee Mission Unitarian Universalist Church in Overland Park, Kansas. I am proud to stand with Planned Parenthood. I minister in a tradition that has long been at the forefront of the struggle for women’s rights; Susan B. Anthony was one of our own. A tradition that has emphasized the need for public health; Clara Barton, the founder of the American Red Cross was one of our own.

I stand here today to express my outrage at the proposed legislation in Kansas and in Washington D.C. that would seek to defund Planned Parenthood. This legislation is economically foolish, politically irresponsible, and morally bankrupt.

Public health is good economic policy. Preventative screenings for breast and cervical cancer, testing for sexually transmitted diseases, birth control counseling, and health education: these create a healthy society and save money in the long run. These are worthy investments. But, I don’t stand up here today and speak as an economist. I speak as a member of the clergy. This legislation is not only bad public policy. This legislation is immoral.

We face a budget crisis here in Kansas and in our country.* The question before us is this: on whose backs are we going to balance this budget? This legislation is clear. It says, “We choose to balance the budget on the backs of women and children, on the backs of teens and young adults and new moms, and on the backs of the working class, the middle class, and the poor.”

Defunding Planned Parenthood would have a body count. This legislation is lethal. It will mean young women dying unnecessarily of cancer that could have been caught with screenings. It will mean public health epidemics. It will mean lives ruined as young people are denied the education and the resources to make healthy reproductive choices.

The Kansas legislature and the US House of Representatives are choosing a path of balancing the budget on the backs of women and children, students and workers, the young and the poor. They have chosen not to balance the budget by forcing corporations with billions in profits to pay even the same in taxes that regular citizens pay. They have chosen not to stop the rich from funneling their money into tax shelters and off shore accounts.

Representative Lance Kinzer and his backers in Topeka and U.S. Representatives Yoder, Huelskamp, Jenkins, and Pompeo have shown contempt for the welfare of their constituents. They give the tax breaks to the wealthy while services are cut to the needy. They take care of their deep pocketed donors while they close their eyes to the struggles and to the lives of their constituents. They are derelict in their duties. And make no mistake: these cuts will terrorize the citizens of this state. It is a declaration of warfare against women and children and the vulnerable in our midst. What Muammar Gaddafi does to his people with planes and machine guns, these legislators do to our own people by abolishing societal safety nets and social services.

Jewish and Christian traditions teach us that we have a duty to look out for each other. That we are to be sisters and brothers to each other. That it is a moral obligation to heal the sick. That it is a sacred duty to take care of the vulnerable. These traditions are clear: It is an abomination to exploit the vulnerable. Thou shalt not sell out the needy for silver and the poor for a pair of sandals. (Amos 8:6) Thou shalt not sell out teens and college students and new moms and their children. Thou shalt not hazard the lives of the women who count on health centers for preventative health screenings, testing, and life-saving information and resources.

The Preamble of the Constitution of the United States tells us that the role of government is to help establish a more perfect union and to promote the general welfare. It is politically irresponsible and morally indefensible to cut these services and to endanger the lives of the citizens of Kansas.

[* Of course, this is not really about balanced budget. That is just a term of convenience. It is about transfers of wealth and it’s about a demented vision of a society in which government has no responsibility for the common good. In Wisconsin, a budget deficit created by providing tax breaks to the extremely wealthy has provided a convenient excuse for raiding the pensions of government employees and attacking unions. In Arizona, a budget deficit created by providing tax breaks to the extremely wealthy led the state to choose to make Medicaid recipients ineligible for organ transplants (as well as numerous other medical and dental services.) Several of the Medicaid recipients who were dropped from transplant waiting lists have already died.]

Sermon: "Energy is Eternal Delight" (Delivered 2-13-11)

2011-02-21T05:59:00.000-08:00

It is something that happens to every minister, I think. Until yesterday it had never happened to me. Yesterday I was flying home from the West Coast. I had spent the week on the Monterey Peninsula attending the first ever Unitarian Universalist Institute for Excellence in Ministry. It had been a powerful, fascinating, educational week. My thoughts were racing. The sermon was well underway on the airplane back. In fact, it was just about finished. Then, all of sudden, 35,000 feet above sea level, somewhere above South Dakota, my computer completely crashed. It won't reboot. It is in the shop. I tried my best to put a positive spin on this. I tried to see this turn of events as liberating, instead of aggravating.

What I’m saying is that this sermon is fresh. Out in Monterey we got to dine on fresh fish and fresh produce. Along highway 101 in California there are these expansive artichoke fields and you can stop right there and they'll serve you fried artichoke, a local delicacy. So, our dinners came right out of the sea and right out of the fields and right onto our plates. And, what I am trying to explain is that the sermon this morning has not been flown in from the Pacific Ocean or the Salinas produce fields. This sermon is local, organic. It has not traveled, or aged, or matured. It is, if you’ll allow me to mix culinary metaphors, a steak so rare that it is liable to moo.

So, what I am going to do here is scrap the first draft, scrap what I had planned to write about, and take things in a bit of a different direction. The preacher at our opening worship at the Institute for Excellence in Ministry was Jane Rzepka, one of the most widely respected and celebrated ministers in our movement. She noted that the promotional materials for the Institute contained some rather lofty promises. "Be changed" was a catchphrase that was repeated over and over again. In fact, the promotional materials went beyond promising change. They promised "transformation." And Jane, in her delightfully excellent preaching style, admitted that these kinds of promises made her nervous. Speaking to some four hundred of her colleagues she laid it all out. “Looking out at all of you here in this room, I like you,” she said. “And, if by the end of the week you have all transformed into something different than you are, I am going to be left feeling pretty unbalanced.”

Rev. Rzepka went on to identify what she referred to as transformations with a small "t." These are not about becoming a brand new person, an entirely changed being. Small "t" transformations are about maybe learning to become a little more forgiving or a little more courageous, a little more committed or a little more at peace. And, she connected the goal of these small "t" transformations with one of our core principles, that our church communities are places of radical acceptance and radical welcome to all who would come in. We have found a way to be together. We believe that sharing is an answer. Ours, ours, is a community that accepts and values and treasures our theological diversity, our diversity in gender and sexual orientation, and our multigenerational make up. And, the preacher went so far as to argue that we can't have it both ways. We can't be both about the notion that we are places where you are accepted for who you are and places that tell you that you are in need of transformation.

And, then what happened over the rest of the week was that other presenters and preachers began to answer. They went back to their sermons and speeches and lectures and revised and rewrote. If they were planning to speak about transformation or change, they felt the need to clarify whether they were talking about those words in their capitalized forms or not. Some preachers and presenters stated their disagreement clearly, "No. I am a big-T Transformation person. It is the job of our churches to transform both our members and our world in great big, substantial and significant ways. What about those we look to as heroes? What about Martin Luther King and Gandhi? What about all those who give selflessly and generously and sacrificially to the cause of greater human liberation?"

The supporters of big-T transformation began to talk more energetically and more urgently about places in our world where justice has for too long been denied. And, they began to talk about people in our congregations and people coming into our congregations who feel broken and burdened. If we were the spiritual equivalent of an auto-mechanic, would we specialize in tire rotations and alignments (because we all do hit a couple of potholes over the course of our lives?) Or, do we do what a member of this congregation did to both his vehicles, transforming one from gasoline to diesel and the other from gasoline to battery-powered?

The participating ministers at the Institute began to debate and divide. Were you a person who favors the big-T Transformation or the small-t transformation? Which are you? It was a question that echoed around Monterey all last week and now it is a question that I turn to you. Are you a big-T or are you a small-t person?

And, what about our tradition? I like to look for evidence for these two strands of thought in the documents and texts that tell us what it means to be distinctly UU. The question has everything to do with our third Unitarian Universalist principle which states that we affirm and promote the acceptance of one another and encouragement to spiritual growth.

In our hymnal, we find acceptance, and the small-t transformation in hymns like "Come, Come Whoever You Are" and "How Could Anyone (ever tell you, you were anything less than beautiful?)" But, we also find calls for big-T transformation as well. Our hymnal contains a poem by Stephen Spender that begins, "I think continually of those who were truly great." The poem continues, "[I think continually of] the names of those who in their lives fought for life, who wore at their hearts the fire's center. Born of the sun they traveled a short while towards the sun and left the vivid air signed with their honor."

And, of course, I suspect that some of you are sitting there rejecting the choices I've laid out. You're saying that it isn't necessarily an either-or proposition. Maybe there is a happy medium. Maybe the text that resonates is the first hymn we sang this morning, "Love will guide us." You don't have to sing like the angels or speak before thousands to change the world with your love.

So, which are you? Are you a "Come as you are," small-t transformation person? Are you a "change the world" big-T transformation person? Judging from the 400 or so ministers who gathered last week in Monterey, or at least judging from the engaged conversations during mealtime and the sense in the room of who was grooving on what the respective presenters were saying, I would say that it was a pretty split group.

And, the more I hash over this question, the more I come to see that it is an absolutely essential one for us to understand. Not to resolve, necessarily, but to understand. Understanding is not about keeping the peace. It isn’t about agreeing to disagree. It is about understanding what others need in a church.

It wasn't here the first time it happened. I was in the congregation where I performed my Internship. That was the first time a person came up to me and told me they had quit their job to pursue their calling in a field that spoke to their hearts and credited this decision to what I had said in my sermon the previous week. They told me, "Thom, that sermon you preached last week spoke to me. It moved me. I knew right then that I had to go in on Monday morning and quit my job in order to follow a calling to make a difference in the world." Big-T transformation, right?

And, I have to admit this made me a little bit uncomfortable. I was 24. I wasn't even a minister yet, really. What was I supposed to say? You mean you actually listened to me? Oh, I didn't actually mean what I said? It happened at my internship church in suburban Dallas, Texas and it has happened here at Shawnee Mission several times. It hasn’t always been because of what I said in a sermon. Maybe it was an adult religious education class or a Covenant group, or maybe it was a sense of inspiration that came out of simply being around each other here, but I can name several times in which a person has credited, even partially credited, the experience of this church community with giving them the support and encouragement to leave a relatively safe and lucrative corporate job to pursue a much more risky venture that they feel will change the world.

Ironically, the message that you are welcome here and that we will not try to change you is profoundly unwelcoming to those who feel that they are in need of significant life changes. The message that says, "This is an accepting place where you'll be accepted as you are," is actually dis-inviting to those who feel they need to make a significant life change. Perhaps the person is struggling with an addiction they hope to break. Perhaps the person has come to feel moved by and inspired by an issue of justice that pulls powerfully at their heart strings. Don’t people come through our doors looking to make significant changes in the course of their lives?

+++

The original title for this sermon was "Energy is Eternal Delight." The phrase comes from a wild, satirical, and challenging piece called the The Marriage of Heaven and Hell, by the Romantic poet William Blake. In this piece, Blake takes a not very well-disguised swipe at the dualism of Western religious thought and traditions. Blake writes:

All Bibles or sacred codes have been the causes of the following Errors.
1. That Man has two real existing principles Viz: a Body & a Soul.
2. That Energy, call'd Evil, is alone from the Body, & that Reason, call'd Good, is alone from the Soul.
3. That God will torment Man in Eternity for following his Energies.
But the following Contraries to these are True
1. Man has no Body distinct from his Soul for that call'd Body is a portion of Soul discern'd by the five Senses, the chief inlets of Soul in this age
2. Energy is the only life and is from the Body and Reason is the bound or outward circumference of Energy.
3. Energy is Eternal Delight.

So, what exactly is going on here? Body and soul, reason and energies. What does this have to with anything? I think a true story best illustrates what William Blake is saying, and what I am trying to say.

I once went to a Unitarian Universalist church where the sermon was titled, "Does Your Dog Love You?" The sermon began with the minister presenting a review of some of what biologists have learned about the physiology and neurochemistry of love. Fortunately, the sermon went beyond this, but in the beginning of the sermon the minister talked about how testosterone and estrogen activate centers in our brain that produce a rush of norepinephrine causing the ventral tegmental cluster in our brain to produce dopamine. The epinephrine causes us to feel excitement and the dopamine causes us to experience pleasure. At the same time our body produces less serotonin and blocks the neural circuits that impact critical assessment. Let me say that again: the experience of love involves our brain deactivating structures that produce critical assessment. And, over time, later, there is also a chemistry of attachment in which oxytocin and vasopressin produce a physiological response that leads us to want to cuddle and bond.

Happy Valentine's Day! Is that what love is? Yes and no, right? And, I suppose, if your dog has analogous brain chemistry patterns, then your dog really loves you. Just a note of disclaimer: As I remember that sermon from so many years ago, I do believe the preacher commented that there was an understanding of love that was missing from looking simply at the neurological and neurochemical biology of love.

But, I’ve shared this story about this sermon as an analogy to help us to better understand the kind of thinking that Blake was rejecting and to imply what is missing in the discussion of small-t transformations.

If you come into church feeling confident and comfortable and assured. If you come in feeling that you’ve got your life pretty much under control, talking about love in this way may seem interesting. You can receive it as a little divertissement. However, if you enter the church with a broken heart and a troubled spirit, these words may come across as deeply distressing. Suppose you’ve just left a difficult relationship to move to a brand new city with only your dog to keep you company as you try to make your way in a place you are all alone. And then the message at church suggests that your dog might not actually love you!

Similarly, we delude ourselves when we don’t think that there are people in our congregation who are seeking capital-T transformation. The addict seeking recovery. The person searching for a new calling and a new direction. The victim of oppression who feels a sense of urgency about building a fairer and freer world.

The believers in small-t transformations must recognize and respect those who are searching for big-T transformations. The searchers for bit-T transformations must tolerate the small-t types.

Sermon: "Self-Reliance Revisited" (Delivered 2-6-11)

2011-02-07T11:03:00.000-08:00

Before I tell you what I think I know about self-reliance, I want to know what you think you know. So, let’s start with a game. I want you to visualize a person or a type of person you would consider to be the epitome, the model of self-reliance. Tell me about that person you are visualizing.

[Those in the congregation called out answers. One person remembered her grandmother, a woman who canned vegetables and made jam from scratch. Another person thought of local farmers in the heartland. One person suggested Barack Obama. I presume this person was referring to Obama’s unlikely rise from modest origins to a position of tremendous prominence. Another person suggested that self-reliance meant being able to stick with and not waver from your values. Yet another person suggested that self-reliance was connected with breaking from social conventions and proposed the late comedian George Carlin as an example. Someone else suggested Kurt Vonnegut.]

Allow me to share one of the examples that Emerson gives of self-reliance. It is a surprising image. Emerson writes, “Infancy conforms to nobody; all conform to it; so that one babe commonly makes four or five out of the adults who prattle and play to it.” [Emphasis mine] This is a great image, isn’t it? I mean, you put a baby around a group of adults and the adults are the ones cooing and goo-gooing. Influence goes one way and not the other. You put a baby in the worship service and no matter how erudite and magnificent and moving the sermon is, a baby is going to make up its own mind when it wants to cry. It is a different image of self-reliance than the ones we thought brainstormed.

The sermon this morning is the first in a two part series of the subject of self-reliance. It is a subject about which I feel there is a considerable amount to say. Two weeks from now I will be preaching part two, a sermon about how understandings of self-reliance have been distorted and perverted in both our larger contemporary culture and, actually, in the very manifestation of our core sense of what it means to live as Unitarian Universalists. Self-reliance can become a dangerous idolatry and it can be practiced in ways that are grotesque. More on that in two weeks.

These days, the term “self-reliance” is often used in unsavory ways. Self-reliance is a principle that is invoked to argue matters of public policy. You may hear a person argue that government assistance programs create dependency and that we need to get rid of those programs so that people learn to become self-sufficient. You hear the argument that it is wrong for health care to be mandatory because people have a right to be self-determining. Big government is criticized because it interferes with local control and personal liberty. All of these arguments boil down to some notion and definition of self-reliance, some notion of rugged individualism.

I am left having to reconcile my public policy convictions, that are diametrically opposite from those I just mentioned, with the fact that at the heart of our Unitarian Universalist tradition lies one of our most important texts, Ralph Waldo Emerson’s essay on Self-Reliance.

It seems to me that if Thomas Paine can be co-opted, that if the architects of the Constitution can be taken hostage, that if history can be rewritten at every turn, then it certainly does seem to me as if an essay called, of all things, “Self-Reliance” is ripe for misinterpretation and misuse.

What I want to do this morning mostly is to go back and revisit that essay and talk about what it actually is about. Emerson is our ancestor and we are heirs of many strains of thought, including Emerson’s, and a lot of us haven’t read any of Emerson’s essays since high school. So, let’s revisit this most famous of Emerson’s essays.

Here is some historical background: As Ralph Waldo Emerson approached his thirtieth birthday, his life was in crisis. He had married his young wife, Ellen, with whom he was completely infatuated, while she was already showing symptoms of the tuberculosis that would take her life not that long after they were wed. And, related to the tragedy in his personal life, he was feeling restless in the Unitarian ministry. He tried to provoke theological arguments with his parishioners in Boston over the meaning of communion and prayer, but his congregants didn’t take the bait. He discussed resigning from the ministry; his congregation told him to go to Europe for a year, clear his head, and think things over. The trip confirmed his decision to leave the ministry. On the boat back from Europe, Emerson penned the essay “Nature” and began to sketch out some of the essays, including “Self-Reliance,” that he would publish as a follow up to “Nature” in 1841. Upon returning to America he launched a career as a lecturer and essayist.

The obvious question is this: If Emerson was saying we need to be reliant on ourselves, what are the things he was worried about us being too reliant on? In other words, his writings reflect particular historical circumstances. What circumstances are reflected in his writings?

The answer to this question begins on that boat back from Europe. Emerson is writing literally and metaphorically facing towards the new West and with his back to Europe.

Creating an America that is differentiated from Europe is a subject that comes up over and over in Emerson’s early essays, as well as in the poetry of Whitman, the psychology of William James, and the nature writing of John Muir. The United States had somewhat of an inferiority complex. It was still figuring out how to utilize its wealth, and many felt America was deficient culture, history, and intellect in comparison to Europe. The idea that the United States could have an inferiority complex and could suffer from low self-esteem sounds very foreign to us today, but it is an important thing to realize in order to understand Emerson.

It seems to me that it is one thing to urge confidence and self-esteem, to give a motivational message to someone who feels disempowered and unsure. It is another thing to claim self-reliance at the moment of victory. I view Emerson much more in the mode of self-esteem builder than arrogant champion. Here he is writing about breaking away from European culture. This is not subtle. He writes, “Our houses are built with foreign taste; our shelves are garnished with foreign ornaments; our opinions, our tastes, our faculties, lean, and follow the Past and Distant… Why need we copy the Doric or the Gothic model?”

Our hymnal contains a paragraph from Emerson’s essay “Self-Reliance.” It is number 556 in the hymnal. It begins, “These roses under my window make no reference to former roses or to better ones; they are for what they are; they exist with God to-day. There is no time to them. There is simply the rose; it is perfect in every moment of its existence.” Such a remark seems unusual, but not if we know that Emerson is telling a young nation that everything they need is right around them, even under their windows.

So, if we want to be very precise about what if means to Emerson to practice self-reliance, all we need to do is turn to the end of the essay where Emerson enumerates the areas in which he is urging the cultivation of self-reliance.

Emerson is extremely clear that self-reliance does not have to do with wealth or with economic success. Self-reliance, for Emerson, is not an economic principle; it is not the same thing as economic self-sufficiency. He states this clearly and powerfully:

And so the reliance on Property, including the reliance on governments which protect it, is the want of self-reliance… They measure their esteem of each other by what each has, and not by what each is. But a cultivated man becomes ashamed of his property, out of new respect for his nature. Especially he hates what he has, if he see that it is accidental, — came to him by inheritance, or gift, or crime; then he feels that it is not having; it does not belong to him, has no root in him, and merely lies there, because no revolution or no robber takes it away. But that which a man is does always by necessity acquire, and what the man acquires is living property, which does not wait the beck of rulers, or mobs, or revolutions, or fire, or storm, or bankruptcies, but perpetually renews itself wherever the man breathes. “Thy lot or portion of life,” said the Caliph Ali, “is seeking after thee; therefore be at rest from seeking after it.” Our dependence on these foreign goods leads us to our slavish respect for numbers.

Wow!

So, while Emerson is not writing about economic self-sufficiency, he is writing about cultural and religious self-reliance. His statements about cultural self-reliance are some of his most quoted, and most famous, which is saying something because Emerson is nothing if not quotable. This essay, perhaps more than any other, is replete with many of his most recognizable quotations: “To be great is to be misunderstood.” “Whoso would be a man, must be a noncomformist.” “Trust thyself: every heart vibrates to that iron string.” “The great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.” “Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind.” And, my favorite, “A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds.”

Let me just say one more word about this essay of Emerson’s before I expand the scope of my comments. Towards the end of the essay, Emerson has this beautiful commentary on prayer, on what prayer might mean to a self-reliant person. He writes, “Prayer that craves a particular commodity, anything less than all good, is vicious. Prayer is the contemplation of the facts of life from the highest point of view. It is the soliloquy of a beholding and jubilant soul… But prayer as a means to effect a private end is meanness and theft.”

Let’s summarize what the text says. For Emerson, the concept of self-reliance, though it is presented in lofty and dramatic prose, means several certain and precise things. He is writing very conscious of living in a young nation whose independence was not too distant of a memory. (The use of the image of the infant is not accidental.) Self-reliance had to do with Emerson’s vision of what the American character would be like. There had been a declaration of political independence. Now there had to be a declaration of cultural independence and intellectual independence. And religious independence too. We are not going to look to Rome or to the Archbishop of Canterbury or to Luther or to Calvin or to the great theological academies of Germany for religion. Religion is immediately available to us through nature. It is there just like the roses under the window.

But here we are, 170 years after Emerson’s essay was published, and we have to figure out what self-reliance means for us today, and what it doesn’t mean. What practices of self-reliance will lead us towards health and to the fullest exercise of our being? What practices of self-reliance will lead us to misery and harm? How do we tell the difference between being ourselves in our fullest and being stubborn and prideful and sabotaging life’s fullness? I will be saying more on this in two weeks.

As we come to a close, I want to tell a more contemporary story. It is a joke that was told by David Foster Wallace in his famous commencement address to Kenyon College. [I believe I recently heard the story repeated in a movie or on television, but I can’t seem to recall where I heard it.]

Here's another didactic little story. There are these two guys sitting together in a bar in the remote Alaskan wilderness. One of the guys is religious, the other is an atheist, and the two are arguing about the existence of God with that special intensity that comes after about the fourth beer. And the atheist says: "Look, it's not like I don't have actual reasons for not believing in God. It's not like I haven't ever experimented with the whole God and prayer thing. Just last month I got caught away from the camp in that terrible blizzard, and I was totally lost and I couldn't see a thing, and it was fifty below, and so I tried it: I fell to my knees in the snow and cried out 'Oh, God, if there is a God, I'm lost in this blizzard, and I'm gonna die if you don't help me.'" And now, in the bar, the religious guy looks at the atheist all puzzled. "Well then you must believe now," he says, "After all, here you are, alive." The atheist just rolls his eyes. "No, man, all that was was a couple Eskimos happened to come wandering by and showed me the way back to camp."

This particular story can be interpreted several ways, but I like to think that it says something about self-reliance. To the devout Christian in the story, the man’s experience is evidence of our utter dependence on the salvation of God. To the skeptical atheist, the story confirms his disbelief. We are reliant on luck and depend on each other. The story raises some suggestions about the nature of our reliance. In some way, each of the two men swapping stories at the saloon can be thought of as partially reliant and partially self-reliant. And, in two weeks, we come back to consider how we navigate our living as a mixture of dependence, independence, and interdependence.

Emerson and the Occult: An Essay inspired by Jeffrey Kripal's "Authors of the Impossible"

2011-02-04T05:22:00.000-08:00

Whenever I have had the opportunity to lecture on the Transcendentalists, which isn’t that often, I’ve always made it a point to mention how the Transcendentalists dabbled in the paranormal and occult practices that were in fashion in their day. I just didn’t know why I made mention of this fact. I thought that I brought these matters up in order to challenge any uncritical, swooning admiration that those in my audience might have for the Transcendentalists. Now, I’m questioning those reasons.

As a Unitarian Universalist, the Transcendentalists are my ancestors, but what exactly we’ve inherited is a bit hard to pin down. We are certainly not the institutional offspring of Emerson and Alcott. Intellectually, we’re indebted to pragmatism, skepticism, and scientific rationalism more than to the thought patterns of Thoreau and Fuller. If anything, the Transcendentalists are like our venerated saints. Being the spiritual descendant of Thoreau is much cooler than being the descendant of John Adams. Barry Andrews wrote Emerson as Spiritual Guide, not Joseph Priestley as Spiritual Guide. We make pilgrimages to Walden Pond, not… you get the picture.

When I lecture on the Transcendentalists, there is no shortage of things to mention. To name just a few: their critique of the Unitarianism they inherited; their spiritual openness that allowed them to see nature as a deep reservoir of spiritual energy; their commitment to progressive social causes, especially women’s equality; and, their pioneering work in introducing Eastern religious thought to the West.

But, for some reason I always bring up the Transcendentalists’ participation in paranormal pursuits. For example, consider Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Blithedale Romance, a novel spoofing the Transcendentalist utopian experiment at Brook Farm. The novel opens with a visit from a mesmerist who appears with a medium known as the Veiled Lady. Subsequent visits from this pair serve to advance the plot. Emerson openly embraced animal magnetism and praised the originality of Emanuel Swedenborg, a theologian open about his psychical and mystical experiences.

If I had been asked to account for why I’ve always made it a point to mention such dabbling, I suppose I would have mentioned a desire to scandalize uncritical devotees of Transcendentalism. However, after reading the latest book by Jeffrey Kripal, I’m not so sure:

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Jeffrey Kripal is a scholar of religion and is the J. Newton Rayzor Professor of Religious Studies at Rice University. Kripal burst onto the scene with his 1995 book Kali’s Child, an analysis of the repressed erotic energy in the mysticism of the great Hindu teacher Ramakrishna.

I was a student of Kripal during a year he spent as a Visiting Professor at Harvard Divinity School. I took a course he offered that explored comparative mysticism through the lens of feminist, queer, and neo-Freudian theory. I count taking this class among my most inspiring experiences in academia. This is no small compliment. It was during this year at HDS that Kripal finished his second book, Roads of Excess, Palaces of Wisdom, an examination of several scholars of mysticism and the way their own scholarship was itself a kind of mysticism. A third book, The Serpent’s Gift, also containing “reflexive” observations about religious scholarship was followed by a fourth book, a history of California’s Esalen Institute.

Back in December I read Jeffrey Kripal’s fifth book, Authors of the Impossible: The Sacred and the Paranormal.

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To say what Authors of the Impossible is about one almost has to first say what it is not about. It is about (it isn’t about) why the academic discipline of the study of religion privileges some categories (the sacred, the supernatural) and discounts other categories (the occult, the paranormal.) As Kripal writes in his introduction,

What also surprised me was the fact that I had never heard of these authors [of the impossible], that after over twenty-five years of studying comparative mystical literature professionally, I had never once encountered another scholar mentioning, much less engaging, three of the four writers whom I came to admire so.... My conclusion was a simple one: Myers, Fort, Vallee, and Meheust are not part of the scholarly canon that has come to define what is possible to be reasonably thought and comparatively imagined in the professional study of religion.

This latter realization both fascinated and upset me. It was as if my profession had somehow intentionally steered me away from such writers and thoughts.... I do now suspect, however, that the study of religion as a discipline, as a structure of thought, as a field of possibility, has severely limited itself precisely to the extent that it has followed Western culture on this particular point, that is, to the extent that the discipline constantly encounters robust paranormal phenomena in it its data—the stuff is everywhere—and then refuses to talk about such things in any truly serious and sustained way. The paranormal is our secret in plain sight too. Weird.

The bulk of the book concerns itself with a close examination of the thought of these four authors of the impossible. They are: Frederic Myers, a British contemporary of William James who was concerned with psychical phenomena; Charles Fort, who collected documentation in newspapers and journals of occult occurrences; Jacques Vallee, a devoted ufologist; and Bertrand Meheust, a philosopher and sociologist concerned with bringing the humanities into dialogue with the paranormal.

What all four of these thinkers manage to do, according to Kripal, is to allow us to expand our understanding of what is possible. “I am defining the paranormal as the sacred in transit from the religious and scientific registers into a parascientific or “science mysticism” register. Basically, in the paranormal, both the faith of religion and the reason of science drop away, and a kind of super-imagination appears on the horizon of thought. As a consequence, the paranormal becomes a living story or, better, a mythology. Things also get wilder. Way wilder.”

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So, you’ve got these four fringe thinkers. So what? On a sheer humanistic level, it is fascinating to observe how, by thinking, writing, and experiencing the paranormal, these authors find an outlet for repressed urges, erotic energy, and the pressures of seemingly irreconcilable complexities they face in their lives. Just like in mysticism. But, more than an outlet: an avenue for creativity and even for genius.

Kripal’s introduction contains a “who’s who” of thinkers from the past two hundred years who embraced the paranormal to some degree. His list begins with Kant and Hegel and continues with philosophers like Schopenhauer and Stephen Braude, anthropologist Margaret Mead, psychologists William James, C. G. Jung, and Carol Gilligan, artists Piet Mondrian and Wassily Kandinsky, and an astonishing list of authors including Edgar Allan Poe, Margaret Fuller, Mark Twain, Arthur Conan Doyle, Philip Dick, and Michael Crichton. (As a college student I read Crichton’s Travels. Some other time I will tell you a story about my fascination with his essay on psychic spoon-bending.)

Allow me this brief digression to explain what I mean when I talk about the paranormal as an outlet and an avenue. Kripal ends his discussion of Frederic Myers with a discussion of the erotic energy underlying his psychical research.

It is the biographical facts that in the summer of 1873 Myers fell madly in love with his cousin’s wife, Annie Hill Marshall, and—more importantly still—that it was her tragic death, on September 1, 1876, that helped catalyze and drive his own anxious questions about the postmortem survival of the human personality.... But he never really let Annie go... Myers would love this ghost for the rest of his life. There were early alleged signals from Annie in Myers’s extensive sittings with mediums, but it was not until 1899 that Myers received his first clear communication from his beloved, this time through a medium named Rosina Thompson.... It is worth pointing out that he sat with Mrs. Thompson 150 times between September of 1898 and December of 1900. And this, of course, was at the very same time he was completing Human Personality [his most important work].

But here is the funny thing. Last December I read Authors of the Impossible in parallel with Maps and Legends, a collection of literary essays by novelist Michael Chabon. One essay was entitled “The Other James” and was about a contemporary of Myers named Montague Rhodes James, an average Bible scholar, university administrator, life-long bachelor, and author of delightful ghost stories. I’d normally not pay much interest to an essay like this, but this particular paragraph jumped out at me.

For the story is also prototypical James in that when at last we encounter the Horror, there is something about its manifestation, its physical attributes, its habits, that puts the reader in mind, however reluctantly, of sex.... [T]he fact remains that [this] is a story about a man pursued into the darkness of a strange bedroom, and all of the terror is ultimately generated by a vision of a horribly disordered bed.... Sex was undoubtedly the last thing on the mind of M. R. James as he sat down to compose his Christmas creepers, but it is often the first thing to emerge when the stays of reality are loosened.

This is precisely what Kripal observes in the mystical visions and paranormal experiences he studies. Chabon states it straightforwardly when he writes, “A great ghost story is all psychology: in careful and accurate detail it presents 1) a state of perception, by no means rare in human experience, in which the impossible vies with the undeniable evidence of the senses; and 2) the range of emotions brought on by that perception.”

Another uncanny coincidence: Chabon returns again and again in his writing to comics and superheroes, a topic on which Kripal is basing his next book.

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Another thing I should point out about Kripal’s Authors of the Impossible is that for all its academic rigor and blow-your-mind theorizing, it is also a heck of a lot of fun to read. Nowhere in the book is this better captured than in Kripal’s introduction of the influential religious scholar Rudolf Otto.

By the sacred, I mean what German theologian and historian of religions Rudolf Otto meant, that is, a particular structure of human consciousness that corresponds to a palpable presence, energy, or power encountered in the environment. Otto captured this sacred sixth sense, at once subject and object, in a famous Latin sound bite: the sacred is the mysterium tremendum et fascinans, that is, the mystical (mysterium) as both fucking scary (tremendum) and utterly fascinating (fascinans). The sacred (minus the fucking part) was a key concept in both the German and French streams of critical theory...

When I was slogging through Otto in my religious theory class as a sophomore in college, it would have been fun to have had just one paragraph like this one.

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I began this meandering review with a mention of the Transcendentalists. (By the way, Ralph Waldo Emerson’s responses to the tragic deaths of his dearest loves were every bit as “unusual” and as obsessive and as desperate as Frederic Myer’s visits to a medium.) Transcendentalism is, simply put, the distinctly American expression of the Romantic movement that preceded it in England and Germany. Jeffrey Kripal, even more than his post-modernism and neo-Freudian, feminist, and queer theorizing, is in many ways a Romantic at heart. Exhibit A: his utter fascination (fascinans) with William Blake. It is not merely the paranormal that is in transit from the religious and scientific registers to the “science mysticism” register. This is his journey as well. It is the “beyond the Enlightenment” project.

I’ll always remember a course I took in college that assigned some works of modern historians of religion who were pushing the boundaries of scholarship. Kripal’s Kali’s Child was one of the optional texts. Another one was by a German Egyptologist named Jan Assman (unfortunate name) who begins his book Moses the Egyptian: The Memory of Egypt in Western Monotheism by explaining that writing the book was a mystical experience. He writes of “being possessed” and claims “I immediately started writing this study as if under a spell and in what for me (and in a foreign language) was an incredibly short time. He describes an experience of mystical unity, a “continuity and connectivity,” with the object-subject of his “fascination.”

Reflexively, let me say that I have had an analogous experience involving a scholarly project in which I was enmeshed. The experience involved a vivid dream and a loosening of the boundaries of scholarly distance that precisely demarcated subject and object.

And, somehow, the kind of alchemy and paranormal phenomena that Jeffrey Kripal describes is strangely relevant to ministry, I think. With a nod to my role as pastor, to my role as non-judgmental listener to stories of experience, I end on this coy and provocative note. Hiding behind and hiding within all those things about the Transcendentalists that we lovingly admire, there is an obvious secret that is uncomfortable and necessary. We are the rationalists who dance with irrationality, the naturalists who live amongst the supernatural. We are both repulsed by and drawn to the image of Emerson and Fuller and their cohorts hanging around with mesmerists and seeking communion with the spirits of the dead. Regarding the spiritual adventurism of our Transcendentalist ancestors as scandalous says more about us than it says about them.