Sermons

Was Forty Years Long Enough?
Rev. Douglas Taylor
1-18-09

Once a year we liberal minister types dust off our copies of the “I Have a Dream” speech to check in and see how we are doing. Have we made progress? Are we closer to realizing the dream now than we were before? Have we reached the Promised Land that King had seen before he died? Dr. Martin Luther King was shot and killed a little over forty years ago. On the night before his assassination, King delivered a speech to striking sanitation workers in Memphis, Tennessee in which he closed saying:

Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land. And I’m happy, tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I’m not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord. (-MLK 4/3/68 “I’ve Been to the Mountaintop”)

This reference to being on the mountain top and seeing the Promised Land is a reference to the story of Moses and the Hebrews wandering in the desert for 40 years. Why forty years? The Bible is always talking about 40 days or 40 years. Is 40 a special number? Well, one interpretation is that anytime you see the number 40 in reference to time it means “long enough.” The Israelites were in the desert ‘long enough.’ Noah and the ark floated with no sign of land for ‘long enough.’ Jesus was tempted by the devil in the wilderness for ‘long enough.’ Long enough for what? Well, specifically for the 40 years of wandering in the desert the Bible actually makes that pretty clear. God decided forty years was how long it would take for the men of fighting age that fled Egypt to die and the next generation to be ready. Throughout the Scripture the reason given is that God is punishing the original generation for their sin, for worshiping the golden calf while Moses was up on the mountain getting the Ten Commandments. Another interpretation might suggest that the generation who had the will and the understanding to leave Egypt behind did not have the will and the understanding to enter the Promised Land. Another generation with new will and a new understanding was needed.

And so it has been a little over 40 years since the Civil Rights movement and the assassination of Martin Luther King. Was forty years long enough for our walk through this wilderness? Are we almost there? Almost sixty years ago, whites and blacks learned in separate schools, drank from different water fountains, ate at separate lunch counters, and sat in different parts of the public bus. Within 20 years, much of that had changed. In 1961, (48 years ago) attorney general Robert F. Kennedy predicted that the country could elect a black president in the next 40 years. That’s how fast race relations were changing in America. Four decades back Massachusetts elected the first black man to the Senate. And nearly two decades back Virginia elected the first black governor. And now the nation has elected the first black president. There has been change. There has been progress. But it is premature to say we have arrived in the Promised Land. In the midst of all of that great progress there has also been the Rodney King beating, the O.J. Simpson farce of a trial, the rise and fall of the King of Pop Michael Jackson, and hurricane Katrina; all of these events were deeply tied to race. There has been a dramatic amount of racist vandalism over this past fall, much of it connected to Obama winning his parties nomination and then the presidency.

One person quipped that Rosa sat so that Martin could walk. Martin walked so that Barack could run. Barack ran so that we all could fly. I think this poem, though well arranged and poignant, falls into the trap of believing we have arrived at the Promised Land. I certainly agree that the election of Barack Obama as president signals a very significant moment in the history of race in the United States, I think it may be more accurate to say that we all are seeing the Promised Land rather than entering into it. Barack Obama is not our savior or our new Moses. Neither is he our Joshua who led the Israelites into the Promised Land, as the analogy I have been working may lead us to conclude. No, I don’t think Obama is even our Joshua. I think that, as with all analogies, this one breaks down eventually and fails to predict the future.

Let me, therefore step away from my elegant analogy of Moses and 40 years and the Promised Land to talk in plainer terms about this moment in time. The whole concept of ‘race’ is undergoing a shift, one that is necessary for us to recognize to be able to fully appreciate our present situation. When we talk about Dr. King’s dream, the Promised Land, the ultimate goal along the lines of race – we are talking about living together as one people, as a multiracial, multicultural, multiethnic united community. We are talking about bridging the differences.

How many remember that commercial for Coke back during the 1980 Super Bowl when a little kid tells Mean Joe Greene that he’s the best, gives the huge football star a coke and turn to leave. Greene turns to the boy and say, “Hey kid,” tosses his soiled jersey to the boy who responds, “Wow! Thanks, Mean Joe!” It was, arguably, a watershed moment in race relations. Here was this big black warrior-type being idolized by a young impressionable white kid. This commercial still makes the list of top ten best commercials ever on most lists I checked this weekend. The contrast of a big black man and a little white kid was simply that to the people who put the commercial together: a contrast. The goal was to sell Coke, not to make a leap in race relations.

Yet, the other contrast that happens in this commercial is the initial build up of racial tension and the resolution to racial harmony. And a bridge is built. Nat King Cole sings about chestnut roasting on an open fire and mainstream stores eventually carry his albums; and a bridge was built. Now it seems ridiculous to consider a music store not carrying a CD because the artist is not white. There are white hip hop artists and black pop stars. How many people have seen a movie in the past three years staring Will Smith, Hancock, Seven Pounds, I Am Legend, The Pursuit of Happyness. Do you need to go back further, I, Robot, Men in Black, Ali, Shark Tale? Smith is a movie icon. The mainstream culture in the form of movies, TV, sports, and music has largely transcended race.

In 2002, Leon Wynter, a seasoned columnist who focuses on business and Race, wrote a book entitled American Skin. The subtitle is, “Pop culture, big business, and the end of white America,” which signals the reader to the bold claim made by Mr. Wynter – namely that business marketing is impacting our cultural sense of race. And further, that mainstream culture is no longer ‘white.’ For the bulk of the history of our country, mainstream was synonymous with ‘white.’ This is way in which the concept of ‘race’ is shifting.

Race is a cultural construct rather than a genetic reality. There is no single genetic marker for race – race has no genetic basis. Modern scientists have discovered and continue to prove that no single gene, trait or characteristic distinguishes one race from another. Thus, race is a socially constructed concept. Not all social constructs are negative. Take ‘fairness’ for example. Life is not fair. And yet we work in our society to create fairness and equality. Fairness is a socially constructed concept. Race also is a social construct. Humanity is not made up of distinct biological ‘races’, yet it has been seen as politically and socially expedient over the years to have had definite divisions of humanity into various subgroups. Professor Kenneth Kennedy of Cornell University sums it up saying, “In the social sense, race is a reality. In the scientific sense, it is not.”

And then last week I read an article in Newsweek that seemed at first to throw that whole question of a biological basis of Race back up for debate. The article was about disease and pharmaceuticals. It began by acknowledging the long held understanding among geneticists that race is not genetically based. Then it mentions different health risks and drug responses among population groups. For example, studies found that people who identify themselves as African American benefit from a drug that relieves hypertension, but other racial or ethnic groups do not. Well, they had trouble marketing that without sounding like they were saying there is a genetic marker for race.

But one professor of health law, (Timothy Caulfield of University of Alberta) offered this clarification:

“Someone whose ancestors came from Nigeria is very different from a descendant of Kenyans, but if the two of them are walking down the sidewalk in New York, they’re both ‘black,” he says. “You can try to make those distinctions in your research, but once it gets into the hands of drug manufacturers, there’s going to be slippage … marketers want to sell to the broadest possible categories.” (Jerry Adler, “What’s Race Got to Do With It?” Newsweek, Jan 12, 2009 p16)

One can deduce, therefore, that researchers may find a genetic mark based on ethnicity or ancestral geography, nut marketers turn it into race. The article ends with the view that science and pharmaceuticals will eventually move past racial (or more accurately ethnic ancestry) groupings to the specificity of each individual’s genetic make-up. Which, I believe, is where all issues of race will eventually end. And that is the Promised Land we now see today. To judge one another not by the color of our skin but by the content of our character. To see each person before you, not as part of this group or that group, but as an individual.

Today, young people feel they are post-racial, as in: their race is not limited to black, white, red or yellow. People like Tiger Woods are multiracial. He made news as a phenomenal golfer and the media was tied up trying to label him as black or as Asian. In an interview with Oprah he said. “Growing up, I came up with this name: I’m a ‘Cablinasian.’” As in Caucasian-black-Indian-Asian: Cablinasian. Technically he is ½ Asian, ¼ black, 1/8 white, and 1/8 American Indian. But this is also a way of saying, ‘see me as an individual, not as a Black individual or an Asian individual; simply as an individual.’

Even being biracial like Barack Obama is complicated enough. He is African American, and he is at the same time ½ African-American and ½ Caucasian. This can be true because there is not a scientific definition of race, the definition is cultural. But to go even deeper, he is half Kenyan and half (or nearly half) Irish. And if you read or at least have heard about the book How the Irish Became White, then you see that this both clarifies and complexifies the race and ethnic ancestry of our first black president.

Which brings us back to the earlier definition of race as a ‘cultural construction.’ To say he is our first black president is to sweep over his ethnic ancestry and simply label him as black. A label he accepts, of course. But it is only accurate if we understand race as a social construct rather than a genetic fact. And the election of Barack Obama as our president is another mark of the shift in the definition of ‘mainstream.’ Mainstream is becoming multicultural and multiracial. Mainstream America is no longer ‘white.’

Have we arrived? No. But the day is coming when our mainstream culture will regularly hold up images to which each American can say, ‘I see real and positive role models for myself and my children.’ The day is coming when the bridges built between our divisions will be stronger than the hate which longs to tear it all down. The day is coming when every American will be seen as an individual rather than as a racial category. The day is coming, the Promised Land has been glimpsed, the dream is waking to a new day dawning with room for us all.

In a world without end
May it be so

Broken Wing
1-4-09
Douglas Taylor

A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on each end of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, and while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water at the end of the long walk from the stream to the master’s house, the cracked pot arrived only half full. For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water in his master’s house. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfections, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. “I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you.” “Why?” asked the bearer. “What are you ashamed of?” “I have been able, for these past two years, to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your master’s house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work and you don’t get full value for your efforts,” the pot said.

The water bearer felt sorry for the old cracked pot and in his compassion he said, “As we return to the master’s house I want you to notice the beautiful flowers along the path.” Indeed, as they went up the hill, the old cracked pot took notice of the sun warming the beautiful wild flowers on the side of the path, and this cheered it some. But at the end of the trail, it still felt bad because it had leaked out half its load, and so again it apologized to the bearer for its failure.

The bearer said to the pot, “Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path but not on the other pot’s side? That’s because I have always known about your flaw, and I took advantage of it. I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back from the stream, you’ve watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate my master’s table. Without you being just the way you are, he would not have this beauty to grace his house.”

Each of us has our own unique flaws. We’re all cracked pots.

Emerson said, “There is a crack in everything God has made.” All of existence is flawed, broken. For Christians this manifest in humans as Original Sin – a tricky concept even semantically as there is a significant distinction between little ‘s’ sins and capital ‘S’ Original Sin. Little ‘s’ sins are about behavior while capital ‘S’ Sin is about existence – a state of being broken, flawed, of having a crack. But it is easy to mix the two ideas together and see our brokenness as somehow our fault: something to feel guilty for. But that is not a fair rendering of the Christian doctrine of Original Sin. We are not bad, we are broken. There is a crack in everything God has made.

I remember a favorite children’s story by Shel Silverstein called The Missing Piece. I used the story once as a jumping off point for a major theology presentation in seminary. The story tells of a pacman-like circle with a slice missing. The opening lines reads: “It was missing a piece. And it was not happy. So it set off in search of its missing piece.” The story then tells about the adventures it has along the search, the complications encountered when it finds what it thinks it is after, and the resulting decision to remain broken. You see, when it finally found its missing piece after searching and making up songs about its searching and discovering the wrong pieces over and over … when it finally found its missing piece it was geometrically a whole circle and thus there was no opening through which it could sing. So it decided that it was better to sing of the longing to be whole than it was to actually be whole. It decided to remain broken so that it could sing.

(“Blackbird” by the Beatles)

Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise

And so I would speak today upon the benefits of being broken, as if there were any other way to be – for there is a crack in everything God has made and it is through that crack that the light shines. It is the blackbird singing in the dead of night with broken wings that learn to fly and sunken eyes that learn to see. It is the amazing grace of having been lost then found, blind but now you see … into the light of the dark black night.

The children’s story I offered as I began my theology presentation that day in seminary was not a presentation on some general aspect of theology such as ‘Human Nature’ or ‘Faith and Suffering’. It was a presentation of my personal theological journey. I was missing a piece and I was not happy. So I had set off in search of my missing piece … into the light of the dark black night. And my experience was very much like the paradox of Paul McCartney’s poetry: to find the light within myself, I sat with the dark black night of my brokenness. I looked into my heartache and depression until I found the mix of love and fear at the root. I turned toward my suffering rather than away from it.

Back in the early 70’s, Henri Nouwen wrote a powerful book called The Wounded Healer.  The book quickly became a standard for pastoral theology.  The premise of the title is that “in our own brokenness we can become a source of life for others.”  The bulk of the book, however, is centered upon a critique of culture.  Nouwen said that we live in a dislocated world, a fragmented society, a rootless generation, and that we are a hopeless and lonely and isolated mix of people.  Nouwen said we are driven apart by forces in the culture.  Healing comes from a radical stance of hospitality, a welcoming in; it is a standing forth with all that you are and inviting others in.

Suffering is solitary work. Each of us experiences suffering – there is a unifying community of sufferers to be sure; we all suffer and thus are kin in this. Yet each person’s heartache and pain is unique to that person and is experienced inwardly. Howard Thurman, reflecting on this, writes: “Suffering tends to isolate the individual, to create a wall… It makes his spirit miserable in the literal sense of that word. Initially, it stops all outward flow of life and makes a virtue of the necessity for turning inward.” (Disciplines of the Spirit p75) But later he adds: “Openings are made in a life by suffering that are not made in any other way.” (Ibid p 76)

Initially it isolates you and creates a wall; then it offers an opening. Maya Angelou writes: “No one knows what it costs the bulb, the onion bulb or the tulip bulb, to split – to crack itself open – to allow the thin tendril of life to emerge.” (Maya Angelou in Restoring Hope) Kabir says: God first has to drill a hole in your heart so he may fit his pipe there. At last the notes of his flute come in, and I cannot stop from dancing around on the floor. (Partly from Bly’s translation) Sometimes the brokenness is not the same as suffering – certainly there is pain and suffering involved, but the brokenness is an opening into a greater depth of joy and meaning. As Kahlil Gibran wrote: “Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears. … The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.”

This is not to say that suffering is always an opportunity to grow into joy or new life. Only that is can, that it is an opportunity. I am not preaching about the saving power of suffering as if suffering is a great good for our spiritual growth. Indeed I think our capacity for joy is a greater agent for spiritual growth than suffering ever has been. And besides, I am speaking of brokenness more than suffering. Our brokenness – my brokenness – is a source of power and beauty, it is the crack through which some much compassion and understanding can flow. It can cause me suffering only when I work to hide my flaws or be ashamed of them, when I allow myself to be limited by my failures. Rainer Marie Rilke has said, “The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things.” At times I will playfully say that my hope is to make new and more glorious mistakes rather than to repeat the same old tired mistakes I’m used to.

Like the circle who was missing a piece, the end goal is not to reach perfection. It is to learn how best to make use of the brokenness. You are full of flaws and failings, suffering and sorrow: yet you also have so much to offer. And your gifts are available not just in spite of your brokenness – but oftentimes because of it.

I had a professor when I was in undergrad studying theater who would talk to us not about acting or set design or directing, but about life as an artist. His philosophy was ‘if you know who you are as an artist, everything else will fall in place.’ This professor was a bit of an odd duck, but you grow used to that when you work in theater. There was one lesson in particular that I found and still find of great value. He was talking one day about the role of suffering in the life of an artist and he said it is important to name and own the pain you’ve experienced. This way, for example, when you are getting into character, you could relate to your character’s hurts and suffering by saying “I know that fire, I’ve been through that fire or one very similar.”

That image of talking about suffering in our lives as fires we have lived though stuck with me when I switched my major from theater to psychology, and when I then went through seminary as I trained to become a minister. This idea that we all have been though fires that have burned and informed us has taught us much of how we interact with other people. And it is an analogy that seems to fit better and better the more I think of it and live with it. For it leads us compassion. The experience offers wisdom and deeper meaning through the understanding that comes with compassion.

According to Henri Nouwen we live in a dislocated and isolating world. Healing comes from a radical stance of hospitality, a welcoming in; it is a standing forth with all that you are and inviting others in.  It is not in fixing another person’s brokenness; rather it is in welcoming another person, flaws and all, to be present with you. A poem from May Sarton illustrates this well when she advises us to move among the tender with an open hand. (From “An Observation” by May Sarton)

True gardeners cannot bear a glove
Between the sure touch and the tender root,
Must let their hands grow knotted as they move
With a rough sensitivity about
Under the earth, between the rock and shoot,
Never to bruise or wound the hidden fruit.
And so I watched my mother’s hands grow scarred,
She who could heal the wounded plant or friend
With the same vulnerable yet rigorous love;
I minded once to see her beauty gnarled,
But now her truth is given me to live,
As I learn for myself we must be hard
To move among the tender with an open hand,
And to stay sensitive up to the end
Pay with some toughness for a gentle world.

Nouwin contends that even in our own brokenness we can become a source of healing for others. Thurman witnesses that openings are found through our brokenness that are not found any other way. And if we can learn to move among the thorns without a glove, Sarton observes, you can stay sensitive to another’s brokenness. There is a crack in everything God has made. We are all cracked pots. Do not despair for that within you which feels lost, sunken, or broken. What feels like a weight holding you back may be the other side of the coin of your great gift to offer the world. You can still learn to fly though your wings be broken.

Black bird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
all your life(Amazing Grace)
you were only waiting for this moment to be free

Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.

At least, thus it has been with my experience of life. May it be so for you as well.

In a world without end
May it be so.

Feast of the Sacrifice
12-7-08
Rev. Douglas Taylor

It is the hope of every Muslim to make the Hajj at least once in a lifetime. The Hajj, the unique pilgrimage to the city of Mecca for prayers around the ancient Kabah, is one of the five pillars of Islam and as such is required of every Muslim if circumstances allow it. The Hajj celebrates Prophet Muhammad’s return to Mecca in 632 just before his death. Karen Armstrong, in her book A History of God, writes about the Hajj ritual.

These rituals look bizarre to an outsider – as do any alien social or religious rituals – but they are able to unleash an intense religious experience and perfectly express the communal and personal aspects of Islamic spirituality. Today many of the thousands of pilgrims who assemble at the appointed time in Mecca are not Arabs, but they have been able to make the ancient Arabic ceremonies their own. As they converge on the Kabah, clad in the traditional pilgrim dress that obliterates all distinctions of race or class, they feel that they have been liberated from the egotistic preoccupations of their daily lives and been caught up into a community that has one focus and orientation. They cry in unison, “Here I am at your service, O al-Lah,” before they begin circumambulations around the shrine. (p156)

But like any good ritual or religious practice, it ties back to more than a moment in history. It is more than remembering Muhammad’s bloodless victory of Mecca. The Hajj also connects to the story of Abraham and his son Ishmael through the legend that in later life Abraham came to visit his son Ishmael and together they built that massive black stone alter known as the Kabah.

At the end of the Hajj there is the Feast of the Sacrifice, or Eid al-Adha. There are two major festivals in the Islamic Calendar: Eid al-Ftir which marks the conclusion of Ramadan, the month of fasting, and is considered the lesser festival; and Eid al-Adha which marks the conclusion of the Hajj. Eid al-Adha will begin December 8th this year according to the western calendar. It is the 10th day of Dhul Hijja of the year 1429 according to the Islamic Calendar.

The Feast of the Sacrifice lasts three days and commemorates Ibrahim’s willingness to obey God by sacrificing his first-born son, Ismail. According to the Qur’an, a voice from heaven stopped Ibrahim and allowed him to sacrifice a ram instead. The feast re-enacts Ibrahim’s obedience by sacrificing an animal, often a ram. The family then eats a third of the meal, offers another third to relatives, and donates the rest of the meal to the poor.

Whenever I have returned to studying Islam I am always caught by the parallel stories in both the Qur’an and the Bible. The two scriptures share similar stories that often have only a few details that don’t line up. The story of Abraham sacrificing his son is one such story. In the versions told in Genesis, God asks Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, who is his second son though his first child by his wife Sarah. The Qur’an does not specifically name Ishmael as the sacrificial son, though it is clearly implied in the fact that after the story of Abraham almost sacrificing his first-born son, the next story is about the birth of Isaac – ergo it must have been Ishmael almost sacrificed. In either case, Abraham is told to sacrifice his first-born. Abraham agrees to this and begins to follow through. At the last minute God tells him to stop and offers a replacement. Thus Abraham is honored for his faithfulness and obedience to God. (Surah 37:100–108; Genesis 22:2-18)

The Hajj, which is a pilgrimage to the holy city of Mecca to remind every Muslim of the roots of their faith and of the essential community and oneness of all Muslims, leads up to the Feast of the Sacrifice: the festival that reminds every Muslim of the faithfulness of Abraham.

I stand in good company among those who really do not understand why this story of Abraham is considered such a good and great story. I don’t like this story. The man was willing to kill his child. I find this abhorrent. Even following the storyline and seeing that God was not really wanting Abraham to sacrifice his son, that is was only a test – it only means that this God of Abraham is not a capricious sadist, merely petty and insecure: “If you really loved me you would prove it.” Many people respond to this story with rejection: that can’t be God. Surely that is not a story about the loving and merciful God I know. And yet all the western monotheisms trace themselves back to Abraham; Muslims, Jews, and Christians alike point to this story of Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son as a pivotal story of faithfulness.

Of particular note is Existentialist philosopher/theologian Soren Kierkegaard who spent a great deal of time with the story and eventually published his book Fear and Trembling using the story as a demonstration of the deeply religious life and the “teleological suspension of the ethical” or as it is more commonly known, the ‘leap of faith.’ Kierkegaard’s reasoning was that Abraham’s behavior could only be seen as ethically wrong, yet it was religiously the right thing for him to have done. Therefore the deeply religious life, he used the word ‘aesthetic’ in contrast of the word ‘ethical,’ the deeply aesthetic life was unreasonable: non grounded in logic or ethic. Faith requires a leap. Abraham leapt and by the internal argument of the story, he chose correctly. And so, perhaps this is reducible to a question of discernment: when should you leap?

I bumped into a riddle this week. A warrior stands before three seated men. The first is a king who says, “I command you to kill these other two men for the good of the realm.” The second is a high priest who says, “I command you to kill these other two men in the name of God.” The third is a rich man with bags of gold at his feet, he says, “I command you to kill these other two men and I will give you all this gold if you do it.” So who survives?

The answer, of course, is that it depends entirely on the warrior standing before these three men. Who would you obey? In which direction would you leap? What would need to change in the riddle to make it work for you? I want to answer outside of the riddle: I would not kill any of the three men, they would all survive. We Unitarian Universalists don’t have much use for words like ‘sacrifice’ and ‘obedience.’ We put our stock in words like ‘tolerance’ and ‘free-thinking.’ Our stories are about following your own path, marching to the beat of your own drum. We talk about questioning authority and welcoming doubt. Obedience and Sacrifice are not regular parts of our vocabulary of faith. When we speak of the faithful examples from our Unitarian Universalist history we refer to the rebels rather than the conformists.

Yet obedience is a big part of the three big western religious traditions. “Fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.” (Proverbs 9:10) “Whosoever submits his will to God, while doing good, his wage is with the Lord, and no fear shall be upon them, neither shall they sorrow.” (Qur’an 2:112) and I know this will sound familiar: “And now, Israel, what does the Lord your God require of you, but to fear the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul, and the keep the commandments and statutes of the Lord, which I [Moses] command you this day for your good?” (Deuteronomy 10:12-13) It starts our like Micah, “What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God? (Micah 6:8) But Deuteronomy is older than Micah. Before Israel was told to do and love and walk with justice, mercy and love they were told to fear and obey. The second phrase sounds so much like a line Jesus offered about which one commandment was the greatest: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.” (Luke 10:27) But before Jesus told his followers to love God and neighbor they were told to fear God and obey the commandments.

Abraham is a model of faithfulness for Muslims, Jews and Christians alike: not because he question God as faithful Job had done, not because he called us to justice and righteousness as faithful Micah and Amos had done, but because he was impeccably obedient. Perhaps even obedient to a fault!

Perhaps I have being too hard on the story, and on these three great western religious traditions. Perhaps I am being too literalist in my understanding, and thus my critique. Certainly a socio-historical contextual reading of the story would be fairer. Such a reading would argue that this story is about a stage of development in the worship of God, perhaps even a stage in the education of God. It declares a shift away from the abhorrent practice of human sacrifice. It dramatically proclaims an end to sacrificing of your first-born child to honor and empower your God. From now on, a goat will suffice. Now, a few thousand years later, the ritual killing of goats for the Feast of the Sacrifice is seen as cruel and even barbaric. But back when this story was first being told it was pretty good: “Oh we can just use a goat? That’s my kind of God!”

As our understanding of God evolved from a God who wants human sacrifice to a God who craves a burnt offering of goat and first fruit, perhaps we can allow understanding to evolve more fully into a God who yearns for ‘justice to roll down like water and righteous like a mighty stream’ as the Jewish prophets would have it (Amos), or a God who commands us to ‘love our neighbors as ourselves’ as Jesus would have it (Matthew), or a God who proclaims: ‘be mindful of your duty, and do right; Allah loves the doer of good’ as Muhammad tells us (Surah 5:93).

All of which is clearly already available in the scriptures. The story of Abraham is not going away and the Feast of the Sacrifice does have a strong aspect of justice enfolded into the festival. After the ritual sacrifice of a goat, a significant portion of the food is given to the poor. The story will not fade to the background as the western monotheisms evolve and grow. And the literalists and fanatics continue to use the story as justification to wage war – a clear perversion of the original intent as well as the more common contemporary interpretation of the story.

And this swings me back around to our melancholy Danish Existentialist: Soren Kierkegaard who is not easy for me to dismiss as simply a non-logical, anti-philosopher who makes the unreasonable leap of faith. Kierkegaard is anything but simple. Despite my argument against his sensational dismissal of the use of reason, Kierkegaard is on to something very important when he writes about the demands of living a deeply religious life. The key to understanding Kierkegaard, I have been told, is in his insistence that Subjective truth is superior to objective truth. Objective truths are the truths of history and science. These truths are verifiable, external, confirmable. Subjective truths are all the internal values and understanding within each person’s being. And, here is the key statement, according to Kierkegaard, subjective truths have primacy over objective truths.

I could spend considerable time just unpacking that idea, but let me leap back to the story of Abraham and his sacrificial son – be it Ishmael or Isaac! Kierkegaard offers this story as the basis of his explanation of the leap of faith into the religious or aesthetic life. For Abraham to kill his first-born son would be ethically wrong. But, Kierkegaard suggests, true faith calls us to heed ‘divine purpose’ which transcends ethics. At its face, this statement is wildly dangerous: it is the logic of fanatics and tyrants: I can do as I understand God to be calling me to do even though it is unethical. Kierkegaard takes us into the heart of dangerous fanaticism. But only if we forget the key to understanding Kierkegaard: which is that Subjective truth is superior to objective truth. For Kierkegaard the story of Abraham and the sacrifice of his first-born is not a public occasion or historical event. It is certainly not a model for action in the world. (see Kierkegaard in 90 minutes by Paul Strathern, pp 45-6; 50-4)

This story plays out a subjective truth: to live a deeply religious life, an aesthetic life – I suppose today’s vocabulary we can say a ‘spiritual life’ – to live thus you will need to make sacrifices. Abraham and Ishmael are different elements of the same person. The leap of faith is not a call to take up arms and slay innocent people; it is a call to see that what is precious to you in your life may be exactly what is keeping you from the deeper life of the spirit that you yearn to live. Buddhism offers us much the same revelation. Western monotheism’s problem (by an Existentialist’s point of view) is that it is too tied in with the history and as such the great and powerful myths are mistaken for literal, objective, historical truths.

I think this brings us back to the same place we were in before: Faith requires a leap. Abraham leapt and by the internal argument of the story, he chose correctly. And so, perhaps this is reducible to a question of discernment: when should you leap? We approach the sacred Muslim festival Eid al-Adha – the feast of the sacrifice. As Unitarian Universalists, we may take this opportunity to learn more of the faith and practice of Islam. We may take this opportunity to explore a deeper level of our own faith. When should you leap? Without disregarding the ethical, as in, it is important to still give one third of the goat to the poor; the sacrifice for Abraham can be read at a spiritual level. The story is not a model for action in the world, but for action within you. In that riddle of the king and the priest and the rich man: the question is not whom would you be willing to kill for; rather it is what aspect of your soul rules the others. What, in yourself, do you obey? And, turning it back to Abraham, what might you need to sacrifice, or at least offer to sacrifice, in order to grow?

Would that then whole world could learn to hear stories at this level!

In a world without end, may it be so.

“Eek-ology”
Rev. Douglas Taylor
November 16, 2008

Van Jones sees a “Green Wave” rising in America today. He calls us to build a boat that will hold all of us as we move into the future. This summer, during our Unitarian Universalist General Assembly, Van Jones delivered the prestigious Ware Lecture. As with everything in the main convention hall, the Ware Lecture had the live Closed Captioning for the hearing impaired. Watching the closed captioning in often entertaining even for those not hearing impaired as there are regular errors that are usually cleaned up within a second or two, but for a brief time the error is flashed there along the bottom of the screens. During Jones’ lecture he said the word “ecology” several times. And every time the closed captioning spelled out “Eek-ology” and then quickly backed up and corrected the misprint. Every time. As much as I was engaged and enjoying Van Jones’ presentation, a small portion of my brain kept noticing “Eek-ology, Eek-ology” The study of fear. And I thought, “I can make a sermon out of that.”

Fear. Jesus said in the Gospel of Matthew (5:36) “Do not be afraid, only have faith.” At least that is how it comes out in some translations. But with this rendering, faith and fear develop a relationship which leads to the line of thinking that the opposite of faith is not doubt, but fear. Fear is the piece that cripples us when we need to move. Fear is what strips us of our confidence, our curiosity, our courage. Fear kills our willingness to take risks, to reach out, to try again. Fear closes us off from a life-giving breath of insight, closes us off from seeing a new future awaiting our efforts. And when we start talking about the environment and ecology – there can be a very strong layer of fear to the conversation: fear for the future of our race, fear that we won’t respond in time, fear that we’ll have done things over our lifetimes that will have ruined the futures of our children and grandchildren. Fear is part of the environmental conversation.

Remarkably, when Van Jones talks about the environment, fear is not part of the conversation. Van Jones’ take on ecology leaves no room for “Eek.” Instead what he offers, and what I would like to offer, is a call for us to see that a better world is possible: not just to say that it is, but to actually see it and talk about it and make it happen. But that is not easy. I hear a lot of reactions around the call to care for our ecology that carry too much “Eek.” Sometimes it is from within when those who say we’re on the right track, doing the right work – to find renewable energy, and to recycle more, and to consume less – because (and here is the fear) if we don’t we’re in for major trouble.

I want to honor that this is a real fear. I’m not going to cast aspersions at our fears this morning, but I do want us to move past them. But this fear for the end of the world as we know it may be what spurs some to take action. This fear focuses us on what is wrong and not where we need to put our attention if we are to find solutions and a way out. That is my only problem with that fear. If you are afraid for the earth, fine. I am too. But we need to move past that, we’re a faith community – we need to move past the fear to build a new way.

Sometimes the fear comes disguised as the voice of the oppressed being shafted once again. Van Jones had spent some time talking about this. In the reading he presented a critique of the media on this count of the oppressed being shafted once again. This sort of fear comes across more poignantly in the thinking of Deneen Borelli, writing for online magazine “The Root” as part of “Project 21” which is a national network of black executives. In his article from last month titled “It Takes Green to Go Green” (Oct. 8, 2008), the subtitle asks: “Are liberal environmental policies hurting poor black communities? Conservatives think so!” Borelli claims that “radical environmentalists and their supporters,” who are “against oil exploration in Alaska and off our coasts” and who “are also blocking the construction of new coal-fired power plants that produce electricity,” have set a level of demand that they as liberal elites deem necessary, but in effect “leads to higher energy prices and pain in the pocketbooks of those who can least afford it—poor, black people living in struggling neighborhoods.”

I want to honor that this is a real fear. I’m not going to cast aspersions at our fears this morning, but I do want us to move past them. This fear for the painfully classist approach the environmental movement has been stuck in might be what keeps some people from connecting to it. The accomplishments of the environmental movement thus far have been done by a small group of committed people (as if anything else has accomplished things) but we need to find that grassroots spark. As Van Jones has said, (I’m starting to sound like this is the gospel according to Van Jones, but listen to what he said,) we need to make sure that those who were locked out of last century’s drill and burn economy get locked in to the new green economy; if we’re going to green the country, let’s green the ghetto first. If you are afraid for the way racism might yet again keep some of us from the dream of a better world, fine. I have that fear too. But we need to move past that, we’re a faith community – we need to move past the fear to build a new way.

There’s one other fear I must mention, as it is so prevalent and can undermine so much. It is a fear that comes disguised as the voice of practical reality. As the market was spiraling out of control earlier this fall, very soon after it started, there was an article that popped up on several news wires: Environmental concerns must take a back seat in economic downturn. The article reasoned that since most climate control initiatives were very costly, and since the climate crisis is not an imminent threat (or at least not as imminent as the economic crisis), it will therefore have to wait as we sort out more pressing economic concerns.

I want to honor that this is a real fear. I’m not going to cast aspersions at our fears this morning, but I do want us to move past them. This fear for the economy can be heartbreaking for some as they see pension funds drop off and plans for funding their grandchildren’s future education evaporate. For some this fear for the economy can be life shattering as you face the prospect of losing your job or even your home. But the economy and the climate crisis are connected and the solution for the environment will bring solutions for the economy as well. The Green New Deal is coming if we can hold on and if we can start building now to meet it. Now, in this time of scarcity and fear, is exactly the right time to think about abundance and hope. If you are afraid for your financial security in the midst of this economic turmoil, fine. I certainly am too. But we need to move past that, we’re a faith community – we need to move past the fear to build a new way.

There are connections between race and economy and the environment that lead us to solutions that can build a better world. I remember a course I took in seminary on Democracy. We took a field trip to the south side of Chicago to see the shadow side of democracy in action. Our professor rented two vans and took us on a tour with a community organizer who lives in the neighborhoods we were looking at. Aside from the awful feeling of being tourists in another community’s suffering, we learned a lot. “This is the housing that was built and is crumbling down after only a few dozen years.” “Smell that, the sewage treatment plant is just around the corner and they work it way beyond capacity.” “Here is the riverbank where the city refused to post a warning about the toxicity levels because they didn’t want to create panic.” Again and again we were shown the connection. The lower class non-white citizens were again and again hit first and worst by the environmental degradations.

We need to build a new way. And not just at the policy level, but in the grassroots as well. We have to get this one right. When we build a new energy structure in this nation with wind and solar and other renewable energy forms: we must look not only to how we can use this technology to save our economy but how we can use it to save the people too. If we are going to say there are no throw away resources, no throw away species, no throw away toxic leftover, then we must also say there are no throw away people. We’re all in the solution, we’re all going there.

In the creation story in the Bible God made things and each evening said it was good. God made the water and the earth and said it was good, made plants and animals and birds and fish and said it was good; made people and said it was good. In the Koran God asks “The heavens and earth and everything in it, think you I made them in jest?” (23/115 and 44/38). In the Tao Te Ching, we read that from the Tao arose the Ten Thousand Things, which translates to “everything” meaning – all of it is precious, all of it is included. The earth does not include any junk. God didn’t make any junk. In the Koran, God doesn’t say, “that part over there, those people over there, I was just kidding.” No. In the Bible, it doesn’t say, on the seventh day God took the rest of the stuff and just left it lying around. No. We don’t have any junk. All of it and everyone is precious. We’re all in the solution, we’re all going there. We have to get this one right if we are going to build a new way beyond this fear.

I have a proposal. I have a challenge. What are we going to do with all this precious land and people here along the Chenango and Susquehanna rivers? Our Green Sanctuary group is meeting and talking and moving. The global environmental movement is rolling. The federal government has heard the call and is preparing to answer and usher in a Green New Deal. Many of us stand poised to remind them of the hope and the possibilities of what can come if we get this right. The local government is focusing on greening the greater Binghamton community. I sat in on the Binghamton Healthy Neighborhoods Collaboration this week. This is a roundtable gathering of people looking at blighted properties in Downtown Binghamton and First Ward, looking to tear them down with grant money and rebuild some of them – they plan to rebuild first one with straw bale green technology in downtown, hoping to spark investor interest to build some more. They plan to link with VINES and turn some of them into community gardens. There are some real, practical, smart things going on.

What can we do? That is not a rhetorical question. And I’m trying to not make it a leading question as if I have the solution and you just need to guess the right answer. I really want to do something to help the Binghamton community. I want our congregation to reach out into the areas in our town that have been hit first and worst by the economic and environmental struggles. I want a project. Talk to me. I don’t usually do “sermon talk-backs.” But I set one up in the Fireside Room for immediately after each service. I schedule childcare. Get some coffee and come talk to me. Together we can be part of the solution.

We are the ones. We don’t have billions or even millions of dollars here to bail anybody out. But we have something more powerful: a vision for the better world, passion to see it come, and hands and hearts to step forward and build a new way.

In a world without end,
May it be so

Religion and Violence
Rev. Douglas Taylor
November 9, 2008

Violence is a natural part of life. Religion has evolved over the ages to explain life, thus religion has often been called upon to justify – or at least explain – violence. The book, Religion and Violence: Philosophical Perspectives from Kant to Derrida, by Hent DeVries, has this loaded question posed: “Although it is clear that religion can play an important role in the cause or at least the intensification of violence, could religion and religious language serve a useful purpose in understanding violence and the violent tendencies in both individual humans and human social groups?” Modern religious people will of course argue for the ways in which religion helps us to understand and even overcome violence. Yet there is also a strong critique from outside formal religion that points to crusades and jihads, human sacrifice and genitalia mutilation, and the anguished plea of the oppressed for God to dash the heads of our enemies’ babies against the rocks along the mournful banks of the River Babylon (Psalm 137).

The degree of violence done in the name of religion is staggering and shameful. And even though I would argue that the majority of violence done under the canopy of ‘religion’ is not done by individuals faithfully living by the precepts of their faith, (as in, the 19 Muslim hijackers who crashed planes into the pentagon and the world trade center have been disowned again and again by moderate Muslims who say such actions are not in keeping with the true Islamic faith) … even though I would argue along with others that ‘religion’ is often perverted by those who would do violence, it is still quite telling that religion remains so easily co-opted by forces bent on destruction.

Violence is the aggressive use of force resulting in suffering or pain. Immediate examples that come to mind may be war, murder, and other cruelties which we inflict upon one another. Other examples might come from nature, such as stormy weather or the way a carnivore would attack its prey. Early in human evolution, religion was the tool we used to explain and understand the changing seasons, birth and death, our place in the world, why there is violence, and why it might be allowed for us to commit violence against the earth and its inhabitants that we might live. Early on, religion helped clarify the role of violence in our lives. According to Karen Armstrong’s recent book, A Short History of Myth, it is generally agreed that during the Paleolithic Era human beings viewed the world as deeply imbued with the holy: there was not a split between sacred and secular – everything was sacred, every action was a reflection of the archetypal divine actions. In this same manner, there was not ‘good and evil’ so much as ‘natural and unnatural.’ In this earliest context then, violence which caused suffering and pain either to human beings or to other animals or even to the land would be judged as bad not based on the amount of suffering or what caused the pain but on whether or not it was unnatural or against the stories.

This perspective begins with the understanding that life has suffering, that violence is a part of nature: one animal kills and eats another, storms sweep through the land and destroy crops and homes. And as a mirror to that, a tribe may rise up in power and overwhelm another tribe. These events are not ‘good’ or ‘bad’ they are simply a part of what is. At this early point in the evolution of humanity, religion helped to explain the violence and to a degree to justify it: to provide a reason or meaning for the violence in life.

As humanity evolved and grew, so too did our understanding of life and our place in the universe. So too did our understanding of and our capacity for violence grow. And eventually, our capacity to object to violence grew with our ability to imagine another way. The sociological study of religion shows a general movement from the capricious God of thunderbolts through an abundant God (or more often Goddess) of harvest to the God of love and judgment found in the Axial Age. German philosopher Karl Jaspers coined the term the Axial Age to describe the period from 800 BC to 200 BC. During this time, according to Jaspers, similarly revolutionary thinking appeared in China with Lao Tzu, Confucius, and Siddhartha Gautama, in India with the authors of the Upanishads, in Greece with Plato and Socrates, and the Middle East with the Jewish prophets Elijah, Isaiah, and Jeremiah. Karen Armstrong, again from the perspective of the evolution of mythic understanding, says the Axial Age marked the time when philosophers and religious figures brought us a sense that it is not enough to know the hallowed stories and go through the sacred rituals, we must also be nice to one another. “I hate, I despise your festivals” God says to the Jewish Prophet Amos, “I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them; … But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.” (Amos 5:21-24)

At this stage in the evolution of humanity, as in earlier stages, religion served to (among other things) explain and justify violence. It grows more complicated: violence is still a part of life and the universe, but in the stories God is not asking for violent sacrifices from humanity to prove fealty. In China, the Middle East, India, and Greece, violence takes on less of a divine face and more of a human face.

Add to this ethical/theological mix the words and deeds of Jesus of Nazareth and all he offers on the topics of love and violence. The radical introduction of love is certainly remarkable. Love your neighbor as yourself, love your enemies, and in the face of violence turn the other cheek. Walter Wink, in his essay “Can Love Save the World?” highlights the religious response to violence as found in the Gospels. Lifting up that passage about turning the other cheek, Wink fills out the context of the passage so that a deeper understanding – not only of the violence, but also of the power of love – can illumine our present day response to life.

Too often the suggestion to ‘turn the other cheek’ is seen as a weak resignation to violence. If someone hits you, let them hit you again. It can be misconstrued as Jesus advising us to say “Thank you sir, may I have another.” “Let me lay down so you may more easily walk all over me.”

“As it stands,” Wink writes, “this saying seems to counsel supine surrender. If you are a woman and you are struck by your spouse on one cheek, turn the other; let him pulverize you. If you are sued for a piece of clothing, give all your clothes voluntarily, as an act of pious renunciation. And if a Roman soldier forces you to carry his pack one mile, be a chump: carry it two. And the crowning blow: don’t resist evil at all.” (Religion, Terror and Violence, Rennie and Tite eds., pp 115-116)

This, Wink explains, is a perversion of Jesus’ intent. Jesus who was constantly resisting evil surely would not counsel us to not ‘resist’ evil. A deeper understanding of the context is needed. There are three examples in the Jesus’ exhortation to resist evil. First he says “if someone strikes you on the right cheek, turn the other also.” Well, we might ask, why the right cheek? What if someone strikes you on the left cheek? It probably does matter! Walter Wink suggests that it does. If someone strikes you on the right cheek they will have done so either with their left hand: which back in that time period was almost unheard of. “The left hand was for unclean tasks, and even to gesture with it brought shame on the one gesturing.” (Ibid, p116) Thus a backhanded blow is being described. To strike someone on the right cheek was to put that person in their place, a master to a servant, parent to child, Roman to Jew. It is the blow delivered to an inferior. To turn the other cheek is to deny another backhanded blow, leaving the attacker to do what? Slap the slave? No, that was not a manly thing to do. The rigidity of gender roles were as firm as those demanded by social status. Strike with a right hook with the fist? No, one did not fight with fists unless one was fighting an equal.

This, is the point Jesus was leading his followers to see. You can strike me on the right cheek because I am socially inferior to you, but by turning the other cheek I am saying if you strike me again you must strike me as your equal. The Master can certainly have the slave then flogged for the insolence, but the statement has been made: I am your equal. We are both children of God. This is not submission, it is resistance. It is fighting the violence force with what Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. called soul-force. It reminds me of the scene from the movie Gandhi when the Indians continue to step forward row after row in defiance of some British Government rule. Time and again, the row of men are beaten to the ground and dragged back by their friends, but then the next row of Indian men step forward. I remember it as a chilling and frightening scene in the movie. It was not submission, it was resistance. Yes, you can hit me, but on my terms as your equal. This puts the oppressor in a shameful position.

The other examples Jesus offers in the passage are similarly nuanced proposals for subversive resistance. To turn over your cloak as well as your coat, back then, would have left you naked because your coat and cloak are more accurately rendered: your outer-garment and your undergarment! And recall that (as shown in the story of Noah’s three sons) nakedness was shameful to those who saw it more than it was to the one who was naked. And to carry a Roman Soldier’s pack for a mile if asked was a rule that a peasant had to follow by Roman law, but to carry it a second mile was against the rules and the soldier would risk punishment for accepting the peasant’s ‘kind’ offer. Walter Wink, who outlines this in his chapter of Religion, Terror, and Violence, is Professor emeritus of Biblical Interpretation at Auburn Theological Seminary and has studied deeply into the social context of 1st century Jewish life.

In a way, what Jesus is suggesting is something like a mix between Guerrilla Theatre and Social Aikido: Use the oppressor’s own power against them by not simply accepting their unjust practices but by over-accepting them and pulling them off balance. Shame them as tyrants and the violence will no longer maintain control, rather it will escalate the resistance. In this understanding – granted not the standard level of religious understanding, but it is there all the same – in this understanding, religion provides tools not only for how to be nice to others but also how to overcome violence with a deeper power. In this understanding, suffering and pain caused by violence is not a fact of life to be managed, rather it is a perversion of how things ought to be – a perversion that can be overcome.

There is a third way. As we continue to evolve, as religion continues to build stories to explain suffering and to tell us how we fit in the universe, we have a part to play in how this unfolds. The argument that we can either fight or run away is shallow: there is a third way. Active non-violent resistance says there is another way. Being right does not mean we must use violence to control others. This applies, of course not just to religion and violence, but to politics and religion and violence mixed together. The “Just War” theory is based on the fight or flee dichotomy, the idea that non-violence means being run over and only violence can save us. But violence can not save us. But love still can. Let us not work to build up tactics and strategies to overcome suffering and pain in our lives, let us not try to anticipate violence and trouble that we may meet it with greater strength and force, let us not put our energy to creating defenses and protections against potential violence and trouble. Instead let us dig deep and breathe with compassion so that when suffering comes your way or your neighbor’s way or to this community as a whole or to this nation, we may have the strength of spirit to receive the suffering and respond with a generous love.

And such a response will not look like what Jesus talked about or what Gandhi acted out. We live in a country that is not oppressed; we in this congregation are not part of an oppressed class. Oh, there are individuals among us who can claim to be there, and Unitarian Universalism is discriminated against in certain circles, I won’t deny that. But Jesus’ examples, Gandhi’s examples, are tools for oppressed people to find equality; these will not be the pattern we need for the coming decades. Our religion and all the world’s religions need to find a way to be among the dominant leaders without being oppressors pretending to be oppressed. We need to evolve beyond David and Goliath style stories. We need new stories of leading and being connected and being non-violent. We are perhaps on the cusp of a few steps into a new era – a new mythic understanding of ourselves and our relationship to violence. It must be an understanding that calls us to see our connections with each other and our world. We must step up to that third way and proclaim that violence will not save us. But love still can.

In a world without end,
May it be so