The Devil You Say
Sermon by Stephen D. Edington
May 6, 2001
It must be a factor of age that I can clearly recall an event from 40 years ago while having no memory whatever of where I placed my car keys five minutes after putting them down; so I'll go with the 40 year recall. While in high school I was involved with an organization called the Greater Charleston (WV)Youth for Christ. We had these twice monthly "rallies," as they were called, up in a pretty good-sized room of this sports and entertainment complex called the Charleston Civic Center. If nothing else, attending these rallies kept me out of trouble during my mid-teen years. The gatherings would conclude with all of us sitting in silence, or singing a song, while the speaker/evangelist encouraged those present, who had not done so already, to give their lives to Jesus.
The night I'm recalling is the one where there was some kind of concert going on in the main arena of the Civic Center--whether it was rock, jazz, or big band, that part I can't recall--but it was loud and upbeat with an enthusiastic crowd clapping to the music. All the noise from this concert could clearly be heard as it spilled over into the room where we were all supposed to be sitting quietly, waiting for God to change our hearts, and deliver us from our sin, and the like. It didn't take the evangelist for the evening too long at all to figure out that he had some competition going in the struggle for our souls, for he said in no uncertain terms, "Listen to the voice of God in your hearts and don't pay any attention to that music, because that is the Devil's music." One further remembrance of that evening that I also carry is that the Devil played a pretty mean saxophone.
The evangelist's words, however, were reflective of a world view that was widely accepted in the culture in which I was raised, and still holds no small amount of acceptance today. It is a world-view that holds that our individual lives as well as the life of our world at large are being played out on a kind of cosmic battlefield where the forces of God and the forces of Satan are contending for the upper hand. This is a world-view, actually, that is at least as old as the Zoroastrian religion of ancient Persia in which the world was a battleground between the Forces of Light led by Ahura Mazda and the Prince of Darkness, Arichman. Many of the images of God and the Devil that are found in both the Judaic and Christian faiths are reflective of this Zoroastrian influence, to which the ancient Hebrews were exposed during the time of the Babylonian captivity, some 6 centuries prior to the beginning of the Common Era, which we are now 2000 years into.
Well, I'm not going to speak this morning on "The Historical and Theological Origins of the Image of the Devil," which sounds more like the title of a term paper than it does a sermon. I, in fact, wrote a term paper with that title (or one close to it) somewhere towards the end of my college years for a Philosophy of Religion class, which shows how my thinking had moved from my Youth for Christ days of just a few years earlier. But whatever its origins may be, the idea of the Devil, in some form or other, is quite prevalent in this country, at least. Just over five years ago Satan made the cover of Newsweek magazine, and the accompanying article contained the results of a Newsweek poll in which 3 out of 4 Americans said they believed the Devil did exist. When those numbers were broken out a little more, some of that 75%--about one fourth--said that they actually regarded the Devil as a symbol or metaphor for "man's inhumanity to man." So not all of those who said they believed in the Devil were talking about a literal creature. But what really came through in the responses to this poll was a deeper struggle or attempt to deal with the age old problem of evil, which is what belief in the Devil-- however conceived--has, I feel, always been about.
While the issue of evil may indeed be as old as humanity itself, this past century with all of its supposedly enlightened achievements, has also seen a frightful ratcheting up of the reality of evil. Here are just a few lines from the Newsweek article, written in the fall of 1995: "The evidence of persistent evil is manifest everywhere; in the mass graves of Bosnia, in the broken bodies in Oklahoma City and--as the world recently paused to remind itself--in the twisted wasteland images of Hiroshima and Nagasaki 50 years ago...Wherever we turn, the century now drawing to a close has witnessed evil on a scale unmatched by any other. In an earlier America, evidence such as this would have immediately evoked a name, a face, and an explanation: Satan's powerful domination over a sinful, fallen humanity. Today evil is experienced as random and ordinary, devoid of cosmic significance."
True as I generally take those words to be, I'm not sure about that last line. I think the persistence of the image of the Devil, in some form or other, is because there is a part of us that cannot accept the idea of evil as "random and ordinary (and) devoid of cosmic significance." When we witness--even from the distances of time and/or space--events as breathtakingly horrifying as the Holocaust, or ethnic cleansing, or mass starvation, or 168 people pretty much like us just going to work (or childcare) one day and getting killed by a bomb detonated from a rented truck, we can't help but feel, at least, that maybe there is something bigger going on here than just human beings behaving in horribly bad ways. For some, perhaps, the only way to articulate such overwhelmed feelings is to speak of someone or something called the Devil, even if one cannot say for sure just who or what the Devil is.
I'm not sure, speaking for myself now, how I would have responded to that Newsweek survey had I been polled. No, I don't believe in an actual, literal creature or being called Satan, the Devil, Lucifer, Arichman, or whatever other name might be used. And yes, I believe that human beings are ultimately at the heart of all human evil, just as I believe that human beings are ultimately at the heart of all human good. (I believe that's called humanism). But I'm also aware than human language often fails us on a literal level. We do need some way to give voice and meaning to that which we can "but vaguely apprehend" as one of our hymns put it. So as a metaphor for ungraspable evil, "The Devil" works as well for me as anything; just as "God" works as well for me as anything when it comes to naming that which is greater than we know but cannot adequately name. Okay, Mr. or Ms. Newsweek pollster, let's see you put that on you little polling form!
Playing off this Devil metaphor, I take a cue from a book published some 15 years ago now by Rev. Forest Church titled, appropriately enough I guess, The Devil and Dr. Church. In it he notes "The devil's trademark is not evil dressed as evil, but evil dressed as good... (the devil's) most successful ruse is to cloak himself in virtue." What I believe Forest is saying here is that very few people set out to commit evil thinking they are doing an evil deed. Some of the most terrible deeds human beings have done to one another are those that have been, to use Forest's words, "cloaked in virtue." In order for evil to be perpetuated--or, if you will, for the Devil to do his work--a sense of unquestioned "rightness" or virtue needs to prevail. Such a sense of rightness may prevail only in the mind of a single individual; or it could be within a closely knit circle of like-minded individuals as a function of group-think; or it can be found within the mentality of a culture itself.
To better get at these three areas lets consider three stories that are currently making news: One is the pending execution [since delayed] of Timothy McVeigh for the aforementioned bombing of the Federal Building in Oklahoma City in April of 1995. The second is the conviction this past week in Birmingham, Alabama of former Ku Klux Klansman Thomas Blanton for his role in the bombing of the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church in September of 1963 that killed four young African American girls attending Sunday school. The third is the revelation and confession by former Senator and Nebraska Governor Bob Kerry that as a member of a Navy Seal unit in Vietnam 32 years ago he and his squad hunted and killed more than a dozen unarmed Vietnamese women and children. There are three quite different events, but each in its own way is illustrative of the deadly virtue that undergirds most of what we would call evil deeds.
As for Mr. McVeigh, I think I can keep it pretty short. Here is a man who was so convinced in his own twisted mind of the evil of the federal government, that he apparently believed that any action he might take against it carried some kind of moral sanction. Any innocent persons who might get killed--as he well knew they would be-- were, in his own words, "collateral damage." It's no small irony that Mr. McVeigh was taught his killing skills by the very government he decided to use those skills against-- albeit in a most cowardly manner. Assuming his execution takes place this month, Timothy McVeigh will go to his death believing he did the right thing, and that he is paying with his life for doing the right thing. While he had his aiders and abettors, and while he's not alone in his intense hatred-of-government mentality, his deed was largely a solo one based on his own perverse sense of self-righteousness and rightness. I've stated previously from this pulpit my opposition to capital punishment in all cases, and I feel no need to deliver that sermon again (it's on our church's website).One of a number of reasons that I'm opposed to this particular execution is that it will allow Timothy McVeigh to take to his death his grotesque illusion that he is a martyr for a just cause.
I was an 18 year old college freshman in September of 1963 when I picked up a newspaper and read of the bombing of an African-American (Negro it was called then) Baptist Church in Birmingham, Alabama; and the resulting deaths of four little girls. I'm 55 years old as I stand here now and state that one of those responsible, a Mr. Thomas Blanton, was convicted for his role in that bombing this past Tuesday. Another perpetrator of this evil was convicted and died in prison some years ago. It's questionable as to whether all of those responsible will ever have to answer for their deeds. How much justice has, or ever will be served, in this matter is at best an open question.
Thomas Blanton was not a lone figure and actor in the way that Timothy McVeigh was. Left to his own devices Mr. Blanton may well have confined himself to his own racist rantings as the Civil Rights movement moved forward. Such rantings, of course, would have been extremely disturbing but not, in and of themselves, deadly. In the company of his fellow Klansmen, however, Thomas Blanton could bask in an aura of moral righteousness. He could actually become convinced that he and his fellow Ku Kluxers were all that stood between white Christian civilization and the downfall of their way of life. He could actually become convinced that he, and his family, and his neighbors stood to lose what little lot they had in this life if "they" were to be given "their" rights. He could actually become convinced that there was something morally correct in fighting back; and if four little girls got killed in the process, well, they too were collateral damage. Whatever his mindset, of course, Mr. Blanton remains responsible for his heinous deed, however "right" he may have felt about it at the time.
But it's easy, in a way, to talk about people like Timothy McVeigh and Thomas Blanton, and Ku Klux Klansmen, in sermonizing about evil as a perverse sense of the good; and the Devil as one who does evil in the guise of good. After all, they're not us; they're not like us. They're not. But what about Mr. Bob Kerry? He's truly a good man, who served his country--and lost a leg in the process; and then went on to demonstrate that "politician" doesn't necessarily have to be a curse word. He is like us. We'd be proud, I daresay, to have him be a member of this congregation. I would. (I don't think he's a UU, but neither were most of us at one time.) So how could Mr. Kerry possibly be the third illustration in a sermon about evil and the Devil--even a metaphorical Devil?
The former Senator and Governor has been haunted, as he now tells it, for over three decades about what happened on a February night in 1969 in Vietnam. Twenty-five year old Bob Kerry and those in his Navy Seal unit set out on a mission to rid a hamlet of what were thought to be Viet Cong guerrilla warfare fighters. Differing versions are now being told about what exactly took place on that mission, to the point that I doubt we'll ever exactly know what happened. But who precisely did what may not really be all that germane. The end result was that instead of killing any armed fighters Mr. Kerry and his squad ended up killing 13--according to one count--unarmed women and children; collateral damage, as it were.
To put this incident within the overall theme of my thoughts for this morning, recall what I said about how a kind of "deadly virtue" often undergirds the most un-virtuous of deeds or undertakings. I obviously can't know their mindset at the time, but it wouldn't surprise me to learn that neither Mr. Kerry nor any of his fellow soldiers felt any large amount of virtue in what they were doing on a day to day basis. Like most of those placed in their situation, my guess is that they were largely concerned with doing what they were told to do, not knowing if they would live to see the end of any day they woke up to. Having never been in such a situation myself I'm not going to make a personal moral judgment about the individual actions of those who were--horrible as some of those actions proved to be. As one who opposed our involvement in that war, I also feel that those American who were killed deserve our homage, and those who returned deserve our respect.
These are my thoughts on this matter: The deadly righteousness in this instance was on the part of those in positions of power at the time who felt that because we were the United States of America we therefore knew what was best for some poor third-world country on the other side of the world. And if they didn't have to sense to know that we knew what was right for them, then by God we'd still make sure they did by throwing everything we had at them militarily-- short of nuclear weapons. Because of that kind of moral arrogance thousands of American and Vietnamese lives, military and civilian, were lost, including those 13 on the night of February 25, 1969. If Mr. Kerry feels the need to make some kind of amends for his deeds on that night, then God bless him, and I hope he finds the means to do so. But we should also remember that he was there to begin with because there was in this country, at the outset of our involvement in Southeast Asia anyway, a moral consensus that said it's OK for us to be there doing what we're doing. "The Devil's trademark is not evil dressed as evil, but evil dressed as good."
But this is not the kind of note on which to end. It is the responses of the human spirit in the face of evil--or deeds of the Devil, if you will--that offer a saving grace. Two weeks ago on the op-ed page of the New York Times there was a piece by the actor Kirk Douglas. He told of being in Berlin recently to receive a life-time achievement award, and of his mixed feelings, as a Jew, at being there given that city's history. But then he told about how, on the same trip. he and his wife had dinner with a Jewish woman in Berlin, whose parents and grandparents had died in concentration camps. He asked her why she stayed there:
"Smiling, [Douglas wrote] she gave me this answer: 'I owe that to the little heroes.' 'I don't understand,' I said. With a sigh she came over and sat closer. 'When the Gestapo came to get them, my parents sent me to a small hotel to save my life. The owner was the first little hero. She kept me safe for a couple of nights. When it became dangerous I met my second little hero. Or should I say heroine? She was our former housekeeper. She hid me for awhile and endangered her own life. Then I lived in a cloister. My little heroes were nuns who took care of me when I was very sick. They never asked questions. When the situation became dangerous, my next little hero was a policeman, who didn't agree with the Nazis. All through the war I was lucky to find little heroes who helped me till the Russians came in. (I've stayed in Berlin because) I feel I owe it to the little heroes who helped me. Not everyone here was wicked.'"
Mr. Douglas went on to say, "Her story had a great impact on me. Of course we're always looking for a big hero to emulate, and often we see them topple from clay feet. How much better to reach for the little heroes in life--and try to be one."
The rise and onslaught of Nazism was among the greater evils of the past century; and yet, "not everyone was wicked" as one of the survivors of that era notes. I doubt that those who came to the aid of the woman who told this story to Kirk Douglas thought of themselves as heroes. They probably figured they were just people doing the right thing at the right time. I like to think that that's what ultimately keeps evil--or the Devil, so to speak--from having the final word: People who do the right thing at the right time in the face of whatever evil is being perpetrated; people who can still see the essential humanity in the eyes, faces, and hearts of their fellow human beings, and respond to that humanity accordingly.
We are called to be a community that affirms "the inherent worth and dignity of every person" and "justice, equity, and compassion in human relations." May we keep these ideals ever before us and strive to see them fulfilled; knowing that few ideals are every fulfilled completely, but knowing also that to fail to try is to give the Devil more than his due.
Copyright © 2001 by the Unitarian Universalist Church of Nashua NH. All rights reserved
