A Religion for Our Time
Sermon by Steve Edington
September 20, 2009
Salt Lake City, Utah may have seemed like an unlikely locale for a gathering of several thousand Unitarian Universalists, but there we were back last June holding our 48th General Assembly. My hotel was across the street from Tabernacle Square - the home base of the Mormon Church. I walked past it every day on my way to join my fellow UUs. The City of Salt Lake could not have been more accommodating for us, and I enjoyed myself for the several days I was there.
I enjoyed myself even though the candidate that I, and several members of our congregation, were supporting for the Presidency of the UUA did not get elected. I was our District co-coordinator for the candidacy of Rev. Laurel Hallman, the now retired minister of the First Unitarian Church of Dallas, Texas. I'm sure that our Association will benefit from Laurel's wisdom and abilities in the future even though she will not be serving as our President. A marriage has brought Laurel to the Boston area. I hope to be able to invite her to this pulpit at some point in the upcoming year.
Our new President for our Unitarian Universalist Association is the Rev. Peter Morales. Until this past June he was the minister of one of the larger and more rapidly growing churches in our UU family - the UU Church of Golden, Colorado. Like Rev. Hallman, Peter is a very dynamic and energetic individual with a deep commitment to our liberal religious movement. Our Supreme Court now has its first Latina justice; we UUs now have our first Latino President. I welcome Peter's leadership and offer him my support in whatever ways I'm able to give it.
Peter's campaign theme was "A Religion for Our Time." He built his campaign around the moves and initiatives he felt our Association - as it is made up of its member congregations - needs to be taking in order for us to be A Religion for Our Time. I'm not going to revisit Rev. Morales' campaign platform today, but I will do my bit for the challenge he has put forth by taking up that topic as we begin another church year together - my 22nd as the minister of this congregation. What must we do, how must we act, what do we need to affirm and promote, if we here at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Nashua are to be a religion for our time in this community, in our larger world, as well as amongst ourselves and within our personal selves?
For openers, a religion for our time is one that assumes religious pluralism. A few weeks ago I was flipping through my latest issue of Newsweek and came upon an article titled "We're All Hindus Now." The title was enough to stop me flipping pages and start me reading. Conceding that avowed Hindus only make up a small fraction of our nation's population, the author's larger point was that the Hindu precept that there many gods and goddesses, all of which are representations of the same Divine reality, has become adopted, in one sense or another, by the majority of Americans. We may not, and we largely do not, put it the way I just did, and that Hindus do, with talk of gods and goddesses and Divine Reality. We do not speak the language of Hinduism, but according to a 2008 Pew Research project, we are increasingly, on a deeper level, thinking like them. The Pew survey revealed that "65% of us believe that 'many religions can lead to eternal life' including 37% of white evangelicals..."
The article goes on to quote Dr. Stephen Prothero, a professor of religion at Boston University. Dr. Prothero notes that what he calls the American propensity for "divine deli-cafeteria religion" is "very much in the spirit of Hinduism." Dr. Prothero went on, "You're not picking and choosing from different religions because they're all the same. It isn't about orthodoxy. It's about whatever works. If going to yoga works - great. And if going to Catholic Mass works, great. And if going to Catholic mass plus the yoga plus the Buddhist retreat works, that's great too."
I read the whole article. I got the point. But I also get it that it's not the whole point. A religion for our time doesn't just assume pluralism; it must also offer a place to park your car. Let me tell you the story of where I got that line.
During the last week of July I took a five day, twenty hour seminar from one of my spirit guide theologians and teachers of the past 40 years, Dr. Sam Keen. I've known Sam Keen from his writings, as just noted, for four decades. This was the first time I'd met him in person. He's alive and well and still writing and offering workshops and seminars at age 77, when he's not tending to his farm in Sonoma, California. I've got two Sam Keen stories this morning - this is the first one.
Among the 20 participants in his seminar was a semi-retired priest. He was a delightful, humorous, and very bright man. Due to a pronounced life-long hearing deficiency he wore a large hearing aid, and spoke in a very clear, but rather slowly drawn out way. At one point in the week one of our discussions got around to the topic of personal beliefs, and spiritual practices, and the ways we keep ourselves grounded, and such as that. The priest offered that part of his morning "ritual" as he prepared for the day was to recite the Nicene Creed. Those of you raised Catholic know what that's about.
Without being confrontational or judgmental about it, Sam began to push him a bit - asking the good Father if he did this because he actually believed the words of the Nicene Creed or because he valued and needed the experience of saying the words everyday, whatever they happened to be. Rather than respond directly to the question put to him, the priest replied, "I do it because I need a place to park my car." The fact that he had to speak in the manner that he did made the statement all the more striking.
There were a wide range of religious persuasions represented in that room, and all of us - even the one and only, and yours truly, Unitarian Universalist - got it. He wasn't saying we should all embrace the Nicene Creed. He was simply saying that I need a place to stand; I need a place from which I can engage with the world - a world of people, and events, and nature and mystery and wonder, in some meaningful way. His shorthand for all that was "A place to park my car." A place from which I can get up and out and be about the things I need to do - and then come back to my car again knowing it will be there waiting for me in the same place as where I left it.
If we are to be a religion for our time, we must not only affirm religious pluralism - we've got that part down pretty well actually - we also have to offer place where we each and all, long-timer and new-comer alike, can park our cars. [And if you don't like a metaphor that uses an internal combustion, fossil fuel consuming, pollution spewing device, you're free, of course, to pick another one. It could be a place to park your bicycle.] I'll return to this point in what I hope will be a more developed way next Sunday when I speak to the topic of "Belief for Non-Believers." That's the title of a writing project I embarked upon over the summer. I'll round out with this for now:
I park my car in a space that affirms, in the manner of Albert Schweitzer, a reverence for life. I park my car in a space that believes that life contains within itself a sacred and holy dimension. I park my car in a space that believes I can touch the sacred or the divine within myself and have my life deepened and enhanced for doing so. Personally I find that I do not need a Supreme Being in my parking space in order for it to contain all that it does. But I have a feeling that my parking space and that of my priest friend of last summer share at least some of the same characteristics. Not all, to be sure. There's certainly no Nicene Creed (or any other orthodox creed or dogma) in my parking place. But I'm ready to stand and walk with any and all people - whatever religious label they may use for themselves - who seek to promote a greater degree of reverence and care and compassion for this fragile and sacred world in which we all live.
Moving on, a religion for our time is one that both affirms the sacredness of our individual lives while also calling us to a vision and to an awareness that reaches far beyond our individuality. This is actually true of religions for all times and not just our own; but it is an understanding that is ever more crucial in our present time and place.
It was clear back in 1835 that the French sociologist and historian, Alexis deTocqueville made his most insightful journey through the still new land of America and wrote about it in his book Democracy in America. In one chapter of this book he offers up religion - in this case in the form of Christianity - as the antidote to self-interest. He notes that capitalism, as it was taking shape in this country even then, had to be based on an ethic of self-interest if it is to work. He further noted that a doctrine of pure capitalism really had no need for any kind of a concept of the common good - its workings primarily rely on individuals, or groups of individuals, gaining what they can on the basis of individual effort. DeTocqueville did not really decry that. He was not a socialist. (Perhaps I should say he was not a socialist either.) But he held that religion, at its best, needed to be an element in the overall societal mix in order to offer a counterpoint ethic to that of self-interest; an ethic that called for a higher, common interest. Here's how deTocqueville put it (parochial and male dominated language and all):
"Christianity teaches that men ought to benefit their fellow creatures for the love of God...(they) freely sacrifice (their) personal interests to the consummate order of all created things (and) expect no other recompense than the pleasure of contemplating it."
Cutting through all the parochial language, what's being said here is that religion, again at its best, offers a counterpoint or a counter-balance to individual self-interest; a counterpoint that calls for the sacrificing, at times, of personal interest to what deTocqueville called "the consummate order of all created things" And we do such sacrificing solely for the "pleasure of contemplating" that greater order, that greater well-being, of all created things.
Archaic as the language may be, think of these words in light of the health care forums that took place during the month of August. The most disturbing and frightening aspects of these events were the orchestrated attempts - some of which were successful - at mob rule. But in addition to such orchestrated disruptions, along with the promulgation of blatant falsehoods by many who know better, was a seeming absence - or near absence - of any sense that we as a society share a common stake in the good health of all of our citizens.
Yes, I want the assurance that my health care plan will continue to give me the care I need, particularly as I move into what I'm ever so gingerly calling the latter stages of my life. But, thanks in large part to the religious principles and values I've come to hold, I also recognize that I do not stand apart from, and do not pursue my own well being apart from deTocqueville's "consummate order of all created things." And I have a stake in that greater order of things. My health and well being, the health and well being of all of us, is bound up in a larger common good. To be sure, competing strategies and methods of bringing us as close to the goal of universal health care as we can get need to be brought forth and debated and wrestled over. But it all must be done in the spirit that we are all in this together, and that in time - as John Donne reminded us - the bell tolls for all of us. A religion for our time is one that keeps such a spirit and such vision of a common humanity ever before us - whatever the particular issue may be.
Before leaving this point I want to share a letter from our new Association's President, Peter Morales, to his fellow UUs on the heath care debate. I'll share part of it here:
"The current hysteria and rancor over health care policy are profoundly disturbing...Religious principles central to our shared UU faith are involved. The first (such) principle is compassion. We must be a strong persistent voice that reminds our religious leaders that compassion is central to all major faith traditions. We must insist that health care reform protects those without political clout: children, the poor, the disabled, the elderly. To stand on the side of love is to stand with those on the margins.
The second principle of our faith that we must affirm is our commitment to the democratic process. We are witnessing cynical demagoguery that plays on fear to defend privilege. There is no place for intimidation in our public discussion. Demagogues foment fear and panic that leads to violence. As religious people we much oppose intimidation. Good people can and do disagree about health care policy. However, we must band together to demand open, respectful debate. As religious people we must insist on two things: We must create a health care system that protects the most vulnerable; and we must insist upon a democratic process that is open to all." Faithfully - Peter Morales.
I welcome Peter's Presidency, and I value his voice in the public arena. Since he wrote that letter, at least somewhat saner voices have come to be heard on this issue, even as the same ugliness and crudeness that was on display at some of the health care forums worked its way right into the halls of Congress during a Presidential address, no less. Given all this, I'm still holding out hope for both a rational and compassionate way of bringing adequate health care to all of our citizens as a matter of right and not privilege.
Final point for today: A religion for our time is one that seeks not to transport us to another world once we're done with this one, but one that calls us instead to the fullest measure of life and living we can find in the time given us right here. This gets me to my second Sam Keen story. The first book of his that I read was To A Dancing God, first published in 1969. It has a very 1960s flavor to it. But it has its transcendent and timeless parts as well - especially the chapter about the "Peach Seed Monkey."
It's a story Sam tells about his father, whom he adored, and about his life growing up with him in a rural part of Tennessee. Dr. Keen and I share a common origin in the evangelical climate and ethos of the rural South. In the story, as related in Dancing God, Sam Keen tells of sitting with his father as a young boy watching his carve a peach seed into the shape of a monkey. He's completely fascinated by such an act of creation and asks his father if the little carved monkey is for him. His father replies that he's making this one for Sam's mother, but that he will make another one for him.
Time goes by; much of a life goes by, and for one reason and another, the second peach seed monkey does not get carved. The day eventually arrives when the adult Dr. Sam Keen is visiting his elderly father in a care facility in Arizona, listening to his father take the measure of his life as his life draws to a close. At one point in their conversation the father tells the son that he hopes he's done well by him; and that he did not let him down anywhere along the way. The son hastens to assure his father that, no Dad, you never let me down. And then, as a kind of afterthought - and even with a slight touch of humor - he adds, "Well, you never did make me that peach seed monkey."
Dr. Keen goes back to his life as a writer, philosopher, and academician; and a couple of weeks later he gets a small package in the mail. And, yes, it contains a peach seed carved in the shape of a monkey. The note with it says that one of the legs broke off while it was being carved and had to glued back on "because I don't have time to carve another one." The next line in the story is: "Two weeks later my father died. He died only at the end of his life." The story, of course, is about living, and dying, with a sense of completion. We're not always going to get it right all the time - and some things will be left incomplete. Sometimes the best you can do is glue the leg back on, hope that's good enough, and keep on going. But the ideal is one worth striving after - to die only at the end of one's life. This story has long been a part of my personal scripture and it's one of my guideposts for living.
Okay, cut to about two months ago. I'm sitting in the aforementioned classroom at the Pacific School of Religion taking in some of the wisdom of one of my long-time teachers. We didn't use his book to which I've been referring - Dr. Keen had other places he wanted to go, which was fine. But somewhere in the course of an open classroom discussion things led around to Sam Keen telling this very story of the Peach Seed Monkey. There were people in the room who were not even close to being born when he first wrote it; and I wasn't sure if anyone other than me had ever read or heard it before. But there was something strangely mesmerizing for me about sitting just a few feet away from the creator of a story that has stayed with me for the better part of my life, and being able to hear it from the creator's mouth.
And then when Dr. Keen got to the end - got to the part about getting the package in the mail - his voice caught in his throat and he had pause for a second or two before continuing on to the end. All these years later it was still right there for him - and by extension for me.
We took a class break a few minutes later and I walked up to the desk where he was still sitting. A week or so earlier I'd been---with my wife, son, and his fiancé - to a Billy Joel/Elton John concert. So, I said to Sam Keen, "You know, it's one thing to know all the words to 'Piano Man'. It's another thing altogether to watch and listen to Billy Joel sing it. I've been reading your Peach Seed monkey story off and on for nearly 40 years; but it's nothing like sitting and listening to you tell it. Thank you for that." He very graciously thanked me for my words, and that was the end of our conversation on the subject.
A religion for our time is one that offers a way, offers a path for living so that we die only at the end of our lives. It offers a place to park your car, a personal and sacred space of your own, from which you then engage with the world around you. And it offers a vision that calls you from beyond the bounds of the self into the greater life of the human family, and into the even greater life of our earth and universe.
We now take up once again the joyful and demanding and ever so crucial task of being that kind of religion, and building that kind of religious community, as we embark upon another church year. Let's get on it!
Stephen Edington
September 20, 2009
