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OPENING
(from Christoph Friedrich Blumhardt, 1842-1919)
“Faith is no
safeguard against stupidity; indeed, most people are living proof
that faith can lead to stupidity.”
“Don’t be
tempted to believe that some pastor or priest, some institution or
organization, can save you. Each must battle his own nature; each
must abandon himself in order to grasp spiritual things.”
“It is my
fervent hope that we Christians will not be forever stuck in our
Christianity; that we look, instead, for something new; a life
seeing God’s spirit in all we meet.”
READING
(excerpted from one of my columns in The Pueblo Chieftain)
I once heard
someone refer to himself as “a struggling Christian;” I commended him on
his honesty and insightfulness.
Religion is not easy; it’s not supposed to be. And our struggles—for
Christians as for all others—go beyond inconsistencies in teachings and
weaknesses of flesh: we struggle as we are forced to face the basic
existential issues that confront us as humans. Living one’s life is not
easy, and determining how one should live, even day to day, can be a
struggle.
Being associated with a religion, denominationally, or a church,
locally, can be helpful on our path—but it can also keep us from facing
life’s challenges: unquestioningly accepting its teachings leads to
closed minds and intolerance; habitual attendance someplace may be just
for socializing.
It is way too easy to become stuck in our faith, to shut down mind and
spirit in order to stay comfortable—until we’re faced with catastrophe.
Religion and the behavior it inspires are not meant to be easy; if it is
for you, you’re kidding yourself. Every enduring faith tradition speaks
of the hard demands required in following its way:
- Islam’s
path is said to be like a razor’s edge on a sword held over an
abyss;
- Jesus spoke
of the narrow way that few would enter;
- Hinduism
tells stories about the many lives you’d have to live in order to
get it right;
- Buddhists
teach the need to “wake up” so you can begin outgrowing comforting
illusions;
- For Jews,
being God’s “chosen people” meant that more was demanded of them
than others.
Perhaps because of such demands, many prefer to believe that religion is
unnecessary, something to outgrow, like bed-wetting, and others
selfishly denounce all religion because some imagined need of theirs was
not immediately met, or, these days, hordes flock to mega-churches
offering absolute answers and cheap grace.
Occasionally I hear from readers struggling with the value of religion
for them, saying: “It's a lonely world for those of us who are not
so-called Christians; there’s no place to meet where we can offer each
other friendship and hope, encouraging greater understanding and
inspiration to live better lives.”
Ultimately, that’s what it’s all about: it matters how we live … and
that’s the realm of religion.
The problem, of course, is not “religion;” the problem is our most-human
tendency to screw things up by looking for the easy way out.
MESSAGE
For the 30 years of their marriage, Judge Joan Lefkow’s husband,
Michael, made the morning coffee. He swirled boiling water in the mug to
warm it before pouring, then brought it to her in bed. They shared that
first cup in silence and, over the second, plotted another harried day
juggling full-time professional careers and four busy daughters.
One afternoon last February, the Judge returned to her Chicago home to
find her husband and her aged mother slain in the basement. A few days
later The New York Times wrote: “She is stuck at the second stage
of grief: anger—at the cruelty of killing two people, at the insecurity
her children face. ‘I know it happens to people every day,’ she said.
‘Why should I be exempt?’
“She takes comfort in a sermon about “brokenness” she heard years ago at
the Episcopal Church where her daughters sang in the choir and she made
sandwiches for the homeless. ‘Some things are just broken, they’re
broken and you go on from there,’ she said, echoing the priest. ‘Don’t
think that you can repair them, (don’t stay stuck on them); just go on
from there.’”
We each, of course, would prefer a life of ease, of no surprises; each
of us, on occasion, yearns for what we imagine were those “good old
days:” My wife’s granddaughter, just turned five, was playing in her
first T-ball game when she burst into tears, realizing she was alone and
without a clue in the outfield. A coach came to console her, asking what
was wrong. “I miss the good old days,” sobbed Aspen, “When I was three!”
Each human life is unique, though some things are universal: we learn
soon enough—as did Judge Lefkow and Aspen—that “some things cannot be
fixed, and you just go on from there.” And, so, the search for meaning
and understanding and purpose continues; we have no choice in the
matter. In other words, being human requires that we be religious.
The question, then, becomes: how shall we be religious?—not which church
should we join but how shall we, as spiritual beings, respond to life’s
challenges? I believe almost every one of us senses that there is more
to this life than we understand—more than we are even able to perceive.
This limited ability to describe such a phenomenon is one key reason
there are churches and denominations: it’s easier to have someone else
give us their answers.
For those who do not accept another’s answers but choose to explore
life’s questions on their own, two things (at least) become evident:
first, this spiritual dimension of human existence will forever remain
completely unknowable; and, second, at the heart of this dimension is a
perception that there is something “other” to our life and that,
somehow, we are connected to it. How we respond to the mystery of this
spiritual perception—how we choose to deal with the unknowable—this
response becomes our religion…and, so, there are as many different
religions as there are individuals.
Yet, almost universally, each individual’s religious response to this
perception of “more” in life seems to include an impulse to
wholeness—within and beyond—and an urge to be connected to all
existence. But, as we soon discover, actually living in such a way, day
to day, is not something we seem capable of creating: our personal egos
are too strong, our passions too powerful. Thus, many seek a connection
to something beyond themselves—in our culture, something usually called
“God”—and, through that connection, hope to be guided on their path
toward achieving such wholeness.
Of course, when that does not occur, it is God—as figurehead of an
institutional religion—who gets the blame...thus all the fractures in
the world caused by denominations cursed by violence, by wealth, by
animosity toward other faiths, by culture and politics, by the way they
interpret their sacred texts. Organized religion, ostensibly there to
unite people, instead exemplifies their apparent irreconcilability.
There will never be unity or wholeness as long as we think and act in
terms of “me or mine,” in terms of “us-versus-them.”
Obviously, a struggle against our self-centered nature is required, a
sacrifice of some of our desired comforts. But what is preached in too
many churches, instead, are empty promises and easy comforts that
diminish the responsibility of being human, such that their ‘we’ becomes
an exclusive ‘us,’ separating them from that universal impulse to
wholeness and connectedness.
While it is our differences that make the world such an interesting
place, we seem committed to an ideal of achieving uniformity rather than
unity, steadily rooting out everyone and everything that is “not like
us.” Our society talks much about tolerance but shows little of it to
those who are different. The behavior of the faithful and their
institutions renders meaningless what their leaders preach from their
pulpits or stand for, publicly.
Still, personal religion can heal—even as organized religion can hurt.
Playwright Dennis Potter, dying of cancer, wrote: “I have come to see
that religion is the wound, not the bandage.” Hurt or heal, wound or
bandage, curse or cure—when religion is “either-or”—either my way or the
highway—it will
wound or, even, kill; it is a curse.
I was, once, part of an alcoholic treatment team at a state hospital,
where I would make the point with those I counseled that their addiction
was their religion—their way of responding to life’s challenges. Yet,
religion can, also, become an addiction: many become so absorbed in
finding and clinging to some certainty that their religion becomes a fix
to assuage their pain, a life raft—not just to save them from drowning
but to keep them afloat for as long as possible; an addiction that keeps
them stuck in their religion.
For those who refuse to stay stuck, though, there comes the recognition
that, being connected to all, we have a certain responsibility—even an
obligation—to help others who are willing to give up their addictions.
Our calling, then—for the sake of life’s urge to wholeness—is to develop
and share our own humanity; our challenge is to avoid just riding the
waves by hanging on to that life raft—our challenge is to not be
indifferent.
Nobel Peace Prize winner, Elie Wiesel, said: “The greatest source of
danger in this world is indifference. I have always believed that the
opposite of love is not hate, but indifference. The opposite of life is
not death, but indifference. The opposite of peace is not war but
indifference to peace and war. The opposite of culture, the opposite of
beauty, the opposite of generosity, is indifference. Indifference is the
enemy.”
We are not better than our neighbors simply because we refuse the curse
of being comfortably stuck in our own religious response. But in facing
our finitude (a six-bit seminary word meaning that our infinite desires
are put in their place by our finite nature), such an understanding
gives us our most human and, therefore, our most religious, choice: do
we respond to life in despair and in destruction, or are we inspired to
use our gifts the best we can—for the good of the whole; will we respond
with indifference or with enthusiasm (from the Greek en theos, in God)?
If we choose enthusiasm over indifference on our personal religious
path, we may begin to change our world by challenging religion to heal
rather than hurt, to be the bandage rather than the wound, to be a cure
rather than a curse. But recall that religion becomes a curse when it is
seen as “either-or,” one or the other: if it is seen as only a cure, it
will be a curse; if it is seen as only a curse, it cannot cure.
We’ve each experienced some of the curses of organized religion, far
removed from any ability to heal and inspire—and I don’t just mean by
human hypocrisy seeking the easy way out. But religion can be a curse
even as it tries to cure: we know of many religions that are so much
“talk” but too little “walk;” but what about the opposite—too much
“walk” with too little supporting it?
On the one hand, recall the series I did here last summer on today’s
“New Age” religions that came out of the “New Thought” movement of the
early-20th century and, before that, with a tie to the
Transcendentalists: each is in the “Harmonial” faith tradition, all
emphasize a connection to the One Mind as the way to inner peace and
harmony. For myself, I gain understanding and inspiration from that way
of seeing life and my place in it.
But I need more than just a way to make some sense of life; I need more
than singing “Let there be peace on earth, and let it begin with me:”
true, it must begin with me…but then what? None of us are islands, we’re
all connected; I need more than “talk” (or singing) to help me make more
sense of life. I need more than what’s been advertised by one “New Age”
church in Colorado Springs that proclaims they have the same values as
Oprah and Dr. Phil. (So…then what?)
On the other hand, take Unitarian Universalism—(please!): Many UUs are
too much “walk,” perhaps because we don’t really understand what our
“talk” is, what supports us in our actions, so our “walk” can easily
become: “Let’s do something, and hope it’s not wrong.”
What is our “talk?” Maybe you’ve heard the saying: “When we began as a
religion, Unitarians insisted: ‘One God—no more;’ when the humanists
came, we said, ‘One God—or Not;’ now, with the pagans, UUs can say ‘One
God—More or Less.’ So, what is our “talk?”
Perhaps, earlier this year, you saw the San Francisco newspaper column
online titled Unitarian Jihad, in which the writer declared: “People of
the United States! We UUs can strike without warning. Pockets of
reasonableness and harmony will appear as if from nowhere! Nice people
will run the government again! After the revolution, there will be
coffee and cookies in the Gandhi Room.”
Since it seems that UUs primarily strive to “afflict the comfortable” by
our “walk,” is this religion a cure or a curse? Remember, it should not
be only one or the other, it’s not “either-or;” it must be “both-and.”
There will be times when we need to deal with “brokenness” (as did Judge
Lefkow), times we will need to re-think what life is about—what my own
life is all about—but we need more than thinking and “talking;” we need
that and we need to do some “walking;” we need to both comfort the
afflicted (the brokenness in ourselves and in others) and we need to
afflict the comfortable (others and ourselves). So, how do we avoid the
human tendency to think “either-or;” how do we stay unstuck in our
religion?
A story is told about a father who knocks on his son’s door: “Sonny,
wake up!” Sonny answers: “Papa, I don’t want to get up.” The father
shouts: “Get up; you have to go to school.” Sonny says, “I don’t want to
go to school.” “Why not?” asks the father. “Three reasons,” says Sonny:
“First, because it’s so dull; second, the kids tease me. And, third, I
hate school.” The father replies: “Well, I am going to give you three
reasons why you must go to school: first, because it is your duty;
second, because you’re 45 years old; and third, because you’re the
principal. So, wake up!”
We stay unstuck by waking up. But organized religion can, too easily,
lull us to sleep. Much too little is required by most organized
religions—including Unitarian Universalism (if it even is a religion,
anymore); it’s way too easy to claim membership in a UU church…but,
then, what is required?
When too little is required, the spirit is not awakened. But, when
squelched, the human spirit will, eventually, erupt…often in evil ways.
The challenge for organized religion today is the same as it was in
Jesus’ time, the same as it has been throughout history: to refuse to
stay stuck in fear-induced misreading of prophets, texts and rituals; to
refuse to stay asleep in our indifference which leads to all outsiders
being condemned while only believers are comforted.
Religion’s challenge is to learn from the early Christian Church which
called itself by the Greek word ecclesia, the word Athenians used for
their assembly, the world's first attempt at democracy. But, by using
ecclesia to describe their church, they wanted to show they were acting
not from political power but only from the power of love for all as
equal children of God. They went farther than the Athenians by requiring
no restrictions on participation, trying to get past “either-or:” not
citizens or non-citizens, “…no longer Jew or Greek, slave or free, male
and female; for all are one in Christ Jesus," they proclaimed. (Those
were “the good old days!”)
Today, the idea that a church should be open to all, something to be
shared and not guarded or pushed down others’ throats, seems a difficult
concept for many to grasp—in every religion. Giving absolute answers to
unanswerable questions is a self-righteous exercise in self-delusion and
makes that faith much too exclusive for those in the pews and far too
likely for abuse by those in the pulpits: once a religion becomes stuck
like that, the people and their leaders too often think they are
justified in doing almost anything, simply by calling it “God’s work.”
Religion should serve, not rule, its efforts a quiet but firm influence
rather than a dogmatic demand. Discerning “God’s work” is not easy; it
is an ongoing struggle. However, in the face of natural disasters and
personal hardships—when the going gets tough—the mind gets going on a
hunt for silver linings to pacify itself (though usually in illusory
ways).
So, since we will always have the problems of poverty, crime, violence
and intolerance, maybe we would be wise to suppress our natural desire
for silver linings to keep us happy or comfortably asleep; perhaps we
should strive, instead, to be uncomfortable. We would then be living a
way that is authentic —doubts and all—a way that requires a personal
responsibility for living one’s faith, for “walking one’s
talk”—especially when the going gets tough. Having doubts does not make
a religion false; it makes it real. As the late Hunter Thompson put it:
“Call on God, but row away from the rocks.”
Anger, fear and frustration are unpleasant emotions that we try to deny
through artful reasoning. But unpleasant emotions can also be spurs to
action, clamorous calls that we silence at our peril. Perhaps the fine
attire we wear on Sundays should be replaced by overalls: there is work
to do—beginning with opening the door to welcome all fellow workers.
And, then, by doing a much better job of practicing that one truth
central to all human spirituality: our ineffable need for wholeness and
connectedness, for unity.
Douglas Wood’s children’s story, Old Turtle and the Broken Truth,
begins:
“Once, long
ago, in a far away land—a land where every stone was a teacher and
every breeze a language, where every lake was a mirror and every
tree a ladder to the stars—into this far and lovely land there fell
a truth. It streaked down from the stars, trailing a tail as long as
the sky. But as it fell, it broke.”
Eventually,
some people find a broken piece in the woods, upon which is written
“You are loved.” The people form a religion based on that statement,
interpreting it to mean that only they are loved since, after all,
they were the finders and are now the keepers of that piece sent
down from the heavens.
Soon, they
become targets of repeated attacks by others trying to take it from
them, forcing them to defend their sacred icon while hiding it so
that just a special few know its location. Later, their leaders
determine that the best way to continue keeping it was not to wait
for attacks but to initiate pre-emptive strikes against all who
would want that truth for themselves.
Then, one
day, some people find another broken piece that fits together
perfectly with that piece which fell to earth so very long ago and,
at last, the people learn the whole truth: “You are loved…and so are
they.”
Life is not easy—we struggle either to maintain an illusion of
superiority or to stay stuck in our indifference. We suppress our urge
to wholeness and unity when we insist on “either-or”—when we deny the
second part of that basic truth: “You are loved—and so are they.”
To close, then, I offer the words on a bumper sticker my daughter sent
me which summarizes today’s message and is the best thing you can take
home with you, for it is the first step in making our religion more a
cure than a curse—for ourselves and our world: that bumper sticker read,
“God bless the whole world, no exceptions!”
CLOSING
(paraphrased from the Rev. Ralph N. Helverson)
Deep within
us resides the religious impulse: We have religion when we stop
deluding ourselves that we are self-sufficient, self-sustaining, or
self-derived; when we hold some hope beyond the present, some
self-respect beyond our failures.
We have
religion when our hearts leap at beauty, when our nerves are edged
by some dream, and when we have an abiding gratitude for all that we
have received.
We have
religion when we look upon others with all their failings and still
find in them good; when we look to the grandeur of nature and to the
purpose in our own heart.
We have
religion when we have done all that we can and then entrust
ourselves to the life that is larger than ourselves.
Out of all
this, our passions arise; we cannot stay stuck in indifference. We
cannot forget that “you are loved, and so are they”…no exceptions!
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