"Faith From the Ground Up"
Last spring, when Catherine and I chose the theme of Grounding for August, our thought behind it was people would need a chance to center themselves in what nourishes them before the demands of fall - back to school, back to church program year, back to more community meetings.
We had no way of knowing that in mid-August,
our psyches would be reeling
with a Presidential bluster and threat of nuclear war,
and with the images of Neo-Nazis marching
through the streets of Charlottesville,
waving signs and shouting
words of anti-Semitism,
words of hate against
our black and brown siblings.
Many of us felt shaken.
Unsure of the ground beneath us.
What century are we in?
What country are we in?
And some of us, including your pastor,
have struggled with how to respond.
We Unitarian Universalists believe, deeply,
that our primary, public response is one of Love.
But how do we do that when we feel so angry,
and so hurt,
and so scared?
We wonder,
Is responding with love enough?
Love, once again, break our hearts open wide.
(Sung prayer written by Rev. Jason Shelton, access here: https://www.uua.org/worship/words/music/love-break-our-hearts.)
As Charlottesville unfolded last week,
I was with my family,
in north Arkansas.
My heart often feels like it’s pulled between two places:
those gently rolling hills of the Ozark foothills,
green and humid and heavy in the summer.
And here, stunning southern California
brown and dry and hot in the summer.
The two places really couldn’t be more different.
The food
The people
The landscapes …
It feels like two separate worlds.
Last week, with my family,
we compared Arkansas and Los Angeles.
My dad said,
“There’s too many people out there!”
And I responded, “There’s not enough people here!”
I feel both torn - and held - by these two cultures, two places,
that claim spaces in my heart.
My guess is I’m not the only one in this room
who feels torn, and held,
by multiple cultures,
or by different places.
Last week,
it felt like the world as I knew it was crumbling -
again.
I felt out of my usual element,
and I searched for something to hang onto.
The values I hold dear - justice, equity, and compassion -
for all Creation -
Those values can feel muted
out in rural Arkansas.
I don’t always see them reflected there.
And as I searched for a thread
between my two worlds,
the connection I needed
came through an unlikely source:
a flower.
A specific flower.
The surprise lily.
or magic lily,
if you’re feeling sassy,
the naked lady.
It’s a flower of many names
because it’s a flower
with a split personality.
You see,
the leaves and the flowers never appear together.
The Lycoris squamigera,
or surprise lily as I call it,
is tricky.
In the spring and summer,
a mound of long green leaves appear.
Around July, no matter if you’re in Arkansas or California,
those green leaves turn brown,
and wither.
You might think, oh I killed that plant.
About six weeks after the leaves have died and fallen away,
one morning you walk outside and surprise!
Out of nothing,
a long stalk green stalk appears,
topped with pink, trumpet shaped flowers.
These beautiful plants literally surprised me
when they appeared in my home garden this August,
because I hadn’t remembered they were there
and I wasn’t expecting them.
And while I was in Arkansas,
they where everywhere.
They are as ubiquitous there
as agapanthus are here,
those big purple globe flowers
that we have bordering
the parking lot outside.
Those lilies pop up along garden borders,
hugging driveways,
and holding forth in fields surrounding abandoned houses.
There, in a place where Confederate flags hang side by side
with American flags,
during a time marked by chaos and fear and hatred,
there was a living symbol that connected me to here.
That brought calm to my mind when I saw them,
and helped me listen for
messages of peace, hope, and love.
Love, once again, break our hearts open wide.
But let’s face it.
A flower,
beautiful as it may be,
is not enough to sustain a soul
in times such as these.
The images we’ve seen this past week -
white men marching with torches in the streets of Charlottesville,
carrying Nazi and Confederate flags.
The words we’ve heard hurled at Jews,
at people with black and brown skin;
Phrases like “Jews will not replace us.”
“One people, one nation, end immigration.”
“Go back to Africa.”
Many of their chants,
I won’t say from the pulpit
because of language and content.
It’s not what we are used to seeing.
To hearing.
It’s not what we expect to encounter
out in the streets of these United States.
We know there is violence in the world.
We know there is hatred and fear of difference.
We know that anti-Semitism exists.
We know that racism and xenophobia exist.
But for a large group of predominantly white men
to march through a University campus
carrying Nazi and confederate flags,
brazenly shouting hateful language …
That’s not normal.
It’s not OK.
It is part of our moral duty and religious obligation to speak out,
though how we speak out will be unique to each and every one of us.
And speaking out can be hard.
And scary.
And depending on your social location,
can make you feel very vulnerable.
As we each find our own ways
to teach and preach Love in the face
of extreme hatred,
I ask you to consider,
What grounds you in Love
so that you don’t become as hateful
as the ones we are trying to call back
to a sense of shared humanity with all?
I ask you that,
because it’s a question
I’m continually asking myself.
A couple of weeks ago,
we explored the Universalist grounding
in a Love that is big,
wide,
encompassing.
Universalism teaches us that we are all saved,
that there is a Love wide enough to embrace us all,
and to embrace every part of us …
to embrace every part of you.
How does that Love move from inside our hearts,
from an inner compassion for Creation, for humanity,
out into the world,
transforming institutions and societal structures
that breed hate and inequality?
Love, once again, break our hearts open wide.
That question,
how to move Love from inside our hearts,
out into the world,
transforming institutions and societal structures
that breed hate and inequality,
is a question that has long troubled
liberal religious people.
Sometimes, we find a symbol
that can connects us to something deeper -
like my surprise lily -
but we don’t go any further than the symbol itself.
We talk about the beauty of the flower,
but not the values,
or religious impulse,
that lie underneath.
James Luther Adams,
20th Century Unitarian theologian and minister,
struggled with this in his own life,
struggled to listen for the “costing commitment”
in liberal theology.
By costing commitment,
he meant a religion that offers personal spiritual nourishment,
but doesn’t stop there.
A costing commitment
goes beyond that.
It’s seeking a spiritual life for yourself, yes;
and tending to one’s spirit
for the sake of something bigger -
strengthening authentic, beloved community. (1)
He began to hear and understand the need for “costing commitment”
in liberal religious through his own direct experience
with fascism and Nazism in Germany,
in the 1920s and 30s.
While he was in Nuremberg
thousands of people,
young and old,
converged on the city for a huge Nazi festival.
On this particular day,
there was a large parade,
with people marching,
singing,
shouting,
bands playing.
As Adams stood and watched
thousands of singing Nazis passing by,
he turned and started talking to the people next to him.
Adams, in a moment of boldness,
turned to a neighbor and asked,
“What’s the meaning of the swastika that I see everywhere?”
Of course, Adams knew what the symbol was,
but he was curious about how they would respond.
Within a few minutes,
the conversation escalated in intensity.
Adams remembers:
Within a few minutes I found myself in a heated conversation
with more and more people joining in,
particularly when the discussion turned to the Jewish question.
As I bore down in the argument against these defenders of Nazism,
asking more and more insistent questions,
I was suddenly seized by the elbows from behind,
and pulled vehemently out of the crowd.
No one made an effort to help me.
I immediately thought I was being taken into custody.
I could not see who it was who,
after extricating me from the crowd,
marched me vigorously down a side street
and then turned up into an alley.
On reaching the dead end of the alley,
my host, a young German workingman in his thirties,
wheeled me around and shouted at me,
"Don't you know that when you watch a parade in Germany today
you either keep your mouth shut or get your head bashed in?"
My palpitation mounted even higher at this moment,
and I was all the more puzzled when my captor smiled and said,
"Don't be frightened. I have saved you."
"Saved me from what?"
"From being sandbagged.
In about five minutes more of that argument on the curb,
they would have knocked you out, flat on the pavement.”
As you can imagine,
this incident hugely impacted Adams.
In the days to come,
as Adams reflected on this incident,
he asked himself this question:
"If Fascism should arise in the States,
what in your past performance would constitute
a pattern or framework of resistance?"
He admits that his own answer to that lacked power and purpose.
He recalled reading of the newspaper and voting.
Preaching sermons on the depression
or in defense of strikers.
Occasionally, he protested against censorship in Boston.
But when he got really honest with himself,
he admitted that he had no adequate conception
of what real engaged citizen participation,
the kind that bends the arc of the universe toward justice,
looked like.
He writes that after the War,
he repeatedly heard anti-Nazis say,
If only 1,000 of us in the late twenties had combined
in heroic resistance, we could have stopped Hitler. (2)
Love, once again, break our hearts open wide.
Unfortunately, our reality since last November demands that we ask ourselves
the same question that Adams posed:
“When Fascism tries to take hold in the States,
what in your past performance would constitute
a pattern or framework of resistance?"
Though you may not find yourself knee-deep in a Nazi parade,
in fear of being hauled in to the authorities,
as Adams did,
or as some of our UU siblings did in the last week.
Each and every one of you comes face to face
with hatred or injustice in the world.
For some of you it’s at a safe distance.
But for others,
because of your skin color or gender or
a host of other identities,
you see it up close and personal.
Unitarian Universalism teaches us to
stand on the side of Love.
And a gift of liberal religion is that we in turn question,
we ask,
is responding with love enough?
Is it enough?
I’ve heard some of you ask that very question this week.
Yes it is, and no it’s not.
An answer with a split personality,
a bit like that flower that so captured my heart
in the midst of national turmoil.
Yes, feeling a personal deep compassion is necessary.
Some mornings, turn your meditation or prayer practice
toward a loving peace for the world.
Yes, treat people with kindness and care.
Love the world so fiercely that
your heart breaks open wide.
But it can’t stop there.
Our Unitarian Universalism requires us
to take that broken heart into the world.
Your love must join in with others.
You are needed in the movement
that is working to dismantle structures
of white supremacy,
of racism and oppression.
Structures that diminish
the inherent worth and dignity
of people.
And that’s how love wins.
Over and over.
I ask you this morning
to pledge yourself anew
to the values that ground you,
that you hang onto in times of turmoil.
I ask you to pledge yourself anew
to this faith grounded in love
and called toward justice.
I ask you to pledge yourself anew
to a deep engagement with our world,
hand in hand and heart to heart
with the other souls in this room.
Love, once again, break our hearts open wide.
1. Adams, James Luther. “An Examined Faith: Social Context and Religious Commitment, p. 33.
2. Accessed on August 16, 2017 at http://www.uua.org/re/tapestry/adults/movesus/workshop7/conversion-experience.
We had no way of knowing that in mid-August,
our psyches would be reeling
with a Presidential bluster and threat of nuclear war,
and with the images of Neo-Nazis marching
through the streets of Charlottesville,
waving signs and shouting
words of anti-Semitism,
words of hate against
our black and brown siblings.
Many of us felt shaken.
Unsure of the ground beneath us.
What century are we in?
What country are we in?
And some of us, including your pastor,
have struggled with how to respond.
We Unitarian Universalists believe, deeply,
that our primary, public response is one of Love.
But how do we do that when we feel so angry,
and so hurt,
and so scared?
We wonder,
Is responding with love enough?
Love, once again, break our hearts open wide.
(Sung prayer written by Rev. Jason Shelton, access here: https://www.uua.org/worship/words/music/love-break-our-hearts.)
As Charlottesville unfolded last week,
I was with my family,
in north Arkansas.
My heart often feels like it’s pulled between two places:
those gently rolling hills of the Ozark foothills,
green and humid and heavy in the summer.
And here, stunning southern California
brown and dry and hot in the summer.
The two places really couldn’t be more different.
The food
The people
The landscapes …
It feels like two separate worlds.
Last week, with my family,
we compared Arkansas and Los Angeles.
My dad said,
“There’s too many people out there!”
And I responded, “There’s not enough people here!”
I feel both torn - and held - by these two cultures, two places,
that claim spaces in my heart.
My guess is I’m not the only one in this room
who feels torn, and held,
by multiple cultures,
or by different places.
Last week,
it felt like the world as I knew it was crumbling -
again.
I felt out of my usual element,
and I searched for something to hang onto.
The values I hold dear - justice, equity, and compassion -
for all Creation -
Those values can feel muted
out in rural Arkansas.
I don’t always see them reflected there.
And as I searched for a thread
between my two worlds,
the connection I needed
came through an unlikely source:
a flower.
A specific flower.
The surprise lily.
or magic lily,
if you’re feeling sassy,
the naked lady.
It’s a flower of many names
because it’s a flower
with a split personality.
You see,
the leaves and the flowers never appear together.
The Lycoris squamigera,
or surprise lily as I call it,
is tricky.
In the spring and summer,
a mound of long green leaves appear.
Around July, no matter if you’re in Arkansas or California,
those green leaves turn brown,
and wither.
You might think, oh I killed that plant.
About six weeks after the leaves have died and fallen away,
one morning you walk outside and surprise!
Out of nothing,
a long stalk green stalk appears,
topped with pink, trumpet shaped flowers.
These beautiful plants literally surprised me
when they appeared in my home garden this August,
because I hadn’t remembered they were there
and I wasn’t expecting them.
And while I was in Arkansas,
they where everywhere.
They are as ubiquitous there
as agapanthus are here,
those big purple globe flowers
that we have bordering
the parking lot outside.
Those lilies pop up along garden borders,
hugging driveways,
and holding forth in fields surrounding abandoned houses.
There, in a place where Confederate flags hang side by side
with American flags,
during a time marked by chaos and fear and hatred,
there was a living symbol that connected me to here.
That brought calm to my mind when I saw them,
and helped me listen for
messages of peace, hope, and love.
Love, once again, break our hearts open wide.
But let’s face it.
A flower,
beautiful as it may be,
is not enough to sustain a soul
in times such as these.
The images we’ve seen this past week -
white men marching with torches in the streets of Charlottesville,
carrying Nazi and Confederate flags.
The words we’ve heard hurled at Jews,
at people with black and brown skin;
Phrases like “Jews will not replace us.”
“One people, one nation, end immigration.”
“Go back to Africa.”
Many of their chants,
I won’t say from the pulpit
because of language and content.
It’s not what we are used to seeing.
To hearing.
It’s not what we expect to encounter
out in the streets of these United States.
We know there is violence in the world.
We know there is hatred and fear of difference.
We know that anti-Semitism exists.
We know that racism and xenophobia exist.
But for a large group of predominantly white men
to march through a University campus
carrying Nazi and confederate flags,
brazenly shouting hateful language …
That’s not normal.
It’s not OK.
It is part of our moral duty and religious obligation to speak out,
though how we speak out will be unique to each and every one of us.
And speaking out can be hard.
And scary.
And depending on your social location,
can make you feel very vulnerable.
As we each find our own ways
to teach and preach Love in the face
of extreme hatred,
I ask you to consider,
What grounds you in Love
so that you don’t become as hateful
as the ones we are trying to call back
to a sense of shared humanity with all?
I ask you that,
because it’s a question
I’m continually asking myself.
A couple of weeks ago,
we explored the Universalist grounding
in a Love that is big,
wide,
encompassing.
Universalism teaches us that we are all saved,
that there is a Love wide enough to embrace us all,
and to embrace every part of us …
to embrace every part of you.
How does that Love move from inside our hearts,
from an inner compassion for Creation, for humanity,
out into the world,
transforming institutions and societal structures
that breed hate and inequality?
Love, once again, break our hearts open wide.
That question,
how to move Love from inside our hearts,
out into the world,
transforming institutions and societal structures
that breed hate and inequality,
is a question that has long troubled
liberal religious people.
Sometimes, we find a symbol
that can connects us to something deeper -
like my surprise lily -
but we don’t go any further than the symbol itself.
We talk about the beauty of the flower,
but not the values,
or religious impulse,
that lie underneath.
James Luther Adams,
20th Century Unitarian theologian and minister,
struggled with this in his own life,
struggled to listen for the “costing commitment”
in liberal theology.
By costing commitment,
he meant a religion that offers personal spiritual nourishment,
but doesn’t stop there.
A costing commitment
goes beyond that.
It’s seeking a spiritual life for yourself, yes;
and tending to one’s spirit
for the sake of something bigger -
strengthening authentic, beloved community. (1)
He began to hear and understand the need for “costing commitment”
in liberal religious through his own direct experience
with fascism and Nazism in Germany,
in the 1920s and 30s.
While he was in Nuremberg
thousands of people,
young and old,
converged on the city for a huge Nazi festival.
On this particular day,
there was a large parade,
with people marching,
singing,
shouting,
bands playing.
As Adams stood and watched
thousands of singing Nazis passing by,
he turned and started talking to the people next to him.
Adams, in a moment of boldness,
turned to a neighbor and asked,
“What’s the meaning of the swastika that I see everywhere?”
Of course, Adams knew what the symbol was,
but he was curious about how they would respond.
Within a few minutes,
the conversation escalated in intensity.
Adams remembers:
Within a few minutes I found myself in a heated conversation
with more and more people joining in,
particularly when the discussion turned to the Jewish question.
As I bore down in the argument against these defenders of Nazism,
asking more and more insistent questions,
I was suddenly seized by the elbows from behind,
and pulled vehemently out of the crowd.
No one made an effort to help me.
I immediately thought I was being taken into custody.
I could not see who it was who,
after extricating me from the crowd,
marched me vigorously down a side street
and then turned up into an alley.
On reaching the dead end of the alley,
my host, a young German workingman in his thirties,
wheeled me around and shouted at me,
"Don't you know that when you watch a parade in Germany today
you either keep your mouth shut or get your head bashed in?"
My palpitation mounted even higher at this moment,
and I was all the more puzzled when my captor smiled and said,
"Don't be frightened. I have saved you."
"Saved me from what?"
"From being sandbagged.
In about five minutes more of that argument on the curb,
they would have knocked you out, flat on the pavement.”
As you can imagine,
this incident hugely impacted Adams.
In the days to come,
as Adams reflected on this incident,
he asked himself this question:
"If Fascism should arise in the States,
what in your past performance would constitute
a pattern or framework of resistance?"
He admits that his own answer to that lacked power and purpose.
He recalled reading of the newspaper and voting.
Preaching sermons on the depression
or in defense of strikers.
Occasionally, he protested against censorship in Boston.
But when he got really honest with himself,
he admitted that he had no adequate conception
of what real engaged citizen participation,
the kind that bends the arc of the universe toward justice,
looked like.
He writes that after the War,
he repeatedly heard anti-Nazis say,
If only 1,000 of us in the late twenties had combined
in heroic resistance, we could have stopped Hitler. (2)
Love, once again, break our hearts open wide.
Unfortunately, our reality since last November demands that we ask ourselves
the same question that Adams posed:
“When Fascism tries to take hold in the States,
what in your past performance would constitute
a pattern or framework of resistance?"
Though you may not find yourself knee-deep in a Nazi parade,
in fear of being hauled in to the authorities,
as Adams did,
or as some of our UU siblings did in the last week.
Each and every one of you comes face to face
with hatred or injustice in the world.
For some of you it’s at a safe distance.
But for others,
because of your skin color or gender or
a host of other identities,
you see it up close and personal.
Unitarian Universalism teaches us to
stand on the side of Love.
And a gift of liberal religion is that we in turn question,
we ask,
is responding with love enough?
Is it enough?
I’ve heard some of you ask that very question this week.
Yes it is, and no it’s not.
An answer with a split personality,
a bit like that flower that so captured my heart
in the midst of national turmoil.
Yes, feeling a personal deep compassion is necessary.
Some mornings, turn your meditation or prayer practice
toward a loving peace for the world.
Yes, treat people with kindness and care.
Love the world so fiercely that
your heart breaks open wide.
But it can’t stop there.
Our Unitarian Universalism requires us
to take that broken heart into the world.
Your love must join in with others.
You are needed in the movement
that is working to dismantle structures
of white supremacy,
of racism and oppression.
Structures that diminish
the inherent worth and dignity
of people.
And that’s how love wins.
Over and over.
I ask you this morning
to pledge yourself anew
to the values that ground you,
that you hang onto in times of turmoil.
I ask you to pledge yourself anew
to this faith grounded in love
and called toward justice.
I ask you to pledge yourself anew
to a deep engagement with our world,
hand in hand and heart to heart
with the other souls in this room.
Love, once again, break our hearts open wide.
1. Adams, James Luther. “An Examined Faith: Social Context and Religious Commitment, p. 33.
2. Accessed on August 16, 2017 at http://www.uua.org/re/tapestry/adults/movesus/workshop7/conversion-experience.