WHY DOES SHE TALK THAT WAY?
September 22, 2002The Reverend Anne Felton Hines
The first sermon I ever delivered at the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of San Dieguito (in Solana Beach) almost became my last. It was the first Sunday of Candidating Week, and I'd decided to use a sermon that I had delivered earlier at the UU church in Walnut Creek; it had been very well-received there, and I figured, why take any risks? Let's go with something I know will work!
The problem was that I hadn't done my homework very well. If I had, I would have known that, because of their 25-year history as a lay-led congregation, they were terribly cautious about professional ministry. In addition, they were a strongly humanist -- even atheist - congregation at that time. They had "programs" on Sunday mornings, not worship services; heard "talks," not sermons, with pretty argumentative "talk-backs" immediately following; they listened to intellectual "readings," not meditations or prayers; and talk of "God" from the pulpit was probably more offensive than talk of "sex!"
But for some reason, I hadn't known all this. And so I innocently chose as my first sermon topic: Prayer. And of course, it's difficult to speak of prayer without a mention here and there of God. In the sermon, I spoke of my disbeliefs and doubts about prayer, countered with my longing to be able to pray. And I thought my definition of God was pretty broad; but apparently it wasn't broad enough.
For during the week that followed, the conversations at almost every gathering began with someone demanding that I explain myself and my language. If I didn't mean the traditional definitions of "God" and "prayer," why even mention them?
My Episcopalian mother found all of this quite amusing. "In my church," she said, "your sermon would have been too liberal; but in your church, it was too conservative!" And there lies a good explanation of why I left the Episcopal church; but that's another sermon!
As you know, the San Dieguito Fellowship and I worked out our language differences, and had quite a successful ministry together for over fifteen years. They, and I, are different than we were in the beginning!
My experience at the next congregation I served, in San Luis Obispo, wasn't quite so dramatic. One person asked me after my first service there if I was going to continue saying "Amen," and when I said yes, she pointed out that their former minister had ended his sermons with the words, "so be it." When someone else asked, "what's the difference," I said "None -- which is why I'll continue to say 'Amen!'"
After all, I pointed out, the Hebrew word "amen" actually translates to "I believe," which makes me think of the shouting "amen, sister!" heard in black churches. In that context, the word "amen" becomes a "YES" - "I believe!" -- something we Unitarian Universalists could probably stand to shout a bit more often. When I say "amen" at the end of a meditation silence, or at the end of my Benediction, I am saying, "This is what I believe; this is what I say 'Yes!' to."
Religious language continues to be a sticking point in many of our congregations - no less here than anywhere else, I suspect. And to tell you the truth, I much prefer it that way, than to have us accepting language without ever thinking about it. Albert Schweitzer said that "thinking is religious," and so challenging the use of specific words is, for us, a religious act.
However, when we begin suggesting that certain words or concepts shouldn't be used in our tradition, we get ourselves into trouble. For one thing, it smacks of censorship - something to which most of us are pretty adamantly opposed. Not only do we defend freedom of speech in our secular life, but our Unitarian Universalist heritage has always espoused "freedom of the pulpit" - that is, the minister and anyone else speaking from this podium has the freedom to speak the truth as we see it. We don't have the right to expect you to take it as your truth; but we have every right and the responsibility to proclaim it as ours.
For another thing, not using some of the old language excludes people - people who are religious liberals, and for whom such language and concepts are essential as part of their religious journey, and helps them feel at home. From a purely pragmatic standpoint, if we want to attract younger people and people other than European Americans, we need to be open to a new way of approaching spirituality, God, prayer, and other religious concepts. We need to be willing to speak an old language in a new way.
But my own reason for calling on that ancient language is that it carries a power within it that I find missing in most of the alternatives. Indeed, perhaps the proof of that power can be seen most vividly in our tendency to run from it.
I'm reminded of a man I knew once who refused to tell his wife that he loved her, on the grounds that the words "love" was too often misused and twisted. He would insist that the proof of his love was in the way he treated her, and that she shouldn't need to hear the word itself. And while his wife understood this, she nevertheless wanted to occasionally hear him say the words, "I love you." Over the years, the man came to realize that his real fear wasn't in being misunderstood, but in being understood; in actually committing himself to love; to letting go of fear, and submitting to the power of intimacy.
In the introduction to her book, "Amazing Grace", Kathleen Norris suggests that, "Our words are wiser than we are. Language used truly -- not mere talk, neither propaganda, nor chatter -- has real power. Its words are allowed to be themselves, to bless or curse, wound or heal. They have the power of a 'word made flesh,' of ordinary speech that suddenly takes hold, causing listeners to pay…attention."
This is perhaps nowhere more true than with the ancient language of religion. Much of it is metaphorical, as are the ancient stories; and metaphor always points to something deeper than what's seen on the surface; that's why poets use it so much.
So why is it we can hear certain words like sin, God, grace, etc. in poetry, but not in our Sunday morning Service? I suspect it's because in poetry we assume it's used metaphorically; we don't take it literally. But our experience with those same words in a strictly religious context has so often been literal, that we have trouble hearing them in any other way.
But I think it's a shame to give up a concept like "Spirituality," which is spoken of with both yearning and disdain in our UU congregations. People either complain that there's too much of it in our Sunday services, or not enough. Yet when I ask them to define what they mean by Spirituality, they're hard-pressed to do so. Which is, of course, appropriate.
For the word "spirituality," or "spirit," derives from the Latin "spiritus," which simply means "breath" or "wind;" how can one define something as elusive as the wind? When Christians speak of the third person of the Trinity as the "Holy Spirit," what they're actually alluding to, whether they know it or not, is the "breath of God," the breath of the Eternal. Think of related words: "inspire": to be filled up with the breath of the Eternal; "conspire": to "breathe with" another; "expire": to breathe out; ultimately, to have all breath taken out of one's being. Webster's Dictionary tells us that "spirituality" is the "animating principle;" it's what brings us fully alive.
I like to think of Spirituality as that which connects us to all living things, and helps us grow in our awareness of that connection. When I am most in touch with the idea that I am a part of the Interdependent Web of Creation - when I remember that the air I breathe in and breathe out mixes with the air that you breathe in and out, and even that strangers breathe in and out - and that it also is part of the trees, and the plants, and the stars, and the ocean, and every living creature - then am I on the spiritual path.
That path, therefore, must lead us beyond ourselves. I sometimes have people tell me that they don't come on Sundays to hear about social issues; they come instead for a "spiritual experience." Well, my friends, working to alleviate suffering and injustice is part of the "spiritual experience;" just ask Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King Jr., Mother Teresa, Dorothy Day, Desmond Tutu, Thich Nhat Hanh. Again, if all people are part of the Breath of the Eternal, then how can we not talk about the poor, the oppressed, the disenfranchised?
No... I think we need the concept of Spirituality.
I refuse to give up the idea or language of "God," just because we might not agree with the definition given it by mainline religions - indeed, can't even agree on its definition among ourselves! If you don't mind, I'd like to take an unofficial "survey" here this morning. I'd like to see by a show of hands how many of you define yourselves as "atheist." And how many as "agnostic" - someone who just doesn't know whether there's a god or not? And how many of you would call yourselves a Theist - meaning you believe in something you choose to call God, or Goddess? And how many of you just can't land on any of those labels? Thanks.
I spoke with a young woman not too long ago who had begun attending one of our UU churches. She told me that after reading some of our pamphlets, she'd asked why there was no mention of God. The reply she received was, "Oh, we don't talk about God here." Now, this not an uncommon response in our congregations; and it's very disturbing. How does that make those feel who were brave enough a moment ago to acknowledge a belief in something they call "God?" What does it say about our commitment to inclusiveness, to theological diversity, to "the search for truth and meaning?" It pains me every time I hear someone say they were told we can't mention God in our UU congregations; it's just not true!
The idea of God is something with which I continue to struggle, and deserves an entire sermon - which it will get at some point in my future with you. And frankly, I don't feel comfortable using "God-language" very often. Nevertheless, there are times when what is being experienced or described is too big, too profound to be named anything other than "God;" phrases such as "Spirit of Life," or Tillich's "Ground of Being," just don't quite cut it for me at those times.
When I say "God," I mean that unifying force which breathes through you and me and all that is; the power of creativity always at work in the universe. The early church mystic Meister Eckhart said its essence is "birthing." He simply called God "Isness." Hard not to believe in that!
Whether that "Isness" is something personal, with the human attributes of anger, sorrow, and joy, and therefore something to which we can pray, is another question - again, a question with which I struggle. But it doesn't necessarily serve us to dispense with the word "God" entirely - especially as a metaphor for something bigger than our mere selves.
Why let the more religiously orthodox own a word like "worship," which from a literal sense has little or nothing to do with praising God, but with honoring what it is we cherish. The word derives from the Old English "wearthschipe," - to shape what is of worth to us. In this broader light, communal worship is about coming together to explore and celebrate the values we hold in common, and in allowing ourselves to be shaped by them.
Our time together here is much more than just a "program," put together to inform or entertain. It's meant to stretch us, touch us, inspire us to deeper commitment and greater understanding - to open "all the windows of our beings," as our Responsive Reading this morning suggests. This may not happen every Sunday, or for every person, but that is its purpose.
So no... I don't want to revert to calling such an experience a "program."
Why leave a concept like "Sin," to the more conservative religions, pretending that we aren't touched by it in our personal or corporate lives? It's true that many of us were raised with the idea that human beings are born in sin, and that we're so bad that Jesus had to die a horrible death that we might be redeemed. But the Hebrew interpretation of sin is simply "missing the mark, or falling short of what we think God's expectation of us is." How many of us have never "missed the mark?" Or fallen short of our values, our principles? In Buddhism, sin is seen as "attachment to the things of the world." Can any of us say we haven't fallen prey to such attachment to material things? The Jewish theologian Martin Buber believed that sin occurs when we violate our relationship with another; and Carl Jung suggested sin stems from a refusal to accept oneself completely.
Any of these definitions speak to me, and I suspect to most of us. The point isn't to sit around and feel guilty when we commit a sin; the point, as I said in my sermon last Sunday, is to acknowledge our wrongdoing, try to understand why it happened, and to make amends.
So no; I don't want to discard "Sin" from my vocabulary.
Why let others define "Grace" as something only given to those who believe in God, and who take Jesus as their Savior - when Martin Luther himself asserted that Grace is automatically bestowed on every person, despite their behavior? Grace is experienced by all of us when we are least expecting it; it's a "graciousness" in the universe that often doesn't even seem deserved: Those times we're given a second chance, or third or fourth, to connect with an old friend who's letters we've left unanswered; the deadline we've missed which has suddenly been extended; the soft kiss of a child when we're feeling most unlovable. Whether such Grace is a gift from a God or not, it is a gift that astonishes each of us from time to time, and is not reserved only for Lutherans, or Catholics, or Presbyterians. I want to re-claim the word for us all.
Indeed, I want us to re-examine and possibly reclaim all the old language, to see how it they might speak to us today. I don't want us to be like my friend who couldn't say "I love you" to his wife; we give up too much power when we allow others to determine what language we can use, merely by their mis-use of it. We give up too much beauty when we turn away from a language because of our fear of it. I want UUs to become "bilingual," like the cow and the pig in this morning's children's story!
At the same time, I need to acknowledge that ultimately, language isn't what makes us a religious community. The point isn't the words used, but the meaning behind the words; the sincerity and authenticity with which we speak to one another. What makes this church a religious community isn't that we do or don't mention God, or Prayer, or Spirituality, but that we struggle with the deep issues of life: Why are we here? Why is there suffering, and more importantly, what is to be our response to suffering? Why do we live, and why then do we die? What is our responsibility to one another, and to those we'll never know?
What's important is how we live out our faith. Former UUA president Bill Schulz said that the true test of a religion is two-fold: how do we live in relationship with one another and with all living things, and how do we cope with death? These are questions that I see you wrestle with here. I have already witnessed your care for one another in the face of death or other life crises. You are a loving community, unafraid to reach out to a friend in crisis, as well as to strangers in need. That makes you a religious people.
In time I will address in more depth some of the language to which I have alluded today, as well as some concepts I didn't mention: evangelism, salvation, resurrection, and more. In the meantime, let us strive to speak our truth clearly and listen to one another deeply. May we always remain open to the Breath of Life which flows through us, connecting us to the stars, the trees, the waters, the earth, and every creature that lives upon it. And may this bring us and all people to a world of justice and compassion and peace.
This I believe; to this I say Yes!
Amen.
© 2002 Anne Felton Hines. All rights reserved.
