THE GOD OF NO STANDARDS
September 24, 2006 The Reverend Anne Felton Hines
The title of this morning’s sermon comes from a very short passage in Anne Lamott’s book, Plan B: Further Thoughts on Faith: “…we should try to stay on God’s good side,” she writes. “It’s not hard. God has extremely low standards. Pray, take care of people, be actively grateful for your blessings, give away your money – you’re cool. You’re in. Nice room in heaven, flossing no longer required.”
So I was going to talk to you this morning about how the God of the Universalists had even lower standards than Lamott’s God. According to our Universalist tradition, we don’t even need to pray, or take care of people, or anything, really, to ensure a place in Heaven. The God of our Universalist ancestors was so loving and merciful that He would embrace even those of us question His existence!
Today’s sermon was going to be a sermon on how we need to lower our standards for ourselves and others – how we need to go a little easier on ourselves, forgive our many failings, let ourselves off the hook a bit. If God can do it, I was going to ask, then why can’t we?
But this weekend begins both Rosh ha-Shana and Ramadan, the most holy days of Judaism and Islam respectively. And according to those traditions, God definitely does have standards for us – which, incidentally, pretty much reflect those of Lamott’s Christian God.
Friday night at sundown, 14.9 million Jews around the world (according to the L.A. Times) began their observance of their New Year, and the Ten Days of Awe in which they prepare themselves for Yom Kippur – the Day of Atonement. During these ten days, Jews are to take a hard and honest look at themselves – in the words of Rabbi Michael Lerner: Of “who we’ve been and who we wish to become.”
Michael Strassfeld in his book of Jewish Holidays, is a bit more direct; he claims that during these ten days between Rosh ha-Shana and Yom Kippur, Jews are called to a “careful examination of…the ways we’ve failed – failed others, failed ourselves, and failed God.”
I found his language reminiscent of the old Prayer of Confession in the Episcopal church of my youth, where we had to confess that there was “no health in us,” and that we weren’t “fit to eat the crumbs” under God’s table.
But the truth is, there are many instances where I feel as though I’ve failed to live up to my vision of myself, and it feels as if I’ve failed not only myself, but others, and even something larger than myself that one might call God. I suspect that most of you have such instances. But at this time of year in the Jewish tradition, the acknowledgement of where one has failed – or gotten off-track – isn’t about wallowing in guilt. Rather, it is the first step of leading us through regret and remorse to “restitution where possible,” and in the direction of our “better selves.” It is, writes Strassfeld, an opportunity to “reshape our lives.”
Also this weekend, 1.28 billion Muslims began their month-long celebration of Ramadan, when it is said that the Koran was revealed to the prophet Muhammad. During this period Muslims will pray even more than their normal five times a day, study the Koran, fast from sunrise to sundown, and give to the poor and vulnerable.
And like the Jews between Rosh ha-Shana and Yom Kippur, Muslims are called during this time to self-reflection. They are invited to ask themselves honestly: Have I been practicing generosity and compassion? Have I been forgiving of others? Have I been honest in all my relations? Have I been loyal to the teachings of Islam? And have I been grateful for God’s many blessings?
The purpose of such self-examination isn’t to feel bad about themselves when they find they come up short. The purpose is to make right their relationship with others, and especially with their God. It is to learn from the past, and move forward with a new understanding and new commitment.
These practices of both Jews and Muslims are a response to a God that definitely has standards – in some cases, pretty high standards. Indeed, for Jews the stakes are particularly high, as it’s said that if they don’t at least try to make amends during these 10 days, their fate will be sealed on Yom Kippur into the Book of Life, and they won’t have another chance until next year to make things right.
But I would be misleading you if I pretended that the God of the Universalists didn’t also have such standards. It is true that the very word “Universalism” connotes “universal salvation” – the theological understanding that a God of mercy is always forgiving, no matter how far we stray; that such a God is so incredibly loving and compassionate that no matter how deeply buried a person’s “inherent worth and dignity” becomes, they will still be returned to the loving embrace of the Creator at the end of their life. But that doesn’t mean that we can simply do whatever we like.
I am reminded of a popular admonition of the ‘80s, I think – though someone said it to me just a couple of weeks ago as well. When someone would mention something they “should” do, they’d be told, “Don’t ‘should’ on yourself.” (Brush shoulders.) It was a way of saying that one shouldn’t do things merely out of a sense of obligation; or one shouldn’t feel guilty for not doing something they don’t want to do. “Shoulding” on ourselves became something we “shouldn’t” do!
But maybe there are times when we should “should” on ourselves! Maybe there are times when what we do or don’t do moves us toward brokenness, and we need some way to return to Wholeness. And it’s not always as easy as simply saying we need to let go of guilt and forgive ourselves. And that then we might also more easily forgive others. I think the Jews and Muslims are on to something and the only tragedy is that they’ve refused to apply it to their own relationship. I don’t think we can “forgive ourselves” until we go through the difficult and sometimes painful act of facing ourselves – looking honestly at where we have fallen short of who we wish to be; and then taking whatever steps we must to make amends, and move in the direction of wholeness. God (or the Spirit of Life and Love) may forgive us even when we “have broken our vows a thousand times;” but that doesn’t mean we are “off the hook.” We are called to learn from our broken vows, and try to do better next time. That is what leads us to true forgiveness.
I have a friend whose father died a few years ago. He had been a difficult man all her life – emotionally abusive, incapable of honesty, stubborn and angry and scary.
My friend and her siblings for most of their lives harbored a deep resentment of their father, which only grew stronger as his resistance to aging made him even harder to deal with.
When he suddenly fell ill, and it became clear that he was dying, my friend found that she couldn’t tell him that she loved him – even though her mother and two siblings found the words. “I just couldn’t let go of my anger at him,” she told me later. “I felt it would be dishonest of me to say words that I wasn’t, in fact, feeling.” Besides, she said, she’d been assured by the nurses that he’d be living several more days, so perhaps by then she’d be able to get beyond her anger to say a proper goodbye.
But the nurses were wrong, and my friend’s father died that night – without hearing from her the simple words, “I love you, Dad” – which were not so simple for her. And for several years after his death, she would rail against herself, weeping at the fact that she’d been too stubborn – too “arrogant,” she said, to let him die with those words of reconciliation. She worried that he noticed they were missing from her, and the grief she imagined him feeling in his final hours was overwhelming to her.
Little by little, my friend has finally found some peace of mind. She has been able to acknowledge that his erratic behavior, his anger, his abusiveness, was not all that he was; she has begun to remember the good qualities of her father, and the ways in which those qualities shone through her.
And the experience has taught her how she wants to be with her mother, who is still living but showing signs of failure. She is more patient and compassionate with her mother than she used to be; she listens as her mother repeats stories from long ago; and she is always sure to tell her mother that she loves her before hanging up the phone. Because even though my friend may still harbor some anger or frustration towards her mother, she knows on a level deeper than ever before that she doesn’t want her mother dying without knowing how much she is loved.
And that has helped my friend finally forgive herself for her behavior towards her father. And it has helped her even forgive him.
As Unitarian Universalists, we are invited every day to acknowledge those times in our lives when we fall short of who we really are – when we say or do something hurtful to another, or refrain from some action that might have helped another. It calls us to notice those moments, to let them inform us about ourselves – to deepen our understanding of who we are, and why we sometimes fall short of that. And then, when we are ready, to vow to do things differently next time. In those moments, we are invited to forgive ourselves – to look upon ourselves with as much compassion and love and tenderness as the God of the Universalists looks upon us. Our Universalism suggests that there is in the universe a Love so profound, so huge, that it holds us in its embrace as we struggle to face our broken vows, our failures to live up to our vision of ourselves, and to “begin again in love.” Indeed, I believe that is the same God worshipped by most Jews and Muslims today, as well as Christians; it is certainly the image of God that converted Anne Lamott.
And like the God of those traditions, the God of our Unitarian and Universalist ancestors called them to not only pray, but to put their prayers into action. A huge part of the Jewish and Muslim High Holy Days is to do acts of kindness and charity for those who have nothing.
But as Unitarian Universalists living in 2006, we must act with the knowledge that we do not know if there is a god – either a God of unending compassion or a God of vengeance. What we can know is that we are in relationship with one another, and with the larger human family. What we can know is that the fate of the world, both near and far, lies not in the hands of an angry or merciful God, but in human hands – all-to-often hands that know close to nothing about love or forgiveness, but only about fear and power. What we know is that for the world to become whole again, it must be embraced by hands that are loving and fearless and on fire for justice and peace.
Let those be our hands. Together, as a religious community, let us embody the love and compassion of the Universalist God. For the sake of our Wholeness, let us help one another radiate that love and compassion to others, even those who may have harmed us. And for the sake of our broken world, let us transform that love and compassion into words that heal, songs that inspire, and actions that create peace for all Earth’s creatures.
In this way will we fashion, together, a Heaven on Earth. May this be so. Blessed Be.
© 2006 Anne Felton Hines. All rights reserved.
