“Living Without An Answer”
A Sermon delivered at the First Universalist Society
March 5, 2006
Reverend Carol Rosine
Reading: Parker Palmer, Let Your Life Speak, p 2-3
So many coming to this church from other faith traditions talk about the things they were taught that just didn’t make sense to them. Some confess that when they were kids, they were the ones who kept asking questions, who were the trouble makers. Others say that they kept their mouths shut but inside they knew that what they were being told couldn’t be true. The immaculate conception? The virgin birth? Newborn babies tainted with original sin? All those people on the other side of the world going to hell because they hadn’t accepted Jesus Christ as their savior? How could any of that be true? And yet this is what they were being taught.
The response of so many who didn’t like the answers they were given was to give up on organized religion completely. How could any reasonable, thoughtful person claim to be religious? And yet, some of these folks have found themselves, eventually, inside a Unitarian Universalist Church. For some it’s as simple as a desire for community or deciding that the kids need a religious education and UUism isn’t as bad as most. Some folks, I know, have been dragged here by a partner & they come to keep peace in the family. But others come because there are still some questions that they’d like to have answered.
Often when folks get here, they’re pleasantly surprised to find that this is a church that values intellectual freedom. There’s no collective gasp heard when questions are asked. In fact just the opposite. Questions are encouraged. A range of possible answers are discussed. Possibilities raised. And in the process of this free exchange of ideas and beliefs, folks will often discover that they’re not only surrounded by some like-minded souls, but they’re also surrounded by a bunch of heretics. People who assume that it’s OK to question orthodox religious doctrines and creeds. People who don’t quiver in fear that they’ll be punished for daring to raise questions. People who even wear the label, heretic, as a badge of honor knowing that they come from a long line of heretics who dared to question. The word heretic has gotten a pretty bad rap in orthodox religions. A heretic is considered to be a really bad person. But in reality, the word heretic comes from the Greek hairesis and means simply ‘choice.” As a religious heretic, you choose, and that choice means not going along with official religious doctrines and creeds.
What we find here in this church is that often folks are searching for something. Perhaps something that will fill a void in their lives. Perhaps something that will help them to understand and accept what’s going on in their lives. Perhaps something that will help them decide what they’re to be doing with their lives. But whatever this something is that they’re looking for, the folks who end up here don’t want their sensibilities to be offended. They’re looking for a path that seems true and right and congruent with how they see the world and their place in it. A path that will lead them toward a meaningful life.
Those of you who have been listening to me preach for awhile will know that I wouldn’t presume to tell you what to believe or what you should be doing. I remember that in one of my early years here there was a film released in the theaters that caused quite a stir in some churches. It might have been The Passion of Christ? Does that sound right? (Congregation reminded me that it was actually The Last Temptation of Christ) Well, a reporter called to get some quotes from me about the film and when I told him that I hadn’t seen it and therefore couldn’t comment, he said, “But are you going to let your parishioners see it?” (A roar of laughter from congregation) Obviously he knew nothing about Unitarian Universalists! And so in my preaching and in my teaching, I always try to be honest and open about my own struggles with the big questions and the things that seem true to me but I would not presume to make these beliefs of mine universal and to tell you that this is what you must believe as well.
And yet sometimes folks wish that I would. They feel adrift somehow, confused about what life has brought to them, unsure about what to do or what to think. And figuring it out on their own is hard work, too hard in fact. Just tell me what to do, I’ve had some say to me. Tell me what to think, what to believe. But when we pause and take a deep breath, they usually are ready to admit that this isn’t what they really want. They really want to live authentically. To live from the inside out instead of from the outside in as Parker Palmer says.
So how is it that we UU’s go about deciding what is true and good and right? How do we know what it is that we know? On whose authority or on what authority do we presume to make truth claims? Many of us here have been associated at one time in our lives with congregations that had a variety of answers to this authority issue. But usually there is one central answer around which all the other answers revolve. My colleague, Fred Muir, has this to say:
“In Judaism, the most important source of authority is captured perfectly in the musical Fiddler on the Roof. In the prologue, Tevye tells the audience; “You may ask, how did these traditions get started? I’ll tell you: I don’t know. But it’s tradition! And because of our traditions, everyone knows who he is and what God expects him to do.”
Tradition! Tradition tells the Jew everything. “Why do we do it this way or that? Because that’s the way it’s always been done!” You don’t question tradition.
In Roman Catholicism, the source of authority is the church hierarchy. When in doubt, ask a church official. And when a church official doesn’t know, he asks a higher church official, and on up. The hierarchy decides and rules, which is probably one of the reasons why American Catholics always seem to be giving the world Catholic church so much trouble: it’s difficult to blend Roman Catholic theocracy with government by the people, with democracy.
In Protestantism, some denominations are more steeped in tradition than others; some churches have very elaborate hierarchies while others have virtually none. But for the Protestant church, the final source of authority is the Gospels. It’s the Gospels that tell the story of Jesus Christ; it’s the Gospels that provide the church with the teachings for its believers. The Gospels are the source of Jesus’ message
Tradition, the church hierarchy, and the Gospels—these three, then are a trinity of authority in those religious groups with which we are most familiar.
Fred Muir, Heretics Faith, p. 13
It’s not that we UU’s reject these three. We have our own traditions, we even have a hierarchy of sorts if we think of Channing, Parker, & Emerson as folks from the past that we turn to for authoritative answers. And the New Testament Gospels have always been a source of authority for some UU’s. But the final source of authority for most UU’s is our own experience.
This is what we talked about during our first Building Your Own Theology class the other day: our sources of authority for what it is we believe to be true. It was interesting to note that most of those taking the class placed little credence in religious scripture or in church tradition or especially in divine revelation. Instead it was reason that they turned to, logic, science, intuition, the natural world, and most of all, their own personal experience as they were deciding what it was they believed to be true. They weren’t about to take someone else’s word for something unless it rang true to their own experience, unless it was congruent with reason and what is known scientifically.
So what is it that we’re trying to figure out? What are some of the questions that we may be hoping that religion will help sort out? Well, a lot of these questions have to do with the meaning of life, if indeed there is meaning in life. How do I, small and insignificant that I am, fit into the cosmos? How can I make sense out of suffering? Why is there so much injustice in the world? Why aren’t things fair? How can I bear all the losses in my life? How can I face my deepest fears? How can I learn to forgive? What’s most important in life? In my life? What’s going to happen when I die? Is this all there is? Is there some ultimate meaning? Does God really exist?
The thing is that we tend to wrestle with these questions in different ways and a lot of it depends on how we view the world. We may think of creation as being the work of a loving God who has a plan for how things will unfold and that we, insignificant as we are, are part of that unfolding plan. We may think of creation as continually evolving, of moving toward all that is life-giving, life-affirming. A world that is bending toward justice and that we too are part of this life-affirming, justice-making creation. That we have a part to play in helping to bring such a world into being. We may think of the universe as continually evolving but that instead of moving toward more unity, it is moving toward chaos, dissonance, death. That human beings tend to be evil, violent, destructive. Or we may think of the universe as nothing more than a random collection of matter and energy fields. Life is nothing more than an accident and has no meaning.
I don’t know about you but sometimes it seems that all of these different ways of viewing the world are swirling around inside me. I want to be centered in the belief that the world bends toward justice, that it’s moving toward all that affirms life. But sometimes it really does seem that we’re on a path toward destruction. And so we’re left to wonder, can we trust the universe or must we live with suspicion and fear? Is our world and the humans who populate it benevolent, or evil or indifferent? Is there anything that has ultimate value in the universe?
Now of course in pondering these questions, it’s not only religion that we turn to: there are the artists, of course, who catch glimpses sometimes of what it is that is ultimate. There are the scientists who turn their telescopes toward the heavens and their microscopes toward the smallest units of being. There are philosophers and psychologists who are trying to unravel the mysteries of life. There are ethicists who ponder what’s good and right. There are the change-makers who go out into the world determined to make a difference whether they are part of some cosmic plan or not. And then there are those who turn to religion in an attempt to put it all together.
This is hard work, my friends. Just think how much easier it would be if you could just accept what others tell you is true. If you just squelched the questions and ignored your doubts.
Parker Palmer tells a story about taking part in an Outward Bound program when he was in his 40’s. He said he did it because he thought that this would be a way to shake up his life and learn some things he needed to know.
I chose the weeklong course at Hurricane Island, off the coast of Maine. I should have known from that name what was in store for me; next time I will sign up for the course at Happy Gardens or Pleasant Valley! Though it was a week of great teaching, deep community, and genuine growth, it was also a week of fear and loathing.
In the middle of that week, I faced the challenge I feared most. One of our instructors backed me up to the edge of a cliff 110 feet above solid ground. He tied a very thin rope to my waist—a rope that looked ill-kempt to me and seemed to be starting to unravel—and told me to start ‘rappelling’ down that cliff.
“Do what?” I said.
“Just go!” the instructor explained, in typical Outward Bound fashion.
So I went—and immediately slammed into a ledge, some four feet down from the edge of the cliff, with bone-jarring, brain-jarring force.
The instructor looked down at me: “I don’t think you’ve quite got it.”
“Right,” said I, being in no position to disagree. “So what am I supposed to do?”
“The only way to do this,” he said, “is to lean back as far as you can. You have to get your body at right angles to the cliff so that your weight will be on your feet. It’s counterintuitive, but it’s the only way that works.”
I knew that he was wrong, of course. I knew that the trick was to hug the mountain, to stay as close to the rock face as I could. So I tried it again, my way—and slammed into the next ledge, another four feet down.
“You still don’t have it,” the instructor said helpfully.
“OK,” I said, “tell me again what I am supposed to do.”
“Lean way back,” said he, “and take the next step.”
The next step was a very big one, but I took it—and, wonder of wonders, it worked. I leaned back into empty space, eyes fixed on the heavens in prayer, made tiny, tiny moves with my feet, and started descending down the rock face, gaining confidence with every step.
I was about halfway down when the second instructor called up from below: “Parker, I think you’d better stop and see what’s just below your feet” I lowered my eyes very slowly—so as not to shift my weight—and say that I was approaching a deep hole in the face of the rock.
To get down, I would have to get around that hole which meant I could not maintain the straight line of descent I had started to get comfortable with. I would need to change course and sing myself around that hole, to the left or to the right. I knew for a certainty that attempting to do so would lead directly to my death—so I froze, paralyzed with fear.
The second instructor let me hang there, trembling, in silence, for what seemed like a very long time. Finally, she shouted up these helpful words: “Parker, is anything wrong?”
To this day, I do not know where my words came from, though I have twelve witnesses to the fact that I spoke them. In a high, squeaky voice, I said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Then,” said the second instructor, “it’s time that you learned the Outward Bound motto.”
“oh, keen,” I thought. “I’m about to die, and she’s going to give me a motto!”
But then she shouted ten words I hope never to forget, words whose impact and meaning I can still feel: “If you can’t get out of it, get into it!”
I had long believed in the concept of “the word become flesh,” but until that moment, I had not experienced it. My teacher spoke words so compelling that they bypassed my mind, went into my flesh, and animated my legs and feet. No helicopter would come to rescue me; the instructor on the cliff would not pull me up with the rope; there was no parachute in my backpack to float me to the ground. There was no way out of my dilemma except to get into it—so my feet started to move, and in a few minutes I made it safely down.
Parker Palmer, Let Your Life Speak
I’m guessing that even if the questions you have lead you to feel a bit uneasy sometimes, your experience is not that of dangling off a cliff fearing you’ll crash to your death. But you know, sometimes those questions grab hold and the only way to negotiate your way through is to plunge right into them. By coming here, you’re going to have companions in your plunge. You won’t be left dangling on your own—provided of course you’re willing to share with us what your questions are.
Margot Adler, an NPR commentator and one of the primary movers of our UU earth-based group, says that not everything comes from personal experience. She says that there are times when the heart, the gut, and intuition are not enough. There are times when we need a reality check, people who will bring us back down to earth. This is where the congregation comes in. A group of people who value intellectual freedom and integrity, people who refuse to universalize their own experience and claim that what’s true for them must to be true for others as well. People who are open to diverse ideas. People who know that whatever it is that they intuit must be consistent with what is known through reason. That’s what we do here, my friends.
Sing: “With Heart and Mind” #300
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